A Christmas gift...

Christmas parties and pinjatas. Present shopping with excited little-uns. Nightly carols by candlelight. Cards and parcels arriving via post. A girls’ card making night while the boys baked. An entire Finnish baking day complete with Santa hats. Rolling and giving rum-balls to neighbours. Hosting new team members. Visiting the hospital on Christmas Day with an asthmatic Mr (not-so) Happy. A timely text from Mum. Stuffing myself at a majorly over-catered Christmas dinner.

It was definitely a full Christmas. But what I will remember most this year is this…

… a gift I found in my pigeon hole at the team office. Lovingly wrapped (and stapled) by one of the office workers to whom I am always careful to say Hi. She lost her husband a couple of years ago to cancer, leaving her with two children of similar ages to mine. We often laugh together and sometimes cry together, sharing our stories.

One day I’ll share her story with you. Today I’ll just say “Thanks”.

Missionary Man

Some people have an incredible ability to enter a culture and make themselves a part of it. My elder brother is one of them.

He arrived last Sunday night and immediately came with me to two Weddings. He ate everything, took a swill of beer with every call of “cheers”, played with the local kids waiting for the empty cans, danced with the moto drivers and learnt to say “joom re-up sua” in two seconds flat. The following morning he was off, riding around Phnom Penh on our pushbike with a map and a note written in Khmer “please call this number…” in case he got lost (he never did). Later in the week, I found him shirtless down at the corner playing volleyball with the “boys”. He even helped us host a party for the Khmer physios on our rooftop.

Nothing overwhelmed him. Nothing shocked him (except that we buy meat from the local market). Nothing got him so angry that he wanted to tear his hair out. He didn’t once gripe about cold showers, rice for dinner (again) or pushy market sellers. He smiled, nodded and waved his way around Cambodia, charming all (even picking up a fourth placing in a mountain bike race held over the weekend).

Mark, you’re a legend. Thanks so much for coming to visit your little sis. Sure you’re not feeling the call??

AOK

Sometimes living in a developing country I wonder about the impact on our children. The things they see every day. The special people they don’t get to see so often. The opportunities they miss out on. Their exposure to various health and safety risks. Living between two worlds in their own “third culture”. An over-abundance of hellos and goodbyes. Their stressed or overtired parents...

Then the other week the Senior Pastor from our home church visited us. As he was leaving he cornered our eldest, 7 year old Velociraptor, and told him how proud he was of him and his siblings and how every day there are people praying for us all. Velociraptor looked at the man like he was a little nuts and replied, “But its fun!”

From this, I gather it is all going ok.

Chest hair and mobile phones

We’ve all heard of stories of wives visiting their husband’s workplace unannounced only to receive a far greater surprise themselves… well, here’s mine.

On Friday, Steve had forgotten his mobile phone, leaving it recharging from the previous night. As I was heading out anyway on a number of errands, I decided to drop it in to him.

I knew that for the current two weeks he was “assisting” the theoretical training component of the Physiotherapy Upgrade Training Program. I didn’t know exactly what this meant beyond helping translate when the Singaporean lecturer and the Khmer translator got a little stuck.

Also, I had helped collate the student’s notes so knew the topic “Cardio pulmonary and Respiratory Physiotherapy”. I had even read some of this with interest as I had just recently been to hospital with our 20 month old Mr Happy who had difficulty breathing during a bout of bronchitis.

But on the way there, I realised that I had no idea where the actual course was being held on the medical training campus. Undaunted, Mr Happy and I walked around asking a number of people and were finally pointed in the right direction.

Climbing up two flights of stairs with Mr Happy on my hip, we finally arrived and I peeked in the door marked “Physiotherapy Training Room”. I think if I had just peeked I could have returned home to wonder, but with the extra weight of my “Happy” load momentum took over and I stepped inside.

The room seemed to be dark, but I don’t know if that was just because my attention was immediately drawn to the muscular white chest that I thought was only well-known to me. I could hear the lecturers’ voice booming but I couldn’t see him. He and my shirtless husband were surrounded by a sea of students with outstretched arms waving mobile phones capturing the lesson on video for future reference.

