Table for two, please.

Well, the 6 month blues are finally wearing off, thankfully, and it's starting to feel like home around here. I had been warned {thank you Debbie!} about the homesick blues, and it appears to hit most people between the 3 and 6 month mark. The homesick blues are when you hit the point of "this-place-stinks-and-I-wanna-go-home" as the excitement and newness fades. I am grateful to have been prepared for that part of our Cambodian adventure, and hopefully my experience will serve as a help to another missionary wife in the future. As the homesick blues dissipate, we're settling in quite nicely. Bradley's second semester is under way, and as he works at the same time each day, all be it, the days still vary, it has allowed for a more steady rhythm in our life. We have both been busy with various projects, as we work together to set up our homestead, and I am thrilled to announce the newest addition to our home: our table! First, though, let me take you on the fascinating journey of table crafting...

Phase 1: Finding the perfect piece

Bradley, the poor soul, was forced to hunt down this piece in a small warehouse full of every size of wood imaginable. {For those who don't know, Bradley is obsessed with wood. In other words, it was like a kid in a candy store}

Unfortunately, this piece was not deep enough to serve as a table. So, Bradley chose to try his hand at concrete. He followed a natural split, and then drilled holes to create the rest of the split.

Our stair rail served as his make shift "work table." He used a kromaa and a small piece of wood as a sort of clamp for the base pieces.

He cut the rebar into small pieces to insert into the strips of table where the concrete would later be poured.

Hacksaw + man power = baby rebars

Baby rebars in place.

Essentials for my craftsman: sketch pad; measuring tape; and most importantly, a hot cup of coffee.

Yes. That is a hand saw.

Yes. He sawed everything by hand.

Yes. He misses his power tools.

Phase 2: Mending the tear

Aww, finally a power tool. His drill was his only electrical friend on this job... well besides lights.

Wood crafting is a dirty business...

Yuck!

Phase 2 completed.

Bradley is 6 feet tall, for a reference on the length of our table.

Phase 3: Concrete evidence

My hubby did his research! He went online to find, and then create 6 different concrete recipes. In the states, we would buy concrete bags, premixed. Here, you purchase the separate components to mix on your own. After the 6 samples had dried, he did a stress test to see which ones would move onto the final round: Brandi's texture obsession. Four samples made it to my hands, and sample "A" was the winner. Its color, appearance, and texture were perfect for our table.

Late night mixing...

Time to pour, spread, and cover.

After the concrete dried, my artist chiseled away at his baby, ensuring the smoothest surface possible. Then onto the last stage of the process:

Phase 4: Apply sealer, and enjoy!

Isn't it absolutely gorgeous!

Front view of the table and base.

The base. The vertical pieces are what were "clamped" down with the kromaa and wood piece.

We love our table, and have already employed it for games, office hours, and our Khmer lessons!

It never crossed my mind that a table would make our home feel more like a home, but, as an American, it makes sense. Although any table would have worked in our space, no other piece would be such a blessing. I'm not a huge gifts person when it comes to my love language, but this gift was an act of service and love. I feel very blessed to have such a talented husband. After 10 years of marriage, he still has the ability to amaze me with his talents. I'm jazzed to see what he'll make me after 20 years. Hehe! ;o)

Question time: What piece of furniture makes your home feel like a home?

Who needs an enemy when I have me?

The month of January flew by, and I feel like I lost so much of my life in those 4 1/2 weeks. Byron, my brother, came for a 2 week visit, and it was sorely needed. Between being homesick and struggling with cultural frustrations, I needed to see his face and hear his hearty laugh in person. His light-hearted, yet deep-thinking spirit was a blessing, but then he was gone. The following few weeks were spent attempting to play catch up with the tasks, chores, and work we'd neglected during our stay-cation with my brother.

Here we are now, nearing the eight month mark of our stay in Cambodia, and I'm feeling overwhelmed. I have work for Flirting with Fonts; design work to aid in our mission here; we're increasing our Khmer classes, which is greatly needed; and a home that has several projects yet to be completed. All of this is hanging over my head, while I try to complete normal day to day tasks. Sometimes I feel like I'm at the kitchenette, preparing meals for 80% of my day, and for someone who would honestly eat pbj's and cereal for most of her meals if she were single, it can be a beat down. Yes, I feel horrible saying that, as feeding my family is a priority, but I still struggle with feeling like I'm "wasting" my time preparing food, when I could be working. No, I am not saying that food prep is a waste of time, b/c it is obviously a necessity, and therefore an extremely important job, and yet I still wrestle with the feeling of futility in my efforts.

