Frustration

As I sit here, typing, I continue adjusting my sitting position; loosening my tense shoulders; straightening my back for the 500th time; releasing my locked jaw; all of it, over and over again. Today is one of those days. I would like to say that everyday I'm positive, cheery, and ready for whatever life throws my way, but, unfortunately, that would be a lie.

For the most part, I believe that I've done a great job of being the optimist in our American group. Often, where one sees a nasty bump in the road, I see a roller coaster ride; where someone hears a local laughing at their attempt to speak Khmer, I hear a group of friends enjoying a good story; when it's pointed out that the moto in front of us pretended to not see us, I assume they really didn't see us.

Well, sadly, today is not an "optimist" day.

Today I feel the weight of the culture around me. I am an outsider, and I am struggling to find the positive in that. I hear the hundreds of conversations occurring outside our windows, and I feel the frustration of the language barrier. I smell the trash that's been left too long to rot on our street, and I feel the frustration of the lack of civilization in the system. I taste the apple I bite into, only to realize that I bought the wrong ones, thanks to my inability to appropriately speak Khmer. I feel the sweat run down my back, longing for a day with a high less that 86 degrees. I see the half painted walls in our flat, waiting until I can finish the image alterations for some church work, and part of me wants to scream... even though it's my own choosing to decorate this place. Ugh! Bradley is feeling the frustration too, although in his own way, and this, of course, makes it all worse, as neither of us has the desire to be the peppy cheerleader for one another. Was it not just a week ago that we were happily celebrating 10 years, and this week we're striving to be civil?

Okay, you do not need to panic. We are fine, but this is something we deal with from time to time. I understand this is a completely normal part of culture shock, but that does not make it any less frustrating. Thankfully most of my days are enjoyable, and I go to bed feeling accomplished and gratified with my work for the Lord, my husband, others, and myself. Then there are those days, like today, where I wonder if I will ever understand this culture; if I will ever make a difference. Along with the culture shock, we are feeling homesick. We are missing family time and the annual New Year's Meeting with loved ones, which makes our hearts a little heavier right now. Another stress factor is our current lack of routine. Bradley is out of school for 3 weeks for the "winter" break. A lot of the expats (foreigners) fly home during the break to places that actually have a winter, which is the reason for the extra vacation week. Oddly enough, the holidays effect quite a bit here. I guess there are enough expats to cause this effect, and it has left a peculiar feeling in the air. Although I cannot fully describe the feeling, it is a cross between the energy of New York City, and the stillness on New Year's Day. This introvert is wrestling with the excessive vitality floating through the air, while Bradley is ready to bust through the stillness. Tomorrow, Lord willing, I will be able to return to my optimism, and today's frustration will dissipate. I wonder if Paul felt this culture shock at times during his mission work? It has really made me meditate on the greater shift in culture Jesus must have encountered when He came down to earth. It kind of makes me shutter. I guess I need to make that my goal: to handle frustration as gracefully as the Lord. If He can descend from Paradise, I can man up and deal with my pitiful frustration.

I enjoyed your responses last time, and I would love to hear from you again.

If you have lived, or are living abroad, what is your greatest frustration concerning culture shock?

If you have not lived abroad, out of the items I mentioned plaguing my senses, which do you think would most overwhelm you?

Cheese and Chocolate

Everyone has indulgences. Mine? Mine are cheese and chocolate. Okay, so there are a few others, but food-wise, nothing beats thick, ooey-gooey, melted cheese that's been slightly browned from the oven. My mouth is already watering, and I haven't even described the decadent, rich, velvety yumminess that dark chocolate provides. *I'm now drooling!*

Well, in the kingdom of Cambodia, these two food items, common place in any grocery market in the states, are rare and expensive luxuries. I was relieved and surprised to find some pizza chains here. Some make what they think is pizza, and then there are a few that make the real thing. Pizza Company is my favorite. Although the Edwards have decided they do not care for it's Pizza-Hut-like pizza, and Bradley would prefer the fancy gourmet pizza served up by Brooklyn's Bistro, I crave their double cheese pizza with cheese-stuffed crust, along with their endless refill Coke. *sigh* Yeah, I know you healthy nuts are gagging, but you aren't in a land where cheese and pizza are special treats, not something you can pick up for $5 on the way home from work. {There's no need to comment on the fact that healthy nuts would not be picking up pizza on their way home. Just let me have this.} In mine and Marissa's hunt for cheese, we have found a few options that are occasionally doable. The grocery market nearest to us sometimes has mozzarella or "cheddar" cheese. The "" are for the fact that the cheddar suspiciously resembles mozzarella with a little less moisture. I'm able to get the equivalent of roughly 10-12 ounces of cheese for $3.30, which is almost three times what I paid in the states, and with a grocery budget of about 1/3 of what it was in back home, cheese does not appear on our menu too often. Then there's a grocery market in town that has a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese that's 1.5 kg, which is a little over 3 pounds. Unless my memory fails me, a bag that size back home would cost me around $6-12, depending on the brand, store, etc. Well, for this incredibly amazing bag, you have to fork over $39 USD. That's right. That's almost a 1/3 of my monthly grocery expenses. So, yeah, that won't ever be in my shopping cart.

Then there's chocolate. With the French influence here, there are pockets of places with delicious pastries and goodies, but again, we have to yield to the idea of "everything in moderation." This one is as much for my hips and blood sugar level as it is for our finances. My favorite find here is the Double Chocolate Cookie Dough mix. {What is my obsession with double delights?} A precious commodity, we have tried eating it several different ways, but have settled on living dangerously with the raw form. Raw cookie dough out of the fridge. I mean, seriously, are there many things better than that? At the lowest price, these packs sell for nearly $4 at one location, but the Edwards and our family cleaned out our market a while back when they went on sale for $1.10 each! You would've thought that Missy and I had discovered oil, and the guys were as proud and happy as new fathers. Well, we just finished our last pack a few weeks ago. Sad day. However, care package brownie mixes have been filling the chocolate void that was left in our lives. {Thanks mom!} So, even though it means juggling the finances a little here and there, we try to allow ourselves the little, intermittent luxuries of life, and mine are cheese and chocolate.