Shocked and mildly amused, I decided to pass the phone to our friend who is an Australian physiotherapist here to assist Steve with the clinical training to follow this two week course. She was on the outskirts and I hoped to remain anonymous. It was not to be so as nippled Steve spotted me and called out “Hi”. Twenty heads turned to follow his greeting.

I hastily passed the phone to our friend as Mr Happy entertained the crowds. I apologised to the lecturer, questioned Steve with my eyes, and split.

Next time, the phone will remain at home recharging.

My Brother and I

Today I had a curious conversation with the neighbour with the bung hand. While Steve treated her (I don’t think she’s been doing her exercises), she told me that Steve and I look like brother and sister.

I laughed. Steve is tall and dark. I am small and blonde(ish). Maybe to her, all foreigners look alike. I’ve certainly had that problem with the Khmer.

She explained that we are both s-daoung (slim), sa-art (beautiful… it’s our pointy noses that hold particular beauty) and sopheap (gentle).

I shook my head in wonder at this last word. Surely, she has heard us yell at the kids in the morning school rush (from time to time). We shared a wall for a year and a half after all! Maybe she has something wrong with her ears as well.

Or maybe (just maybe) she sees Jesus. We have certainly been praying for that … me and my brother.

Animal adventures

In an effort to escape the traffic and crowds of the recent water festival, we travelled to Kampot (a sleepy fishing village) for four nights. Our guesthouse sat along the river so that we too could enjoy the “season” with various boating trips.

But if I was to choose a theme for the holiday it would be “animal adventure”. In addition to a trip to the local zoo, we had a large number of unplanned events.

From early morning spiderlings hatching on my pillow to nightly rat antics under our bed, we had the whole day covered. We dug for pippies in a sandbank and watched water buffaloes swim across the river. We visited “Rabbit Island” where a cow followed us as we attempted to walk around the island. Dogs joined us for mealtimes while we ate more seafood that we have eaten in the past year … and fed the local mosquitoes.

However, the highlight would have to be when Princess decided to play with the zoo’s leopard. Thinking he looked like an overgrown version of our own kitty, she waved her hat at its huge outreached paws and threw it at him in fright when he responded – enjoying the new toy. Steve bravely fished the chewed hat back while we all howled with laughter. At first embarrassed, now Princess tells us with her infatiguable optimism that her hat has been kissed by a leopard.

It is she who is teaching me to look at such holidays as adventures. Thank you, Princess.

Banana leaves and incense sticks

Sometimes I forget the impact that Steve’s physio work has on people’s lives. All I see after a day of training physios of varying skill levels, working with people in pain using a second language is the impact on him – the tiredness, the stress and yes, even the occasional irritability.

But the other day I got to see first hand the work.

One of our older neighbours came by to look at the kids while we were leaving our front gate. After a little small talk, Steve asked her about the box made of banana leaves with burnt out incense sticks we had previously seen outside her gate on the rubbish pile. She was puzzled by the question but after some encouragement she explained that a kru khmai (a Khmer healer / witchdoctor) had instructed her to burn the incense to ward off trouble. She seemed genuinely surprised that we didn’t do these kinds of things and murmured to herself when we explained that we trust Jesus instead.

While I sought to keep the kids off the road, Steve pressed a little further. But was there some specific trouble? Yes. She had broken her forearm two months ago during a fall. The kru khmai put some herbs on it and wrapped it up with a bandage, instructing her that she needs to appease the spirits that are causing her such trouble… hence the banana leaf boat.

Steve gently asked if he could have a look. Her forearm was still slightly swollen and her hand was now stiff with little movement. Steve gave her exercises to help reduce the stiffness and regain mobility, patiently showing her again and again so that she would remember them when she returned home. He warned her that at 63, she wasn’t going to heal quickly but if she was diligent she should see some improvement.

Before parting ways, Steve said he’d like to see how she was going in one week. She and I chuckled together that he will want to know that she was actually doing the exercises so she’d better do them. Then she returned home and we went off on our family outing – the kids glad to finally get moving.

As we walked, Steve ranted and raved about the incompetence of, and the useless scaremongering by, the kru khmai that has most likely left this woman crippled. While I silently listened and prayed for the woman’s healing, I was glad for the opportunity to once again see Steve in action and be reminded of the impact he is making in the lives of people everyday.

I love you, babe.

