Magic Mirror On The Wall

Although it has been many years since I watched Disney's version of Snow White, I still recall the austere and evil beauty of Malificent, as she carried on an unhealthy affair with her mirror. Standing before her reflection, she asks, "Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" A face appears, and a man's voice declares that although the wicked queen is beautiful, there is one with greater beauty; one with "skin as white as snow."

Living in Cambodia has opened my eyes to many things. In moving here, I came with the expectation that I would learn and grow, but to my surprise, I have grown in an area which I had not anticipated: physical self-esteem. One struggle that every woman has is that of beauty. Every year of a girls' life is one of looking forward to becoming a beautiful young woman, and then at a certain point, that young woman begins to stress over the wrinkles, grey hairs, and other small reminders that her physical beauty is fading. Call me naive, but I honestly thought that this was more of an issue in America. However, after seeing the extreme measures some Cambodian women go to in order to attain beauty, I now know this is a female thing, across cultures. Of course, there will always be exceptions. There are those who have accepted their imperfections, gaining confidence in themselves as a person, instead of in the skin that covers their true identity, but I have yet to meet a woman who believes she has the perfect face and body. I have often complained about my pasty, translucent skin, as America is all about the tan these days. Well, I feel quite differently now. Seeing young women with chemical burns from trying to lighten their skin, and hearing mothers tell their daughters they will never marry because "no man wants a dark wife," has changed my opinion.

I have a tendency to over-analyze things, and yes, I have dwelt on this A LOT. Why do we torture ourselves, in hopes of getting a little bit of acknowledgment concerning our physical appearance? Do we fear that our importance is wrapped up in our looks? I can understand why someone without a caring, loving husband might focus on looks, but why do I sometimes wrestle with this longing to be physically perfect? And what does physically perfect even look like? With these and other questions floating around in my head, I have thought of the varied phrases I have heard over the years, referring to my beauty. For example, "you're the most beautiful," "you're the full-figured one," "you're really too skinny, you need to gain some weight," "you look good with some extra weight on you," "you look so good since you've lost weight," "this is your sister, but she's so pretty," "you look good with color on you," and on and on the list goes. So many comparisons. So many judgements. So many vain words.

Why can't I just be beautiful?
Why does my beauty depend upon a comparison with someone else?

At first I was frustrated with the standards that , in my mind, were being set by men, but if I'm honest with myself, my views on beauty have more to do with the women in my life than the men. Although I do enjoy receiving a compliment from the male variety, and dislike an insult, when I examine most of the voices in my head, they belong to females. I can hear women older than me saying things like, "I'm too fat," "I wish I was beautiful like...," "I'm so disgusting," "I used to be beautiful," and I am ashamed to admit that I have been guilty of uttering similar phrases. It struck me as odd once I came to this realization, because there is this unspoken rule that as a woman, I am expected to self-deprecate, and that verbalizing contentment or approval of my person is haughty or self-righteous.

But why?

Why is it okay for me to tear myself down, but not okay for me to build myself up? Obviously, as a Christian, I had to consider the possibility of being puffed up when building up oneself. But then I wondered: does humility equal belittling oneself? I cannot think of an instance where that is the case, so I have come to the conclusion that, as with everything, it is all about finding a balance. My goal is not to be the most beautiful, but to just be beautiful. Not compared to my friend, sister, mother, or any other woman, but beautiful as an individual. This will require a balancing act between self-deprication and self-righteousness, hopefully landing on the humility mark. I do not have a daughter yet, but with the precious little girls in my life, I hope that they will learn to love who they are by watching me. I want to be a humble example of beauty. With Millie being the newest addition to the family, I have thought about how I do not want my niece to consider herself ugly or undesirable. I feel confident that neither putting myself down, nor focusing on comparisons will help her reach a godly goal of humble beauty. Whenever she has grown, I want my voice in her head to be one that encourages and reinforces spiritual strength, not one of destruction or vanity. This will require greater effort on my part, as I will have to focus on the positive and let go of the negative, but with the Lord on my side, I know I can do it - hey I'm positive already. ;o)

The culture I come from would have me believe that I am not beautiful because I am too white, but the culture I currently live in would have me believe that I am beautiful because I am so white.