So, here I am, writing, in hopes that this will allow me to release. Back home, I had several factors present in my life which assisted in lowering my stress levels. First, I had the boys. Zach and Max were my focus. I know for some people, children are a stress. I do not mean that children are an unpleasantry, but rather, no matter how much that mother, father, or person loves said child, they often feel flustered or out of control in their presence. I know some wonderful, loving mothers, who seem to have the most peace when they are alone. They seem more capable of focus and peace apart from the child or children, and in having those moments of peace and quiet, they can then be more purposeful for their child/ren. Although I had my moments when I needed alone time, apart from the boys, in order to collect my thoughts, overall, children focus and calm me. They provide an energy or source of peace for me that I don't find with adults, or even alone. Left to myself, I often fall into a routine of I-don't-know-what-to-accomplish-first, and then I overwhelm, overload, and melt down. It's really rather pathetic, but true. With children, I just do. I don't think about it; I just clean, organize, and work. I think it's because my focus is on the child/ren, and I am distracted from my annoying, over-analyzing brain. Between insuring proper nutrients are supplied; playtime is peaceful; screen time is monitored; sufficient nap time is given; and an overall well-being is provided, well, who has time to worry about the order in which your tasks are accomplished? It's almost like my mind finds peace in multi-tasking. My conscience can focus on the little ones, while my sub-concsience tends to all of the other items on my to-do list. My favorite time was after the boys had woken from their naps. Neither of them woke up peppy in the afternoon, and I relished quiet snuggles on the couch while Little Bear or Peppa Pig brought them back to life. As a physical affection person, holding my little guys was a piece of paradise for me, but I no longer have my boys on a daily basis - a heart heavy topic in and of itself. When I do see them, my attention is 100% on them during our Skype sessions, as they are my sole and only purpose and accomplishment during those moments. I cannot wait to once again hold my little slices of paradise in my arms. I miss them so much.

Another stress relief was my cat, Oscar, and every once in a while our other feline, Bitsy, would stop being a brat long enough to give me some love too. In those moments when the ceiling was crushing down on me, grabbing that little fur ball, and snuggling him under my arm was a solace. He didn't expect anything from me, so long as I had filled his food and water bowls at some point during the day, and to have that moment of freedom from responsibility; to be completely selfish in cuddling with my little fur baby; it was invaluable. Although my kitties are well cared for in the states (thank you mom and Granny!!!), I no longer have that option of temporary retreat from the world. Animals are very different here in Cambodia. They are usually treated more like strays than pets, but even if you do find one that is used to being loved by their master, they are so dirty and ridden with disease and parasites, loving on them is not a safe or viable option.

So, I strive to create a peaceful homestead, yet, I don't have my boys or Oscar during those times of desired refocus or retreat. Here, I have different and sometimes greater stresses in this task. I cannot simply make a run to the nearest Target or Hobby Lobby for decor or crafting needs. Then I flip, focusing on the notion that things do not make a home; people do. Striving for balance between making our home welcoming while remembering this is a temporary homestead, is to say the least, challenging for this over-thinker. In the moments I'd temporarily withdraw from the world with Oscar in tow, Bradley could continue his life, free from my crazy self, but I do not have Oscar here. My poor husband has to deal with me as is, and let me tell you, it is not pretty. We all have our flaws, and one of my greatest ones is allowing myself to be swallowed by disappointment. I have always been this way though. My mother said that conferences with my grade school teachers went something like this, "Brandi is an excellent student. She loves to learn, and is always eager to help her fellow students (a nice way to say I talked too much). However, she tends to spend too much time on her work. She wants things to be perfect, and therefore has a hard time moving onto another task if her first task is incomplete or does not meet her expectations." Well, not much has changed. I still love learning; I am still eager to help others; I still talk too much; and I still strive for perfection, even when it's unnecessary... and possibly unhealthy. Ugh! My mother has always said I am my own worst enemy, and it remains the same at thirty-two years of age.

However, I am determined to not let this get the best of me. Satan is very crafty in his ways of toying with us, and he knows that I am my own worst enemy. I've been making his job easier, and I realize that I have to stop. My goal this week: accept imperfection, and embrace reality. After all that I have learned through my trial with infertility, I still find myself struggling with feeling out of control. Silly Brandi. When will you ever learn? You have never been in control, and the only way you can gain control of your stress is to let it go. It worked for Queen Elsa, right? ;o) Proverbs 3:5-6 will be my montra, and I will find peace in His truths, because in order to fully serve the great I AM, I have to remember that I am not.

Okay, question time...

What is something that gives you comfort and/or peace when stress knocks down your door?

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.