Generosity in tough times

I’ve noticed a recurring theme in the recent newsletters from “friends on the field”. Many are asking for prayer that their support money will still continue to come in despite the current world financial crisis. This is particularly difficult for overseas workers as the Australia dollar nosedives and buys a lot less.

We too are reliant on the generosity of others to live and work here. However, according to our support reports of the last six months I can only see one supporter who has stopped giving (and I suspect it is because he’s been a bit distracted of late). Instead, I have witnessed some incredible generosity from individuals, groups and churches.

The financial crisis can actually remind us of the words of Jesus recorded in Matt 5:19. “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal”. In that, it makes us all the more determined to give more knowing that the money given away will go to something truly lasting.

Thank you to the faithful. Without you, we wouldn’t be here.

It’s 2.27am and I can’t sleep.

I am disturbed and after nearly four and a half years here I thought I would be difficult to disturb by now.

A friend from my home church in Australia is currently here investigating opportunities to develop a vocational training centre for victims of trafficking. Today she and her husband were telling us of one lady they met.

A Vietnamese woman who fled to Canada during the Vietnam War has come to Cambodia to join her sister who fled here with many others. She is now working to establish schools, churches and opportunities for these illegal immigrants despised by the local Khmer people.

Without papers that would enable them to either return to Vietnam or work here in Cambodia, 100% of the young girls in one community are being trafficked into prostitution. 100%.

Prevention is the key. But how? At 12, these girls are young – too young to be working. Options and ideas are rolling around in my head, making sleep difficult. Maybe the key is to work with the parents…

In writing this blog, I was reminded of the verse that says our God does not sleep nor slumber. I was intending to end on some witty comment like “Now I know why”. However, I went searching and found it in Psalm 121. I think the entire song is worth sharing.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills –
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip –
He who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you –
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm –
He will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forever more.”

As always, the key is Jesus. The key is for people to come to a saving faith in this God who never sleeps to watch over us. The key is to walk with Him, discovering His faithfulness through the trials of life and to discover His purpose for our lives.

This life purpose is never to be the receptacle of another person’s lust so that the family can afford to eat, but it might include leaving behind our insatiable desires for family closeness, familiar food and financial security to share with others about the love of our insomniac God.

Anyone??

Jump to it...

Today was the first time in a LONG time I have prayed in Khmer. It was over lunch and I was encouraged to give thanks.

It was a shaky start but I soon loosened up… perhaps a little too much. After I had asked God to bless the cook for making such a scrummy meal, I lost concentration and slipped in an automatic “Lord”.

I held my breath, giggled and then hastily explained that it was English … I didn’t want God to think I had just told Him to jump.

Prove it.

Last week I began formal language learning again after almost a total break of two years. The hormones of pregnancy and breastfeeding had rendered my brain useless as a memory storage device (designed that way to ensure mothers forget anything other than the good and thereby agree have more than just one child) and an emotion regulator (surely a design flaw as a result of the fall). But I digress.

There were two surprises for me after my first week of 3 x 1½ hour lessons. First was the speed in which I picked up long forgotten words which did wonders for my confidence. The second was a little more disturbing.

My new language teacher was very talkative (I’m not sure if I bring that out in people or if teachers just like to talk). He told me much about himself, his faith, his English school on the side, and his plans to develop another business in order to help other people and share his faith with them.

Two years prior, I would have fallen off the chair with excitement and rushed to blog about it (if I had a blog back then). Last week, I listened politely with smiles of encouragement but my heart was cynical (or perhaps “optimistic with real truth flavour” for the Amazing Race fans). I was shocked and saddened by my response.

Sadly, the faith and finances of foreigners has led to a number of pretend conversions here in Cambodia. Our jobs always pay better (ie fairer) and workers are keen to feed their family by making their employers happy. How could I know whether my new language teacher is any different?

The answer didn’t hit me like a bolt of lightning but it certainly fried up my despair… by the Fruit.

I will continue to watch my teacher. I will also encourage him in his efforts by studying Marketing terms during my lesson to teach him along the way. I may also put him in contact with another person who could help him expand his idea. But I won’t assume his faith is real… I want him to prove it.

And if I’ve learnt anything from my time here, it is that he (like everyone else here) is watching my life also. And they should. Because talk is cheap.