I'm tired of only hearing myself talk. Please, I want to hear from you. What food indulgences do you think you would miss most if you were living abroad? Or if you have or are living abroad, what common food items do you long to taste?

Giving Thanks

As the Thanksgiving holiday concludes on a separate continent, part of me feels like I missed something. With the weather here, I feel as though we are stuck in a perpetual summer, but to see our family snuggled up in sweaters; our friends toasting hot cocoa; pictures of family groups and oodles of food surrounded by fall decor; all of it is a reminder that seasons change, and time marches on. Reflecting on my blessings is always overwhelming. Not because I am lacking, but rather there are so many in abundance. My mind categorizes my blessings, and I want to share some of them with you.

LOVE
My first and greatest blessing is love.

The love from my heavenly Father in His plan of redemption is the greatest, as I know I have done nothing worthy to deserve His gift of salvation. I was raised with the idea that as long as you were not a murderer or child molester, you had a great shot of getting into heaven, although this "heaven" place was very vague and intangible to my young mind, and there was no guarantee this "heaven" even existed. The bible was simply something to read if you were interested, but nothing of importance. (It hurts to say that now.) Then, coming of age, I struggled greatly with the concept of life. Everyone else around me seemed complacent to go through the cycle of school, career, marriage, children, grandchildren, retirement, and then death, but I kept searching for a reason. What was the point in my being here? I could not reconcile life with such a mundane existence. To think that we had no true purpose was devastating to my personality. Maybe you cannot understand why a young mind battles with suicidal thoughts, but I can. Not that all young adults commit suicide for the same reason, but I do remember that internal conflict of no longer wanting to exist. Why feel pain, grief, and disappointment if the final outcome is death with little resolution in the life left behind? The idea of slipping into that place where I would no longer feel the lack of purpose; where I could go ahead and not exist was extremely tempting. Then. Then for some reason I will never understand, I was finally given a reason for everything: God. We all worship something, whether it's knowledge, family, traditions, carved idols, technology, and the list goes on. I am still unable to wrap my brain and heart around the idea that I have the real thing. That my God is the God of the unknown gods. That my entire purpose is for Him. For some that can seem suffocating, but for me, it is enough. Not too much. Not too little. My heavenly Father provides everything I need, even when I do not realize what it is that I truly need. His love through His Word and His Son is my greatest blessing, and one I do not expect to ever fully comprehend. Now pain, grief, suffering all make sense, because it all has a purpose. Happiness, fun, and laughter all mean that much more because I know He is behind it all. If you have not taken the amazing opportunity to open the bible and read it in its fullness, I urge you to do so. Do not let someone else tell you what it says, but relish in getting know your Creator as your Father. He has a purpose for all of His creation. I know my purpose, and thankfully understand what true love is, as defined in 1 Corinthians 13. His love is pure and untainted from the world. His love is sufficient for those who desire Him. His love is my reason for living. As humbly as I can say it, thank you Almightly God and Father for your precious love.

Second, comes the love of a mother. My mom and I have had our differences, as we can both be hard-headed and opinionated, but that does not change my love for her. In the gentlest of terms, I was an unexpected pregnancy, and aside from my mother, I was unwanted. There are no words to express the appreciation I feel for a woman who chose love and life, accepting the greater struggle in keeping me. If it were not for love, I would not be here. Thank you mom.

Third, comes the love of my husband. To have a man who is not only my leader, but my best friend, again, I stand undeserving. In a few weeks we will celebrate 10 years of marriage. We've been through a lot in our short time together, but I would not change a minute of it because it has molded us further into His purpose. He is a man who truly loves me as the Lord loved the church, and I have so many to thank for this incredible man in whom I trust my entire life and heart. Thank you Bradley.

Fourth, my family and friends. So many loved ones come to mind that I cannot begin to name you all. How awesome is that? My bank of loved ones is so numerous, that this post would literally go on for at least 200 paragraphs worth if I was going to mention all of you, and how thankful I am for the difference you have made in my life. Your love is invaluable. Every Skype chat, the personal messages, each email I receive, I am built up by all of you. The beauty of God wanting us to be unified and dependent on one another, in a healthy manner, grows more evident to me each year. My heart grows bigger and fuller with every friendship, and yet there's always room for more loved ones to join. I feel unjust making a blanket statement, but I hope you each feel my sincere love and thanks for each and every one of you. Each of you make up a piece of me, and because of you, I am complete.

LIFE
Life is so beautiful when you focus on the positive.

Laughter is one of my favorite components of life. The giggling of a tickled baby; the hardy chortle of a grey-haired man; the unexpected snort from the shy girl; the cackle of several women sharing tid-bits of harmless banter; the shameless howling chuckles of men as their buddy fails a ridiculous stunt; and the list continues. Late night card games and gospel meetings come to mind. The many friends with whom I have laughed to the point of tears. Watching my aunt literally fall over from laughing so hard. So many precious, wonderful memories are wrapped up in laughter, and I thank God for this beautiful part of life.

Grief is a blessing nestled in tragedy. My losses in death have only been with grandparents, and I therefore know that I have not suffered to the same extent as others. I do know though, that I recognize my blessings in my deceased relatives more than those who are living. It is ironic but true, that as long as we have someone, we can never know how much we appreciate them. Only their full and complete absence reveals their absolute importance to us. I ache for all of my grandparents who have passed, but my Papa and Grandad hold a special place in my heart that is unmatched. Papa was my world as a little girl, and Grandad was one of my best friends as a teenager. These two men helped mold me into who I am today, and I am eternally thankful for their love and influence. Their death hurts, but it is only because of their glorious hearts that I have that ache in mine. Had they not been beautiful in life, their death would yield no grief. I thank God for grief, as it has allowed me to better appreciate life.