It's amazing how changing just a few words altered the perspective of beauty.

It's always greener... or tanner... or, uh... whiter on the other side...

Despite the fact that I still have days when I struggle with consulting the magic mirror on the wall, I feel much more confident and comfortable in my own skin now. I recognize that no matter my features and coloring, I would battle with wanting what I do not possess. I would love to have thick, long locks of hair, but if I did, I would probably complain about the effort it takes to tame my mane. I would love to have a less pronounced chin, but if I did, I would probably complain that my face never stands out in a crowd. I would love to have slimmer feet, but if I did, I would probably complain that my toes look big on such a skinny foot. This body will continue to deteriorate, regardless of what I try to do, but I hope my eternal body will grow in beauty with each passing year. So, instead of yearning and complaining, I will try to recognize that I am beautiful because I was crafted by the greatest Sculptor of all time, and to Him, as the only Brandi Lee Ballard like me that He has ever created, with my "skin as white as snow," I am the fairest of them all. Cheers!

Do you struggle with consulting the magic mirror on the wall?
Are most of the "voices in your head" male or female?
Would you want your daughter to talk about herself the way you talk about yourself?

A lovely bunch of coconut oil

When we first agreed to move to Cambodia, I envisioned markets full of exotic fruits of which we would juice, slice, and enjoy in many different ways. Unfortunately, it was not like I had hoped. Fruits are not as readily available or as inexpensive as I had imagined. Bananas, coconut, and dragon fruit are the only fruit that I have noticed being available year round everywhere. We do eat a lot of bananas, but we're not very big fans of the dragon fruit. It's okay, but there is not enough flavor for us. Then there is the coconut. I think I have seen it in every form here, from unripe to rotten and every stage in between. My favorite thing to discover was fresh shaved coconut for 7000 riel a kilo. That translates into roughly $.80 per pound of fresh, fine-shaven snow-white yumminess! I was thrilled when I found our coconut guy in the backstreet market near us. So, I began experimenting with different coconut dishes and delights. One day I decided to try making coconut oil, the "Khmer" way, and I am in love! Here is the process I have learned, and as this was my first time doing something like this, please be kind if you know a better way. One thing mission work has taught me: the word "ideal" is a relative term.

First, you add water to your coconut shavings...

Then you "milk" the coconut with a kneading process.

Scoop up a handful...

and milk the coconut into a strainer over a pot.

Scrape up the dry coconut, and milk again.

I usually can get two really good milking sessions, but sometimes end up with a 3rd round. I like to put the dry coconut into freezer bags to store for later use. My favorite thing to make with the coconut is a toasted coconut, toffee-chocolate delight. For those who are interested:

• I toast the coconut to perfection (I'll let you decide what that looks like)

• In a bowl I mix the toasted coconut; sweetened condensed milk (as is or boiled in its can to make easy toffee); and palm sugar paste

• I layer it in a baking dish, and top it off with dark chocolate chips (I found them here!!!)

• Then I bake it at roughly 325º in our toaster oven until it's gooey and slightly crispy - YUMMY!

Now it is time to turn the gas on and get this milk boiling.

Frothy! Sorry Lana, but I had to say it...

I stir it occasionally to make sure it does not boil over the sides.

Looking good...

Still looking good...

The first time I made this, I began worrying at this point...

But, no need to fear. It's ready!

I use a funnel and funnel strainer to catch any coconut sludge

The "burnt" coconut separates easily from the oil.

I was able to get about 8-10 ounces of coconut oil from 2.2 pounds of shredded coconut. I have since bought a stainless steel pot, which will hopefully allow for better oil extraction. Sadly, our coconut guy has moved, but it's not too difficult to find coconut shaving machines around town. I really wish our guy was still around the corner though. Hope you enjoyed. Cheers!

Have you ever tried making something homemade in your kitchen other than food? Please share!

Parlez-vous français?