Bang Bang

In his grade three class at school, our 7 year old Velociraptor is playing mental maths games called Bang Bang. As a super-competitive child, we are delighted that he is not just winning all the time but also learning to lose with perspective and grace.

Unfortunately, this week Cambodian and Thai soldiers have been playing their own game of Bang Bang at the disputed land around the Preah Vithear temples currently on Cambodian soil. It threw the border towns into panic and many people have fled the area.

The official reports from this side of the border tell us that only 3 Khmer soldiers were killed and 7 “Siam” soldiers were injured before a ceasefire was called. Prior to the fighting the leaders of both countries were talking “big”, but now blame the other side for the outbreak of fighting.

I am reminded of the Khmer proverb “When the elephants fight, the ants die”. I just wish that the elephants of the world could recognise the impact their antics have on the ants and gain some perspective and grace of their own.

Not-quite "90 minutes in heaven"

It was dinner time and I had already finished, being in the habit of rushing my meal as most young Mums. While the rest of the tribe continued to eat, I could hear the call of muted music travelling into our front room. One of the visiting Australians was playing worship songs on their hosts' electric piano.

On a whim, I asked if Steve could watch the kids while I ducked next door in the hope of joining in. Knowing me well, he gave me a time limit... "Just be back in an hour".

For the next hour, I was in heaven. Four voices, one piano and a large echoing room are a far cry from the multitudes that will one day join together in song before the throne of God. But for me, for now, it was bliss.

Tripping with Mr Happy

Over the last two weeks, Mr Happy and I have been on a whirl-wind tour of our hometown, Brisbane.

While Mr Happy is obsessed with "airfranes", he is not a great passenger and slept fitfully throughout the overnight flight. However, the train in Kuala Lumpur International Airport was much more fun and we rode it many times throughout our 5 hour stopover.

When we finally arrived in Brisbane we hit the ground running. My Mum met us and we were whisked off to our first of many food-intense appointments with family. Extra fuel was necessary because sleep was rare as I tried to stuff every moment with those I love most.

The reason for our trip was my Dad's wedding which was a mixture of happiness for his new-found love and profound sadness that my parents could not find that in their own 37 year marriage.

While I was glad for the opportunity to see everyone, I was very pleased to return home to my own family. They too were very pleased to see me with suitcases packed full with gifts, oats, rice crackers and "pulla" (a favourite Finnish bun lovingly made the day I left).

Surprisingly, settling back here hasn't been difficult as I was reminded once again that my heart is firmly here in Cambodia.

Notification of name change

Our youngest boy is now one and a half years old. "Lion Cub" is no longer crawling and his personality is starting to shine. So, I have decided to change his blog name to "Mr Happy".

I realise that when he hits the "terrible twos" this name will mock me, but he certainly deserves it at the moment.

The other day I attended a meeting at school with Mr Happy who played by himself in the corner, singing "Hap-py, Hap-py, Hap-py, Hap-py".

As his Mum, I'd love to take credit for his pleasant nature, but it is just who he is. And I'm not complaining!

When my people pray...

Prey Veng province has been experiencing drought and the people are starting to suffer. It seems that an Angkor-Wat like temple is being built there and the faithful are praying against rain to speed construction and appease the local grandfather-gods.

Then, a few weeks ago 36 leaders from 8 churches in the surrounding area met and prayed. They called upon God and repented on behalf of their country. The following week it rained constantly.

My friend and her husband felt lead by God to organise the meeting. She tells me that despite being here for 17 years "I don't think this would have happened even two or three years ago". Only now were they and the local churches ready to see such a miracle.

The crux of it was repenting of sin - recognising it and asking God to ruthlessly eliminate it. My friend shared that for the last two to three years God had been targetting sin in her own life until she, like the Israelites after 40 years in the desert, is totally "sick" of her sin.

My friend is now hoping to begin teaching the church leaders James 5:16. "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." Perhaps more miracles will follow.

It makes me think about how ofter we whitewash our sin calling them "personality", "foibles", or "they way we were raised" and then wonder why our prayers lack power.