Weakness is a diamond in the rough. In the moments when I have comprehended my powerlessness, it is devastating. In those moments, that feeling of having no control over the outcome of my situation was nearly terrifying, and yet now, I am able to take comfort in them. Our plan has always been to be parents. We dreamed of having a few of our own before adopting a few more. Somewhere between 5 and 7 little ones felt right in our hearts, and we knew we had the love to share with that many or more. However, the Lord has had a different plan. I may never fully understand what His plan is, but His allowing my moments of weakness have given me the opportunity to seek His strength. I do not have the power to grant myself children, or even to promise that I will have a tomorrow, but He does. As much as it may hurt at times, I thank God for using my weakness to remind me that He is in control, and that His plan truly is the best.

CONTENTMENT
The state of my physical comfort is determined by my spiritual outlook, and my future's so bright, I gotta wear shades.

Amenities have increased in their value in this foreign land. Having gone without running hot water for 5 months, my hot showers are so much more precious. With an average of 2 to 8 hours without electricity each week, my appreciation of the sparked energy has only grown. My refrigerator that allows me to make less grocery trips, and keep left overs from going bad. The fact that we have never gone without food, whether plentiful, or just enough. Marissa's washer that now lessens the amount of laundry I hand wash. Our moto that enables us to travel into the city for numerous reasons. The A/C unit that now keeps us from waking up in a pile of sweat. Mosquito coils which keep the pests at bay. Our cherished internet that facilitates our relationships with loved ones back home. And the list goes on and on.

We may not have had a traditional Thanksgiving here, but my heart has once again benefited from meditating on my blessings. I cannot conceive why I am so blessed, but as I am, I will constantly give glory where it is due: to the God of everyone and everything for which I am thankful. Saying thanks will never be enough, and I will therefore strive to live my life in a constant state of giving thanks.

The Universal Language of Music

During Bradley's job hunt, he had several interviews. One was with a local music school which has a mission to bring the love and respect of music to the Khmer culture. We were privileged to visit a concert at this school, and it was an odd familiarity to be sitting in a group of strangers, enjoying their children's talent. Although there were several differences, part of me felt like I was back in the cafeteria at Perry Middle School, waiting for Bradley to take the mic. However, Bradley, sitting next to me, was not the MC for the evening. Then there were the small quarters, where roughly 40 of us huddled on couches and make shift chairs, pretending we weren't hot and uncomfortable. The audience and musicians took turns, shifting and scooting in between performances, as the current entertainer climbed over others to take the stage. Another difference I quickly noticed was audience etiquette. Apparently, conversing at nearly any volume is acceptable. As the former audience patrol woman for Bradley's concerts, it was very difficult to ignore the chatter. It was a good lesson in patience, since my American self was struggling with frustration. Thankfully, though, I was able to remind myself that etiquette is a cultural thing, varying from one place and time to the next. That enabled me to better enjoy the entertainment before us.

Guitar is really big here, as most other instruments are too expensive or difficult to find.

Here's a young pianist, with a mere handful of lessons prior to this concert. She was a cutie.

This young lady did a great job playing, but I have to admit to a level of discomfort during this performance. 

Unless I misunderstood, each musician chose the piece they performed. This young lady picked a song with a few explicit lyrics. Nothing horrible or trashy, but not something I would want my young daughter singing. Some may think me prude, but to hear the voice of someone who has yet to reach puberty, singing about making love, is border line creepy. Although I realize that it might simply be a language barrier issue, as her mom was sitting in front of me, beaming with pride. I say that because the majority of the culture here frowns on PDA, and in general, are very conservative with relations before marriage. Bradley and I are often stared down in public, as we're hand holders and huggers... and sometimes we even kiss! I know, I know. Scandalous, but true.

This is one of their new teachers, and he played elegantly! Before this, I had never had the pleasure of hearing a classical guitar live. His talent had all of the young ladies swooning and giggling.

She blew me away. Although her accent is still pretty thick, she had only 1 or 2 lessons before this show. WOW. She sang "Counting Stars" by One Republic, and she nailed it.

This young man played beautifully. His violin was the only classical stringed instrument (non-guitar) represented.

Unlike the other musicians, this young gentleman had to be led to his place, as he is blind. In this culture, without any kind of government assistance, people with special needs must rely on others. As adults, they lean on a specific skill for any kind of income. The most beautiful music I have had the privilege of hearing here is from the blind men and women who walk the streets, led by a companion, as they play a traditional Khmer stringed instrument. This is how they make their living, or at least part of it, as they accept donations for their playing. I have also seen massage parlors where all of the masseuses are blind. I love that there are those who are helping people with special needs overcome a life of poverty and begging, as that would, otherwise, be their only option in this country.

Very talented young man. He took a few lessons from the school, but then had to quit, due to funds. The school still allows him to come practice though, and it was obvious as he strummed his guitar...

...and then tickled the ivories. 

Traditional Khmer music has a different sound and feel from what we're accustomed to as Westerners. Because of this difference, most of the people here struggle with the execution of most English songs, but this gentleman is an exception. His natural talent was evident, and I hope he continues to hone his God-given skills. It was a joy to partake in this intimate showcase of varied talents. We felt a camaraderie with the teachers, performers, and fellow audience members, as we all shared the peace that can be found in music. Some of the pieces were moving, reaching into your core, plucking your heart strings. Some were sweet, with adorable little hands, trembling under the rush of their first concert. Some were fun, turning you into a toe-tapping, bouncing fool, resisting the urge to jump up and sing along. With the inadvertent communication wall between us and the people here, it was a relief to sit with fellow humans, all of us relishing in the universal language of music.