In high school I took French for my foreign language, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I have also had the opportunity to dabble in Spanish, German, and a few phrases from several other languages. I enjoy learning new things, and I relish diving into someone else's world to learn their stories. All of these things combined, I assumed I would be able to learn the basics of Khmer quite easily, and then jump into the more difficult aspects without too much frustration. Well, that has not been the case...

As we prepared to move to Cambodia, many commented on how nervous they would be to learn an Asian language, as they are noted to be more challenging to an American tongue. Although I believe these comments were made with the intention of empathizing or complimenting me in my choice, I'll admit they only unnerved me. The thought that everyone would be asking, later, if I had indeed mastered this foreign language was not helpful for my psyche. Of course I played it cool, acting as if I wasn't nervous in the least.

At first, as I had thought, the simple greetings and everyday words and phrases were quite easy to learn, but the ease of learning a new language quickly faded. The culture here is not as patient and understanding as the American culture when it comes to incorrect pronunciation. For example, let's say that I interact with a lady in the States, and upon parting she says, "sank you!"  I would not feel the need to correct her by showing her how to properly pronounce the "th" phoneme in the word thank. Rather, I would smile and tell her she was welcome, grateful she was making an attempt to speak my native language while in my native country. Correct pronunciation is more important to the Khmer people. Part of this is due to the cultural idea of saving face, or in other words, not being wrong. We have been told by our Khmer teacher that parents don't praise their children, but instead focus their efforts on correcting children when they have done something wrong. Apparently, this carries over into how they deal with foreigners. There are a few who have been patient with me and even appreciated my struggles to speak their native tongue in their native country. However, most of the time, I have been met with laughter, confused looks, and impatience as they speak for me instead of letting me practice. For those who know me, you know that in general I am not an aggressive personality, intense at times, yes, but not aggressive. If anything, I tend to shrink during confrontation or correction from strangers and those with whom I'm less acquainted. I can definitely hold my own when it comes to my personal convictions, but when it's unimportant things (aka anything that's not found in God's word), I can be somewhat of a wimp. :o}

Another reason they feel the need to correct, I believe, is due to their limited exposure to other cultures. In America, at least the area where I am from, we are surrounded by cultures and ethnicities of every kind. I have never expected a foreigner to learn English, but have always appreciated any efforts made. With that said, I would never expect that an English-speaking American should be required to learn another language for the sake of those moving into their country. I carried this view with me to Cambodia, and even though I have no intentions of living here long-term, I still want to do my best to show the people I care enough for them to make an effort to learn their language and customs. Since Paul saw fit to become everything to every man, I don't feel that I can do any less. So, I strive to learn this language, despite the lack of support. Their correction and impatience have taken their toll though, as I now become very nervous anytime I attempt to converse in Khmer. That, along with knowing I only have 9 months left in this country doesn't provide me with much encouragement to tackle the language, but I am doing my best to increase my Khmer skills and knowledge.

I love Mr. Sokcheat. In Khmer he reminds me that:

You is kind.

You is smart.

You is important.

One funny thing about being here, is how my languages get crossed sometimes. With so many Khmer locals, and a plethora of transient foreigners from all around the world, I find myself saying phrases such as the following:

• "adios amigo" - I've said this to several people, Khmer and foreign, but none of them speak Spanish
• "pardon(with French accent) bong(Khmer word for friend/brother)"
• "parlez-vous Khmer?"
• "holã lok srey(female shop owner)"
• "ahkun(thanks in Khmer) monsieur"
• "bonjorno mademoiselle"
• "I tov(go) to the psah(market)"

The list could continue, but I think you get the point. With several languages bouncing around in my head, and being fluent in only one of them, things get a little mixed up at times. It can be annoying, but usually I'm able to laugh at myself.