Questions for short-termers (and long termers too)

Over the school holidays one of the Khmer teacher aides from our children’s school did some translating for a short term team from Australia. He’s a great young Christian man and the team really enjoyed their time with him. Before they left, they invited him to go to Australia to study, indicating that they could sponsor him. He is now working through the mountain of paperwork required and telling all his mates of this amazing opportunity.

You might be surprised to hear that this story makes me cringe. What possibly could be wrong with such extravagant generosity? Perhaps, nothing!

An Aussie friend of mine met a Khmer guy studying at a Bible College in Sydney. They are now married and serving here in Cambodia – he is a lecturer at the Bible College. To me, they are an example of what great things can happen.

But I am concerned that taking young Khmer Christians, educating them in our secular Universities and introducing them to our gods of materialism and individualism may ultimately be unhelpful for the country that these short-termers were seeking to serve.

The Chalmers Center for Economic and Community Development wrote an article entitled “Doing Short-Term Missions without Doing Long-Term Harm” which my friend Gretchen kindly summarises (thanks Gretchen!). She highlights, “Most STM (short term mission) trips violate basic principles of effective poverty-alleviation and have the potential to do considerable harm both to low-income people and to ourselves”.

Further, each team needs to ask themselves some key questions.

“Are the people of this community capable of helping themselves?” If yes, then relief (ie handouts) is not the right intervention as it will only exacerbate issues of dependence and low self-esteem. Leave the work to those doing development.

“What are we doing to the testimony of the local church that already exists in this community?” Local churches cannot compete with glossy programs so STM teams should seek to be less on the front stage and instead look for ways to support the local church and its ministry.

Rather than focusing on the needs of the community, ask “What are the gifts and abilities that God has placed in low income communities?” Then seek to be learners and listeners rather than inflating our own superiority by giving and serving.

I wonder if the abovementioned team would have been so quick with their offer if they had considered these questions and the potential impact of this adventure on the young man, his family, fellow workers, local church and community.

A testimony worth sharing...

Each week at our local Khmer Church, people give testimonies of God working in their lives – usually of healing and protection (two key pillars of faith here).

Last Sunday, a young man in his early 30s told of how two to three weeks ago he had been riding his motorbike during a terrible thunderstorm. He was actually teaching Khmer to a foreigner and was loathe to miss a lesson despite the awful weather.

As he neared the huge antennae at Toul Kork (near our first two houses here), lightning struck. He described to us the pain that seemed to pass from his mobile phone and out through his arms. In “shock”, he rode faster to outpace the danger. Later, he marvelled that he wasn’t killed by either event and praised God.

He was in great pain for a number of days, but soon healed which was his second praise point.

But, it was his final praise point that was the most surprising and had the congregation in stitches. Over many months, this man had been taking various courses of medicine prescribed to rid him of some very hardy parasites. The lightning strike finally did the job.

New Skills

When coming to Cambodia, I always knew that I would need to learn language and culture. But I never counted on the various new skills or re-training I would encounter.

Tying up mosquito nets. Crossing roads. Eating meals without water. Smiling instead of getting angry. Sitting lady-like, even on a motorbike. Yet, squatting most un-lady-likely if there is no seat on-hand.

I am getting better at all these. But somehow I still have not mastered the skill of flushing the toilet with a scoop.

Unlike most skills, I have not had the chance to observe the techniques used by others but I can certainly hear the “one flush and it’s gone” routine. Only after three, four… up to seven scoops can I re-enter the world, satisfied that no-one will be surprised by any gifts left behind.

It’s certainly not through lack of effort or creativity. I have swished and swashed (clockwise and anti-clockwise). I have plunged and bucketed. I’ve used my left and right hand (forehand and backhand). I’ve tried every technique imaginable to simulate the flush of modern cisterns, with no success.

As I write this, my husband tells me that with the squat toilet I need to flush like throwing a bowling ball in the alley. “Just don’t hit the front pin head on”.

Hmm. With renewed hope, I’m off to practice...

He who refreshes others will himself be refreshed - Prv 11:25

We have been in our new home nearly two weeks and we have already had the opportunity to host visitors for a total of five nights. After years of feeling quite isolated as an at-home Mum in a foreign culture, I’m loving it!

Our first visitors have been friends who have been living in Cambodia for YEARS, working out in the provinces. They are using their medical and agricultural skills to assist their very needy area through a TB clinic and fish-farming project.