Living in a time capsule

In elementary school we did a project, called a time capsule. We filled a container with things that we felt defined our present day life. The time capsule was then buried for discovery in the future. Although I have no idea whether our time capsule has been opened, destroyed, or forgotten, I can imagine what it would be like to open a piece of history. I'll admit, shamefully, that if you want to talk about historical wars, dates, and concepts, I struggle to recall such information, as a large part of me has no desire to know when such-and-such country slaughtered another civilization. The parts of history I find fascinating, are the whys and hows, not the whens. Since I agree it's important to learn from past mistakes, my brain stores the "vital" knowledge, and tends to forget the "unnecessary" information, like dates, places, and sometimes names. {Let me issue a formal apology to all of the history teachers and majors out there. Please know I have no intention of offending you. We all have our purpose and our gifts, and let's just say that my comprehension of historical facts will not be mentioned in my eulogy.}

I'll use an example that has been on my mind lately. Now in Cambodia, I'm constantly reminded of this people's recent war against genocide, which brings the struggles of WWII, the genocide of which I'm most familiar, to the forefront of my mind. Although I cannot tell you the start and end dates of WWII, there are certain details that resonate with me. I am unable to put into words what I feel about Adolph Hitler, and the horrendous tragedy he forced onto so many. Being unable to change history, I do the only thing I can, I learn from him. The combination of Hitler's bitterness from early life's trials, his personal insecurities, leading to false pride, and his belief in Social Darwinism, all led to one of the most grotesque injustices ever administered to mankind. As with all historical data, I process the needed information, in order to decide how to make better decisions.

• Bitterness: As a Christian, I look at every trial as an opportunity. In the moment I may give into anger, sadness, or any of the host of emotions minor and major tragedies may evoke, but in the end, I always do my best to rise above and gain control of my emotions. Every situation presents us with two options: 1) Will I allow this trial to make me bitter? or 2) Will I allow this trail to make me better? Hitler, like many of us from time to time, believed he was owed something. Death took most of his family at an early age, with both of his parents dying before his 20th birthday. The seeds of grief and sorrow were planted, and then, watered with frustration and anger, hatred was the fruit brought forth. Hatred always needs an escape, a target, and Hitler found many. Instead of being thankful for the blessing of family, and for the time he had with them, he chose to allow bitterness to reign. Only focusing on the loss in death, he overlooked the gift of life.

• Insecurities: I make it a practice to identify my personal insecurities, and, in that way, I keep them in check. I'm absolutely obsessed with psychology, and how the brain works. Since our brain works on a "cause-and-effect" system, they are constantly being programmed. Everything we feel, hear, smell, taste, and see is working together to map out our personalities and beliefs. I am a firm believer in Nurture w/ Nature, not Nurture vs. Nature, as I am a personal example. {I didn't meet my blood father until I was 14, and then, his side of the family when I was 17. Not knowing anything about their family personality traits, I was fascinated to discover that I possessed some of their characteristics. However, some of my traits have a different flavor, due to both the nature inherited from my mother, as well as the nurturing part of my upbringing.} I believe our core personality is set at birth (Nature), with traits such as introvert/extrovert, serious/goofy, optimistic/pessimistic, etc., already carved into our being. Then, our circumstances, environment, and caregivers' personalities and beliefs (Nurture) work together to mold the type of clay that is already present. The great thing about all of this, is that it has been scientifically proven that we have the ability to "re-program" ourselves. No, I'm not talking shock therapy here, that's just cruel, but rather, the idea of mind-over-matter is true. If we want to overcome our insecurities, our upbringing, our flaws, all we have to do is re-program ourselves. Okay, so it's not as easy as it sounds, but, for me, knowing that it's doable, is enough motivation to strive for perfection. Hitler, on the other hand, gave into his insecurities by attempting to hide them behind the fearless and merciless Fuehrer. Instead of either accepting his flaws, or striving to overcome them, he chose to push others beneath himself, in an endeavor to feel more superior. According to research, Hitler was striving for a superficial perfection, an obsession that led millions down a fatal path. 

• Evolution: In studying the theory of evolution, or Darwinism, I have learned that it is titled the theory of evolution because it cannot be proven. I believe in micro-evolution, also known as adaptation, which has been tested and proven continuously. However, macro-evolution, which involves the "big bang theory" and the mutation of species, has never been scientifically proven. If you haven't guessed already, I believe in macro-creation, or the theory of creation, which states that there is a Creator of mankind, also known as Intelligent Design. {Technically speaking, although evidence exists for both macros, neither of these macros qualify as theories since you cannot test whether creation was a bizarre happen stance or a planned masterpiece.} Mirco-creation, just like micro-evolution, is also continuously proven, every time a man and woman (two greater beings), create a baby (a lesser being). So, in a sense, no one can deny micro-evolution or micro-creation, but the belief in macro-evolution or macro-creation, is simply that: a belief. Hitler ascribed to this belief on a social level. His branch of Social Darwinism promoted racism, justified social and political inequality, and glorified war. He titled his book "My Struggles," the idea taken from the laws of nature, discovered by Darwin, where, in the animal kingdom, there was no such thing as morality, just survival. Survival of the fittest denied the Christian principles such as "love your neighbor" and  "pray for your enemies," as an evolved creature would not be made in the image of God, but simply a clever animal overcoming death. "Whoever would live, let him fight, and he who does not want to do battle in this world of eternal struggle, does not deserve life." (excerpt from "Mein Kempf" translated "My Struggle.") This same man who enacted a law for the humane killing of lobsters and crabs, heartlessly slaughtered human beings. His gross misuse of scientific data led to the murderous death of millions. I do not feel the need to elaborate on the many lessons learned from this man's choice to embrace Social Darwinism. {Just to clarify, there are plenty of Darwinists who do not subscribe to Social Darwinism, whether fully or at least not to this degree. I know plenty of kind-hearted people who believe in macro-evolution.}