After returning from our summer trip to the States, I knew it would be a challenge to get back into the swing of things, but it has felt like an uphill battle. To begin with, 5 weeks away with no exposure or Khmer practice hurt me. To add to that, upon our return, we discovered that our Khmer tutor had been blessed with a steady position at the American Embassy. I am so thankful for this opportunity for him. For us, however, it has meant that he has been available for only 2 lessons in 6 weeks. Originally, with Bradley's school schedule, we only take 2 lessons a week, instead of the recommended 3-a-week. Since Jonathan and Marissa began their lessons more than a month before us, our American companions were finished with both of their workbooks before we had completed 3/4 of our first book. With a stronger grasp of the language, Missy has even begun speaking for me. She does an excellent job communicating with our Khmer sisters and friends, while I'm still relying on my smile and greetings in forming connections. This has left me feeling less than adequate, although I'm grateful it's not the other way around, seeing as the Edwards plan to be here longer than us.

Bradley has been my encourager and prayer has been my comfort. The likelihood I will ever master the Khmer language is slim, and because of this, I am even more thankful for the blessing of knowing that my Savior can tear down any and every barrier. Who knows? Maybe my lacking in this talent will allow the Khmer believers to learn to rely on each other more than on me; or maybe it makes no difference at all. Whatever the case, I will do my best to reach out to whoever will allow me to do so, in whatever way I am able. Again, I find comfort in Paul's words as he said that love is greater than speaking in tongues. I could master Khmer and every other language in the world, but if love is not my motivation in everything I do, then it is in vain.

I love to hear from my friends and family! I have some questions below, and will look forward to reading your answers. Until then, au revoir mis amigos! ;o)

• What is your favorite language, aside from your native tongue?
• Have you ever mixed languages unintentionally?
• Have you ever dreamed in a foreign language?
• Do you recall a specific instance where you felt inadequate to the point you were discouraged?

Before & After: The Bathroom (boentup duk)

Everyone loves before and after photos. There is something about change that speaks to us all. For Bradley and I, we love taking something ugly, dirty, and undesirable, and then transforming it into a beautiful, new creation. The thought of bringing life into something that has been discarded or unloved is one of our joys. We both have the eye, in different ways, to find the potential in sorted pieces and places. As our Creator decided that His creation was very good, I take that to heart. If the Almighty God was pleased with beauty, order, and peace, then I want to do my best to mimic that in my daily life. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which accounts for the many different styles in decor, fashion, etc. Well, in our home dirty becomes clean; old becomes new; and unwanted becomes desirable.

When we first moved to Cambodia, even though our world view had been broadened in that moment, our world seemed so small. We had no idea where to find things we needed, aside from driving around and hunting. There are no Wal-Marts or Targets, where one has the convenience of groceries, home furnishings, and daily life necessities. Aside from this, our budget had decreased significantly from what it was in the states. So, as the manager of my home, I bore the task of both finding locations that supplied our needs, as well as figuring out how to afford it all. We quickly decided that making our furniture, for the most part, was going to be our best bet. Thankfully Bradley is quite handy; desires the highest craftsmanship possible; and is always willing to learn or hone a skill.

We began with our bathroom, as we knew it would be the most needed and most necessary room in the house. In Khmer the word for bathroom is "boentup duk," pronounced, "bwon-t(h)oop d(th)ook." I sometimes forget what we started with, but regardless, I am very pleased with what we have now.

IN THE BEGINNING...

A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...

Originally, Bradley installed a beautiful, slatted

wood floor, but the climate here is too humid to

sustain wood flooring that gets wet every day.

We quickly decided that the door and sink had to go. As you can see in the photo above, Bradley would have had a very cramped shower each night, and at the end of a long, hot day, the last thing you want to do is continuously hit your hips on a porcelain sink - ouch! So, we removed the door, and replaced it with a curtain. I chose a drapery curtain instead of a shower curtain since the hard water here has a habit of scumming and collecting minerals on surfaces quickly. I also wanted the option of washing the curtain whenever needed, and I only have access to front load washers, which are not the best for washing vinyl curtains. The sink was thrown out, and we bought a new one that now lives on the vanity, outside the bathroom - photos of that to come in a later post.

BEFORE

Faded peach walls; everything crammed into

the tiny room; a plastic door; and lots of scum.