Yet, they have also been active in developing and supporting the local church, running discipleship groups and have most recently established a class for developing leadership / life skills within the next generation.

As I talk with them I am mostly amazed by their ongoing softness towards to the suffering of people, their distress about injustice, and their willingness to give give give.

These very inspirational friends have just started sending their eldest son to Hope International School for his high school education. As they are such a close-knit family, they are planning to visit Phnom Penh every second weekend.

Being so close to school, our extra self-contained level upstairs is perfect for them and they have been able to try it out a number of times over the last two weeks.

They have been incredibly thankful but as our lives connect, our children see the example of their children and we also are reminded of our friends’ example, I am thinking that it is we who should be thankful.

Moving house

Sometimes you just have to trust God that He knows what He’s doing.

Last month when I got the news that we had to move house, I was mildly devastated. I loved our old house. But on the weekend, we moved out with the help of friends and friends of friends.

Once we were all done, one friend commented, “this was the weirdest move ever”. We had moved only three doors down the road to another townhouse at the other end of our block… placing the furniture and boxes in exactly the same places except that it was in the mirror image. After a couple of days of double-takes and disorientation, we have settled in nicely.

Despite my early misgivings, the new house is no hotter than our previous place and the landlord has only been mildly patronising to me. The bathrooms are pretty gross, but a bit of Draino did wonders for clearing out the smells (but the worms continue getting in somehow).

In fact, I have found some great benefits to the new house. The extra floor on top means that our home is mildly cooler as well as providing room for guests (we already had our first visitor last night!). The kids have been making fine use of the spare block next door, climbing trees and getting very very muddy. They are loving the new freedom of a yard.

I would never have moved from my old place, and I was even willing to stay when I found out the day before the big move that the landlord had changed her mind and wanted to sell the place or rent it again.

But God had something better in store for us and I am thankful that He knew how to get me “moving”.

Home..

How hungry am I?

Five thousand hungry people followed Jesus to a remote place when all He wanted was some “me time” to process the news of His cousin’s murder. With great compassion, He put aside His own needs and healed the sick among them and fed them with a truly meaty miracle (Matt 14:13-21).

Then again in the next chapter, He is healing people on a mountainside when He tells His disciples to feed the crowds because they have been following Him for three days and have nothing to eat. They scrounge together a few loaves and fish and Jesus again feeds them all.

For once, I put myself in the shoes of the crowd. I was amazed that Jesus didn’t rebuke me for being annoying or irresponsible, for not being better prepared for the journey (or a better steward of my resources), for not going home when I'd already been healed.

He knew that it was a deep hunger that drove me to follow Him at a moment’s notice to a remote place. It was hunger for Him, for His touch and His words, that sustained me for three days, camping out with a crowd of sick people, ignoring the hunger pains, the smells and the discomfort. It was hunger for Him that caused me to linger there when I should have headed for home.

He rewarded my spiritual hunger with food that could satisfy my soul and brought healing to my body (as well as dinner!). No rebuke. Only great compassion, healing and provision.

All this He has for me if I follow Him singularly, hungrily, daily…

A small dilemma

As I've previously mentioned, Steve often receives little thank you gifts from grateful patients. These usually consist of fruit picked from home, but of late there has been a larger number of wealthier patients (friends of the Head of the Physio School).

This week, one such patient brought Steve a box of individually wrapped chocolate covered almonds. As Steve is no longer eating dairy foods (including chocolate) for environmental reasons, I discovered it sitting in our fridge, un-opened.

As a loving mother, empathic and healthy wife, environmentally conscious misso, should I...

(a) leave them in the fridge, and offer them to visitors when I would be expected to serve a snack anyway
(b) save them for the children as treats / rewards, sneaking a couple for myself from time to time
(c) join my husband, refuse to eat any myself and give them as a gift to a foreign friend who might be craving chocolate
(d) give them away to a rubbish collector along the street who could use the kilojoules
(e) eat them myself only sharing with anyone who happened to be in the kitchen when a craving hit

(For those who don't know me that well and who are wondering, I went for "e").

Such a beginner

“Until we are carried quite out of our depth, beyond all our own wisdom and resources, we are not more than beginners in the school of faith”. Hudson Taylor said that.