So, what does all of this have to do with Cambodia? This country suffered at the hand of its own "Hitler" when Pol Pot led the nation back into an agrarian society, as he sought after what he considered "pure." Millions of people were tortured and executed during Pol Pot's rise. Walking through the streets of Phnom Penh, I often feel like a sore thumb, sticking out for all to see, but it's not due to my light skin or my caucasoid features. It's my glasses. Something seemingly unimportant, especially in the American culture, and yet, at times I feel as though I have a huge spider crawling on my face, bidding stares. I have seen very few others with glasses here. Granted, it could simply be the case that this culture prefers contacts to glasses, but I cannot help but wonder if it's more than that. During the Khmer Rouge, bespectacled individuals were seen as intelligent, a threat to Pol Pot's plan, and were therefore killed. Pol Pot wanted to ensure these men and women would not hinder his operation. Part of me constantly wonders if I'm a reminder of a loved one, lost to Pol Pot's injustice; a reminder of their bloody past. Reading into some of their history, just like with the holocaust, it makes my stomach turn. To think that anyone could willingly harm another human, simply because they believe themselves to be of more importance, is sickening.

The following is an excerpt taken from http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2012/02/20122314155454169.html

"To accomplish this, they abolished money, free markets, normal schooling, private property, foreign clothing styles, religious practices, and traditional Khmer culture. Public schools, pagodas, mosques, churches, universities, shops, and government buildings were shut or turned into prisons, stables, re-education camps, and granaries. There was no public or private transportation, no private property, and no non-revolutionary entertainment. Leisure activities were severely restricted. People throughout the country, including the leaders of the CPK, had to wear black costumes, which were their traditional revolutionary clothes." Public gatherings were also banned, and any form of family relationships were frowned upon.


So, here I am. It feels as though I am living in 4 different dimensions, all at once. Somehow, 1883, 1919, 1950, and 2014 have merged. During the Khmer Rouge, a dystopian society prevailed, and its mark is still visible today. Now that the worthless killing has ceased, people are beginning life anew, while still feeling the aftermath. Allow me to demonstrate...

Trapped in the 19th century
Nice to meet you neighbor. I am a pioneer woman from 1883. We transport our farm-fresh produce and rice with our cart, pulled by our donkeys or cattle, and sell them to other families and communities. We have plenty of chickens to help keep the bug population down, and if you can catch one of the feathery fellows at about 4 months old, they're mighty tender and delicious! We even have the great blessing of housing a deep well on our property.  I wash my laundry by hand, and since electricity hasn't yet reached these parts, we rise and set with the sun. However, for the occasional card game after dinner, we have hooked up a light to the car battery we purchased. We also use it to  charge our I-phones.

Wait! What?!

Yes, we have been in homes almost identical to this description. Allow me to continue...

Life after the great war
I am a merchant, who has set up shop in my home. After the war ended, it took a while for life to resemble some sort of normal. But now the trickle has become a flow, as more and more people struggle to pick up the pieces of their broken lives. We have had much success, as my husband was able to get a job in the big city. It's a bit of drive, but thanks to the war ending, motorcycles are now more readily available. The papers are saying that 1920 will be a promising year. My grand-parents live with us in our 2-story, 3-bedroom home, and they help out with the children and storefront, whenever their health allows. We lost my father in the war, but we're thankful to still have each other. My mother and youngest brother will be moving in with her family, but we hope to still see each other during the holidays, and, of course, there's always Facebook.

I'm sorry, what year is this?

Yes, we have neighbors with similar stories.

Arriving at the space age
Howdy y'all! I'm a housewife, and 1950 has been so good to us! I'm so excited about my new lil' fridge that my buttons are about to burst! The freezer even has a fan. So, when no one's lookin', I open that baby up, and I let the happiness blow all over me. We got us a double, yes, I said double gas burner stove top, just like the ones in them cute lil' ole magazines. My husband loves me so much, that he even stretched our budget to buy us a luxurious air conditionin' unit! It blows the breaker when we try to use the electric tea kettle at the same time, but since we only use the unit at night, it's not usually a problem. I spend my days cooking, cleaning, and improving my mind. Well, okay, maybe I sneak in the occasional tv show, but it's so hard not to watch something during the heat of the day, when it gets so hot you almost forget your own name. I haven't done it yet, but when the really steamy days come, I might just curl up in our bedroom, flip on the a/c, and surf the web until the sting of the day passes.

Okay lady, the web was not around in 1950.

Not my best pic, but isn't our tiny fridge so cute!

Yes, I feel fully confident that this is how I appear to some of the locals. There average 35 kilowatts of usage a month to our 150 kilowatts leaves the impression that we're wealthy and wasteful. If they only understood that we feel like we've stepped back in time, giving up necessities that are luxuries in this culture.

Embracing the American dream
Same, same! I tots love Beiber, and I cannot wait to meet him! Right now I'm going to school, and helping my parents out with the farm. However, my dream is to move to America! I want to go to school on a scholarship, since I'm a poor Cambodian. All of the Americans here give us money, so I'm sure I will have no problem once I move there. My mother hopes that I'll marry an American, since she wants me to be rich, but she thinks my skin is too dark. My girlfriends and I buy the cream that bleaches our skin, but I'm scared that I'm still not white enough. My friend, Rina, even dyed her hair blond, but my father will not let me. I am more American than Cambodian, as I wear all their fashions, and drink a lot of beer. I learned how to be American from watching the movies at the theater. Their high schools are amazing! I wish I could be there now. Everyone is rich in America.