I was not crazy about the towel rack living

inside the shower room... sounded like

a mildew haven. No thanks!

AFTER

Aqua mint walls; bright, beautiful shower

curtain; and towel rack within arms' reach.

No need to shift and dodge the sink now.

A new, larger shower head, and my favorite

addition: A HOT WATER HEATER!

BEFORE

Happy shower scum... thanks to baking soda

 and vinegar, that's about to change.

AFTER

*happy sigh* You can see the reflection in the

tile. The lower faucet is nice for foot rinsing.

I also use it to do laundry, but not too often,

since Marissa is generous enough to share

her washer with me when we're over there!

I'm just gonna say it, "gonna miss the bidet."

BEFORE

Top glass square was busted; orange vents were

open, ready to accept any tiny visitors... nu-uh!

AFTER

Bradley replaced the cube window; and then

framed metal mesh in wood to cover the vents.

I know, he is brilliant.

This is probably my favorite thing he crafted

for the room, as it marries form and function

masterfully. The ugly tube is our A/C tube -

with concrete walls, it's the best we can do.

I love the crate-shelf Bradley built for our

toilet paper and mom's homemade soap.

BEFORE

No storage, aside from the sink shelf, which was

removed with the sink. Everything would have to

sit on the back of the toilet or on the floor... OR...

AFTER

A beautiful wood shelf to hold all of my shower

tools, and now the toilet paper is safe from water.

This shelf also serves the purpose of hiding

the pipes and hole for the sink, which is now

on the other side of the wall.

Oh that beard!

Bradley crafted this shelf to serve his purposes.

A cheap paint brush serves as his lather brush. 

He carved a niche to hold the tin soap-cup.

Bradley and I both struggle with being perfectionists, but in different ways. If Bradley cannot do it perfectly, he'd rather not do it; whereas I will do something, and then hate myself for not hitting the mark. However, Cambodia has taught us to work with imperfections, instead of against them. There are some things you can make perfect, and so we strive for that. Then, there are some things that become perfect because you accept the flaws as beauty and character instead of blemishes. As we press on in our goal to perfect our spirits, we are growing better at accepting the beauty and character of our physical surroundings. Although I hope my Spiritual before and after reveal a drastic change in the end, I am content with the before and afters found in our home. I am thankful for the upgrades, the flaws, the beauty, and the character that makes it ours. In this, I cannot help but realize how thankful I am, that despite my flaws, my heavenly Father and Savior both saw the beauty and potential in me. Here's to before and afters, cheers!

Home again, home again, jiggity jig...

I'm home again, home again, jiggity jig;
The aroma of rotting trash and echo of slaughtered pig.
Humidity that clings to your every inch of skin,
And monks chanting the same blessings over and over again.

I'm home again, home again, jiggity jug;
The smiles and laughter of children at my heartstrings do tug
Locals call "Hal-lo," eager for our attention;
And yet we strive for trust from those who eye us with suspicion.

I'm home again, home again jiggity jag;
Me, from my safe-haven-home, my husband sometimes must drag
Into unstable traffic we somehow survive,
Thanking our heavenly Father, when at our destination, we arrive.

I'm home again, home again jiggity jeg;
Relishing in delights as simple as the banana and egg
As well as exotic fruits that drip with juices so sweet
Recognizing the blessing it is to have something to eat.

I'm home again, home again jiggity jog;
So I return to work, daily chores, and writing on my blog
Grateful for the time I had with family and friends,
As I patiently await the time to hug your necks again.


If during our visit to the states I was able to hug you, visit with you, or simply see your smile, thank you. You encourage me and strengthen me with every little bit. Although I am happy at the thought that I will return home in a year to stay, I am anxiously excited to see what this final year in Cambodia holds for us and the Lord's Kingdom. As I posted in my very first entry on this blog, What's in a name?, I hope my thoughts will inspire you to raise your glass to life. Every day is a blessing, and blessings should be celebrated. So, again, here's to you, me, and all of God's creation. Cheers!