“Out of my depth” is definitely a phrase that I would apply to my life at the moment, particularly in parenting. I am astounded by my self-delusions that I had what it takes to raise THREE children (or even one for that matter). And if I really knew how hard it would be, I wonder if I would have stuck with my career as a humble public servant (nah!).

Maybe this is just end-of-school-holidays-exhaustion, but my own wisdom and resources are certainly depleted. (Strangely enough, I cannot recall one piece of parenting advice that I so thoughtfully gave my parents during my own childhood).

The up-side is that parenting is certainly good for my spiritual walk (which seems more like a toddle at times).

My prayer life is suddenly alive since my 7 year old told me that he had a hard time believing that God really created things by just speaking. His doubts and questions have begun as my need for God’s wisdom, grace and love grows exponentially.

Also, I cannot instruct them to obey God, if I am not doing so. And how can I teach my children about a God whom I don't know? Or love that I don't possess? My faith needs to be authentic before my children will follow.

I am not alone in this. I have recently heard of a mother who is now attending church with her young children, despite being antagonistic towards God for many years. The reason? It was the only place that she could find that would teach her children to be GOOD people (not just nice people).

Avoiding tough times is an all-consuming past-time for many of us, yet they are essential for taking our faith beyond the L-plates.

War and Peace

Some of you have expressed concerns about a possible “war” situation in Cambodia (both Khmer and Thai soldiers are stationed around an ancient temple near the Thai border). For us, we are not yet concerned due to the current context.

National elections were held yesterday.

During times of national insecurity voters tend to keep with the current Government.

Cambodia was the initial aggressor with this current situation by banning Thai tourists from entering the temple.

“Peace talks” are scheduled over the next week.

Let’s just pray that the stunt doesn’t get out of hand…

Loving my neighbour

The big move hasn't happened yet but we have found another townhouse with a roof-top (thank you Jesus!). And it is only 3 doors down from our current place.

Being so close is an advantage in many ways (eg I can still walk the kids to school) but there is one disadvantage. The landlord there has been our neighbour for over two years.. and she doesn't particularly like me.

It all probably started months back.. the day I complained to her about the workers that I'd caught stealing our mangoes over the back fence, or maybe it was the day I caught her throwing her rubbish into our back yard. Even though each time I managed to keep my voice steady and calm, it was still what us Aussies would call "a dummy spit". I also discovered that words are particularly difficult to find when angry and trying to speak in a second language. So I didn't just act like a fool (displays of anger are inappropriate here), I sounded like one too.

Now, I continue to struggle with my language when speaking with her about house repairs etc, while she patronisingly tells me she should speak to Steve as his language is much better (grr).

Wounded pride aside, I wondered how this could all happen. In Australia, I rarely ever clash with people but in Cambodia there are times when I can't help but rub people the wrong way (while often being rubbed myself).

Sadly, I realise that my problem is with my heart - I'm a player. In Australia, I have learnt over many years how to play the games of communication but in Cambodia the rules of relationship are entirely different and will take many more years to learn. For example, "sweet talkers" are treated with mistrust, while "straight talkers" are just downright offensive.

Loving my landlord or neighbour today means that I actually need to love them with a love that will cover over a multitude of cross-cultural blunders, miscommunications and offenses. And to do that, I need Jesus.

Tales of woe (and blessing)

I had lunch with a friend today, "Bong" (meaning older sister). Bong is a gentle, quiet woman, but today she was more chatty than usual and I got her life story...

Bong's Mother is a widow which meant it was always going to be difficult to get her daughter married. However, Bong's Uncle and Aunty kindly arranged a marriage with their son. Even though he was in love with someone else, the son dutifully followed his parent's wishes and married his cousin.

Soon Bong was pregnant and gave birth to a little girl. She was delighted and tried to overlook her husband's frequent absences, but it wounded her heart deeply. The mistress who soon became his second wife was not pleased with the arrangement and started to cause trouble for Bong. In fear, she pleaded with her husband to leave her alone and stay with his other wife.

According to Cambodian Law, the first child belongs to the Father so Bong's husband wanted to take his daughter away. He offered Bong a car and house in exchange, but she refused and demanded to keep the child. He relented, so Bong and her daughter have since lived in a small room with Bong's mother. With only a Grade 7 education, Bong works hard to keep their bellies full and to send her daughter to school.