Oh, poor thing. If she only knew.

Most of the ads here either feature caucasian

women, or very light-skinned Asian women.

Yes, there are young men and women who believe this is all true. Thanks to NGO's, tourists feeling guilty, Hollywood, and our "lovely" American pop culture, there is a generation here that thinks everything will be fixed if they can get to America. Please do not be mistaken, there are Khmer people who are ambitious within their own country, but most would rather move to, or at least copy the "land of opportunity."

At first glance, the differences in eras, living side by side, is compelling, but then, upon closer examination, I am saddened at the loss of a people's identity. Pol Pot stripped this land of individuality, and left a people stranded, unsure of who they are or were. The older generation struggles with distrust of his neighbor, since at one time his neighbor was his enemy, and the younger generation wrestles with having motivation in this world where survival is all that counts.

My desire is for this nation to overcome the evil that temporarily prevailed, and that they strive for betterment over bitterness.

My hope is that we are able to share the Lord's truths, in order to enable this people to regain trust with one another, and provide a sense of purpose in their lives.

My prayer is for an added portion of the Father's wisdom, as well as His empathy, as we strive to dust off and sort through the many lives we encounter in this living time capsule.

Wherever you go, go with all your heart: Part 2

In my previous post, I shared our visit with the believers in Baray. This post is the second half of that trip, to a place called Kampong S'daach. Sister Sita seemed eager to have us visit, and I was, therefore, excited to make her acquaintance. When we arrived, she was standing on the road, waving us down, with an anticipatory smile, stretching from ear to ear. My heart leapt with joy, as we maneuvered the rocky dust path to Sita's home. I felt like I was a part of a traveling circus. The doors opened, and the clowns tumbled out, one after another. Greetings were exchanged, and we were coaxed to their table for an early lunch at 10 o'clock in the morning. Many faces piled around us, all curious to see the strange visitors. I attempted to take in the different smiles and stares, but was quickly distracted by a man, who I now know to be Ung, a new brother in Christ. I'm not a gambling woman, by any means, but if I were, I would lay money down that this man is the direct reincarnation of Mogley from The Jungle Book. I don't recall who was first to say it, but the Americans all agreed upon this observation. His hair, his flawless dark skin, and his "loin cloth" ultra garment (a lot of thm men where these kilt-like garments) all pointed to this fact. The whole time he had the most friendly and innocent smile plastered on his face. It was evident that he was utterly delighted to have us visiting his home and family. The entire lot of us sat down, held hands to thank God for our food, and then ate together. Vanny stayed busy, trying to relate and translate the different messages passing from one tongue to another. Once the meal was finished, we went about trying to figure out the plans for the day, as well as where our accommodations might be for the night. Sita was very stressed about us staying with her family, as they do not have a bathroom in their complex, where there are 3-4 homes built in close proximity. Jonathan, through Vanny, went round and round with sister Sita, trying to reassure her that although we're American, we were completely capable of "roughing it" without a proper bathroom. {Side note: It's funny and often frustrating how the Cambodians tend to view Americans. A lot of the people we've dealt with seem to think that we are literally incapable of doing things ourselves. Thanks to the strongest American influence here, pop music, I believe quite a few of them think we all have personal servants who tend to our every need, while we busy ourselves with fashion, dancing, drinking, and middle-schoool-level relationships. I don't know about you, but that doesn't resemble my existence. Many thanks to Justin and Miley. Ugh!} Finally, it was settled upon our staying in the home of Sita's sister, with Sita and her daughter, Marie, sleeping with us, for safety measures. Ung slept on the table next to the car, to ensure it's safety as well. They were all quite concerned for our well being, and had even phoned the police, in case they might be needed. We never felt any danger, but I'm sure an SUV and seemingly wealthy foreigners would be a temptation to a burglar. The only thing that made me uncomfortable was how much they were going out of their way to take care of us. Although very generous and kind, it wasn't necessary, and I worried they'd quickly grow weary of our lot.

This little bundle of cuteness was there to greet us.

Sister Sita sits, ready to catch either baby, in case they

suddenly lose their balance. As the people in this culture

lack confidence in a baby's ability to bounce back from

a tumble, they tend to hover over the little ones.

Both Friday and Saturday consisted of our trying to connect with this tiny community. We were able to teach Vanny and Sopiak Phase 10, which allowed us to bond with our sweet friends even more. I've deemed Sopiak the "Krista of Cambodia," when it comes to games. She is seemingly sweet and oh so innocent, and then bam! She coyly smiles as she points to you, announcing you've been skipped, or quietly puts her hand down, wining the game. She even attempted to softly cheat in Peanuts, recently, by throwing a few more cards out there, after we'd run out of our small stack. I felt like it was deja vu, and I was again having to reprimand my Peanuts partner for being a stinker. {Missing you so much lil' bit!} Going back to the circus analogy, we were no longer clowns, but rather, we'd now taken on the form of wild animals. They'd throw food at us, back away, and watch us as we devoured our prey, with civility of course. Then they'd go off in the distance to eat their food, together, and then, once again, they would linger. Close enough to see the show, but not so close that they couldn't run, in case one of the beasts made a sudden move. Continuously, we encouraged them to join us, but to no avail. Some of the younger children, intrigued by us wild and exotic creatures, crept closer as the day passed. It helped that the Edwards children played freely, almost unconscious of those around them. Had it not been for their affinity for dirt and playtime, we might not have seen anything but eyes peeking out from doorways during our entire stay.

Bradley working his magic talent of befriending the

locals. In this instance, it was with coffee over his BioLite.

This was our "shower" area. The ladies here wear

sleeveless moo-moo dresses as their personal shower

curtain, which allows them to bathe in broad daylight,

while preserving modesty. The guys are not as concerned

about modesty, as they bathe in their underwear.