Dear Grandma,

Last month I wrote a post on the unpleasantries of receiving bad news while serving in a foreign field. Thankfully, our prayers were answered in our favor with Millie, but last week I received a FB message that my Grandma had passed away. When I first read the message from my sister, I was in shock. I knew she would never joke about our grandmother dying, but I still could not wrap my head around her being gone. I contacted my dad by email, and he confirmed that Grandma had indeed taken her last breath. She had been in poor health for several months, but regardless of circumstances, I believe it is still a shock to one's system to confront death.

A little over 2 years ago, my dad invited me to join him on a trip to see our family in Pennsylvania. As I have not had much time with that side of my family, I jumped at the opportunity, and am, in this moment, extremely grateful for the memories I have tucked away in my heart from that visit.

At the time, my grandmother had been moved into an assisted living center, as her health had been declining since my grandfather's death a few years prior. Grandma and Grandpap had been true friends, and the loss had hit her hard, as would be expected. So, I was anxious to hopefully bring some cheer to her little, shared room. What I had not anticipated, was her not recognizing me. She thought I was my step-mom, and although I was in no way offended, I was disappointed she mistook me for someone else. Throughout the duration of my stay Grandma fluctuated between being her old self and being unaware of her surroundings. At another point in time, Grandma became angry with a gentleman at her home when he inquired if I was her granddaughter. She very firmly corrected him that I was her granddaughter-in-law. Once again not offended, it still stung when Grandma did not know me. In those moments, I felt a tiny fraction of the pain so many family members must suffer. with loved ones who have memory loss. I tried to focus on the positive time with family, and cherished the instances when Grandma was 'herself.' Excuse me while I have a walk down memory lane...

My grandparents' home and farm.

We all tried to befriend this new calf, but my

cousin, Haden, the animal whisperer, won.

Spring was in the air, which meant a short ride for

me, as this horse was ready to be free to frolic.

Enjoying fondue night with Grandma at Uncle Harry and Aunt Joyce's.

I love the history found in this part of the country. They have done

a great job of blending the new buildings with the historic ones.

During this visit, my grandmother was at my side.

My next visit will be to honor them both.

One of my favorite memories of Grandma is when she would conveniently be unaware of who was winning the card game 3 to 13, unless it was her. I always knew she thought she was doing well when she would sit fairly still, trying to hide her giddy confidence. Then she would lay down, and act all "oh, am I the first one to lay down? Oh, I had no idea I was doing so well." Okay, maybe she didn't use those exact words, but you knew that's what she wanted to say. *wink*wink*

When I think of Grandma, I conjure up memories of homemade strawberry jam; of cottage cheese and applesauce served with every meal, regardless; of creaky wooden stairs in a cozy yet slightly drafty house; of black and white photos she shared as she told me about her history, which is my history too; of Grandpap in his chair, smiling at her comment, even though he is pretending he didn't hear; of a loyal and dedicated woman who supported and loved her hard-working man until the end of their lives. I am thankful for their example and their love. As I did not have the blessing of meeting them until I was 17, I do not have the history with Grandma and Grandpap that I have with my other grandparents, but the loss is no less. Although realistically I know we could have never made up for 17 years of childhood-grandparent memories, in their death, I feel as though I have lost the opportunity permanently. As I recall the first time I met my dad's family, they were huddled in an empty parking lot off the highway, almost as anxious to meet me as I was to meet them. The family I had always known I'd had, but had never met was excited to embrace me. I understand that Grandpap was never much of an emotional man, but I still remember him grabbing me and pulling me in for a tight hug. I will hold onto that hug forever. Grandma was beside herself, trying to decide who I most favored in appearance and mannerisms. She delivered several hugs and arm pats, as if she was trying to make sure I was real, and I felt the same way. As much as I would have liked to have had my entire life with Grandma and Grandpap, I cannot help but thank God for the time I did have with them. My life is better because I had the honor of not only knowing these 2, but of being their granddaughter. Grandma, as we say goodbye to you in this life, rest assured you will remain in my heart forever.

Lovingly yours,
Brandi Lee