{Marissa and I just made it a point to keep our focus elsewhere.}

Like most wild creatures, everyone is more willing to

get close to the babies, as they are cuter and harmless...

especially when they possess a game on an I-phone.

Vanny climbed this coconut tree...

And Bradley caught the goods.

As you can see, Vanny is a goofball, and we are all capable of entertaining ourselves when necessary. However, we were starting to tire of not being able to connect with this group of giving people. Then it all began to change. Gabriel had been playing with sticks, and as Uncle Bradley has a fixation for all things wood, he decided that Gabriel deserved better than an average branch. He went about carving and creating the perfect sword for Knight Edwards. Once the weapon had been crafted, Sir Gabriel needed an opponent, and daddy was more than happy to step up to the challenge. Within minutes, the distant spectators became an audience, and I told Jonathan that I think he'd just found his ministry with this group. You could literally see the wheels start turning in his head, and once the battle ended, he began carrying out his plan. Recruiting Bradley and Vanny's assistance, they created a game of water bottle "horseshoes." They ripped the labels off 2 of the 4 bottles, and used sticks to make 2 squares, opposite each other. The game was a hit in turning the audience into a crowd, but they still weren't convinced enough in their safety, to join. Jonathan's next idea: bowling. The guys filled water bottles with dirt and rocks, and set them up as bowling pins, and I grabbed up some of the palm fruit for a couple of bowling balls. Sparkling eyes surrounded us, most of them reservedly anxious to play this new game. After a few rounds, I began pulling them over to play. Since most of them were girls, I could read their faces, whether they were truly frightened of being selected, or simply concerned they might look pretentious. One by one, we drew them out of their silent shells, as the sport induced laughter and bonding. There are only a few pictures below, but the moment was beautiful. I love that instant when a connection is formed, and it was happening right before our eyes, during a game of bowling.

I don't know how most people in this world view others, but I always try to see an individual's soul. That precious part of us that only the Creator fully understands. I feel like we do ourselves and others an injustice to simply see a cashier, a lawyer, or a mother, because it's that spiritual part of us that allows us to attach to one another. Road rage is less likely when we realize we're angry at a soul, not just a driver. Cheating or lying are more of an offense when you realize you're wronging a soul, not just a stranger. Loving and comforting are much easier to do when you're reaching out to a fellow soul, not just a victim. A soul. One who also struggles with trials. One who also has dreams and desires. One who also yearns to be loved, although in differing ways. On this first trip out of Phnom Penh, I saw many souls, all of them precious. I've heard it said that the eyes are the window into the soul, and I take that to heart. I do my best to look every person I meet in the eye, in hopes that they'll know that I appreciate their soul. It's so beautiful to see a piece of God in each soul He's created, and I pray that I'll never forget to take the time to look into everyone's eyes. Wherever you go, go with all your heart. I went with all of my heart, and although I left a piece of it in Kampong S'daach, I came home with more than I had before. Do yourself a favor this week, and make it a point to see the valuable souls around you. Look into everyone's eyes, and always leave them with a piece of your heart. You'll be all the richer for it.

Wherever you go, go with all your heart: Part 1

For the first time I have fretted over what to say in a post. I have so many photos, but they still don't capture the whole experience. Never the less, I shall try to share my heart.

Nearly four weeks ago, we made our first trip out to the provinces. I had no idea what to expect, and therefore was dealing with the yucky thing you call anxiety. Yeah, I know it's a weakness, but unfortunately I'm human. Although I'm striving to grow in my faith when it comes to worrying about the unknown, it sometimes rears its ugly head. Back to my anxiety issues: packing for a trip to a foreign place in a foreign land where I'll be meeting foreign people who do not speak English... So, do I pack food? If so, what kind of food? Do we have a place to sleep? If so, is it safe? What essential oils should I take in the first aid kit? Will we be able to purchase food if they don't have any? What if... and how do we know... and, well, um, excuse me, but I think I need to breath into a paper bag...

Okay, so I was freaking out in an annoying way, but this is where Bradley is so good for me. He just smiled, hugged me, and let me know everything would be okay. We weren't going to starve, although we'd most likely eat less than normal, and then he gently reminded me to hand it over to God. The next morning, we took care of some last minute details before packing up the car for our travels.

Our sleeping pads, sleeping bag liners, mosquito net

hammock, and BioLite stove ready for their fist trip

in this new, temporary homeland of ours.

These two guys make a great team in so many ways.

The Edwards purchased an SUV for our trips out of the

city to both allow us more direct travel, as well as to save

money on the bus fare and tuk tuk expenses that would

quickly add up over several months.

Some of my favorite peeps.

Loaded up and ready to go. This whole packing up

the car thing is just too much for Penny.

We had one stop we had to make before leaving town: the print shop. Jonathan needed to pick up the pamphlets for our bible studies, and as there were only 10 to print, he had decided to pick them up on our way out of town. Well, printing here isn't quite the same as in the states. For 10 pamphlets, front and back, 5 full pages, folded, we waited for nearly an hour. So, we decided to entertain ourselves while we waited...

Have you seen this man?

Evie + popsicle = entertainment

Entertainment = clean up

Finally, we were on our way. In response to Jonathan's apology for the wait, I'd almost said, "everything happens for a reason," but opted to just assure him that none of us were in a hurry. Since we had a later start, as well as a printer hold up, traffic reared it's ugly face as we puttered through the streets of Phnom Penh.

No, this is not a truck. It's a moto, pulling a trailer.

Beautiful.

I'm in awe of the various means of transportation.

The natives (as well as the foreigners) were growing restless as dinner time approached. Since we had not heard from the family we were visiting with that night, we decided to pull off for some food. We passed up 2 restaurants on our side of the road, before stopping at our eating destination, on the opposite side of the road. Bradley and this older gentleman engaged in an "I think I know you" stare off, until Jonathan walked up, also recognizing the gentleman, and said the name of a Cambodian town. The man's eyes lit up, and immediately hand-shaking, embracing, and laughing were shared. Apparently, the guys had been trying to contact this man, with no success, and here he was, randomly... or maybe not so randomly. I'll let you decide. Before you make your decision, you might want to know a few more facts:

1) This gentleman's family owns this restaurant, and he just happened to be visiting this Wednesday.  He lives 4-5 hours away from this rest stop. Yes, 4 to 5 hours in another direction.

2) There were several eatery options, and somehow we chose this one, that none of us have ever heard of before.

3) Jonathan's phone had accidentally turned off, preventing us from receiving a call from the family that was cooking and waiting for us to eat dinner. If we'd received their call, we would have kept driving to our destination, without stopping.

To continue, Vanny (pronounced "Waun-ee"), our translator and friend {more about him later}, was able to get his information which will allow us to visit and study with him and the others in his area.

Exchanging information.

He was so sweet and excited. He just kept walking

around the table, smiling and patting the guys.

Dinner is served.

This soup was everybody's favorite. Yum!

Oh! I almost forgot: our first rest stop bathroom experience. Bradley and I both wish we were in the room with certain people (Carli and Timothy being 2 of them), in order to see their reaction to these photos. Love you Timo. Love you Car-Car. ;o)

Not too different from a gas station restroom, right?

The pot-shaped dish is floating in the "flush" water.

After you figure out how to use the toilet bowl, you

scoop up some water and pour it into the porcelain

bowl. Yes, that is the color of the water in the toilet,

and not anything else. Oh, and if you remembered

to bring your toilet paper (none is provided), then

you can deposit it in the trash basket.

(Stop gagging Lana.)

Okay, I thought this was pretty ingenious of them.

A chop stick serves as your privacy lock. As long

as they don't use these in the restaurant, I believe

this is a brilliant MacGyver moment.

Our final stop for the evening was at the home of brother Song Seng. Since they had made us dinner, we managed to stuff more food down our gullets - I'm not quite sure how though. (Gabriel was very confused why we were eating dinner again.) It was nearly 9 o'clock at this point, which is late here, and we were all weary from travel. The Song family graciously opened their upper room to all of us for the night. Mosquito nets and sleeping gear were unpacked, while we took turns using the one restroom before heading to bed. As it was hot and still all night, I had a difficult time sleeping. There were 9 of us, with only 1 fan, and we therefore opted to let the Edwards and Chans have the airflow, for the sake of the kiddos and expectant mommy Sopiak. There's nothing like a hot night, lying in a tight mesh tent, with no airflow, fully clothed, next to a husband who is a natural furnace when he sleeps. {Insert "Good Times" theme song here.} Every time I'd fall asleep, I woke up sweating, feeling as though I couldn't breath - and I'm usually the cold natured one in the group. Ugh! I was so miserable (and a little melodramatic by this point), that I threw malaria caution to the wind, and went to sit on the concrete porch. After nodding off a few times, I woke Bradley to ask him if we could move our bug hut outdoors. He reluctantly agreed. Poor Bradley. Although it was still hot, at least there was a slight movement in the air outside. Sleep finally came, and I was very grateful.

This was our view the next morning.

Our home away from home.

This is actually J&M's bug hut, but with 3 children

we think they'd be slightly uncomfortable using this.

So, they opt to use the larger mosquito net.

Inside the barn where the Edwards and Chans slept.

Bradley enjoying his mosquito net hammock.
Thank you Wilson family!!!

Stairway to our "campsite."

View from our "camping" area, down into the dining area.

The dining area, from downstairs.

The bathroom. Notice the creative toothbrush holder. ;o)

Water "tub." No, you do not bathe in this. You use

the water from it to "shower" yourself...

...and to flush this.

Believe it or not, the toilet being on the floor was

much easier to use than the one at the rest stop.

Bradley sporting his ultra garment before we get

down to bathing.

The kids had it made. TV. Pillows. And sweet

Marie only an inch away, ready to feed or serve

however necessary.

Thursday we headed over to study with a very sweet and intelligent group of godly-minded folks, who seem to have an honest desire to serve the Lord to the best of their ability.

Visiting with this group after the study.

The leader of this group lives here, in the worship

building, with his wife, as well as 4 of his 7 children.

He and his wife are teaching the younger children to

speak Thai, as he hopes the younger ones will be able

to share the gospel with his 3 older children, who are

working in Thailand, and do not believe in Jesus.

Front entrance.

Sopiak, Vanny's wife, being all cute and pregnant.

As I said, I have a lot of photographs, and I'm going to let the photos speak for themselves.  I hope you enjoy the visual experience.

The older lady in this group was so precious. She so earnestly wanted to share her thoughts with Marissa and I, and with Vanny's help was able to do so for a short while. He was then pulled away for more study with the guys, and we were left just smiling and nodding as this women diligently conveyed her wisdom in a language we were trying, but failing to understand. My hope is to be able to actually benefit from her words on one of our future trips. Sister Song is the gracious lady in the middle, who opened her home and kitchen to all of us, and then hoped her kindness would entitle her to keep Penelope when we left. Unfortunately for her, J&M are slightly fond of their youngest bundle of joy. ;o) We pulled out of their driveway early Friday morning, with Penny, ready for our next destination, an hour down the road. Already, I'm looking forward to our next visit with these new friends. Lord willing, each time we'll be able to bond a little more, spiritually and verbally. The Lord, along with this giving bunch, supplied all of our needs, and then some. We came with our hearts open, and they received us in the same manner. Although Confucius is credited with the title of this post, I thank God for yet again proving His awesome power to provide for our needs in this new and strange land.