Every day, Bong carries her and her daughter's pushbikes downstairs while the neighbouring women openly mock her poverty and hurl insults at her singleness. And as she rides her bike to work, she often sees her husband driving by in the car with his new family. Bong's pain is made worse by her daughter's pain and humiliation.

Five years ago, Bong started to work in the home of a Dutch family. They helped her see her own inherent value and told her the Good News of Jesus. It was life-giving water to her soul and Bong became a Christian. Her life began to change... her neighbours began to insult her even more but she now had greater strength to ignore and even forgive their insults. She would read her Bible and tried to share with her family about her new faith. She prayed and prayed, and became a member of a local church.

Finally, her Mother and her daughter were both convinced of the reality of her faith and her God through the changes in her life. They both now attend church with Bong (who is delighted at their new birth). Her daughter is now studying English and Accounting at University and is showing much wisdom in refusing some early marriage proposals.

Whenever we eat lunch together, Bong always gives thanks for the food (her Khmer prayer language skills are far better than mine). As she prays, she always asks for blessings on our family without a hint of resentment for our comparative ease or comforts. Life is still tough for Bong but she has such a faith in her Husband who provides for her, materially, spiritually and emotionally. (I have much to learn from her.)

Through Bong's story, I am reminded of Jesus' words in Luke 6.

"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.
Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man.
Rejoice in that day and leap for joy because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their fathers treated the prophets.

But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort.
Woe to you who are well-fed now, for you will go hungry.
Woe to you who laugh now for you will mourn and weep.
Woe to you when all men speak well of you, for that is how their fathers treated the false prophets."

A quote that hit home this week

‘It is much easier to be an admirer of Jesus than a follower’. Soren Kierkegaard

My child, give me your heart

Since Princess turned 5 years old last month I’ve had this throbbing thought like an infected thumb. “It’s too late. She’s 5. It’s all over.”

Child development experts advise that much of a child’s character is formed over the first 5 years. So, my aim has been to somehow train each of my children for life by their 5th birthday.

But this past year has been huge with a new baby and settling back into life in Cambodia. My focus has slipped and now she is suddenly 5 full of ideas for mischief and fun.

She climbs the back fence to pick unripe fruit, sits on a papaya to make her brother laugh, tells naughty “bottom” jokes (also for laughs), teases her brothers mercilessly and loves nothing more than to dance in the rain or make up beautiful songs. She is a regular Maria von Trapp, while I play the part of the exasperated Mother Superior!

But, only three months ago my Mother came to Cambodia for a much anticipated visit. She had made some lifestyle changes and looked more youthful, healthy and alive than she has for years. (At 60, she was even able to demonstrate how to use the jump ropes that she had bought for the children).

My Mother has inspired me to eat better and exercise more and I have been feeling all the better for it. Her example was powerful and my response gave me hope for my own daughter. If I can be influenced by my Mother's example at 34, then maybe (just maybe) it is not too late for my beautiful 5 year old Princess.

“My (child), give me your heart and let your eyes keep to my ways”. Proverbs 23:26

Now I just have to be a GOOD example...

Dear Diary

Friday was a very enjoyable day.

This doesn't mean that it was without conflict, frustration, moods and some spectacularly un-enlightened parenting moments. But it was great for a mid-school-holiday day.

Moments I want to remember include:

* all three kids sitting at the dining table doing "school work" - Velociraptor was working on sentences, Princess was learning to write numbers, Lion Cub was drawing with baby-pens. It lasted only half an hour but it was an incredibly proud moment for this "I will never homeschool" Mum.

* writing letters to family up on the rooftop while the children played "hide-and-seek" - even Lion Cub took turns counting - "ba, oo, six, eight".

* getting a day time sleep as well as a quiet moment to sort clutter in anticipation of our up-coming move

* planning a "welcome back" mess with the kids (heh, heh)

* after dinner, going out onto the street during a heavy downpour. While Steve and Lion Cub watched on, Princess danced in the street, Velociraptor drank rain water from a cup and I stood under the down pipe.

At the end of it all, Princess gushed, "That was the best night of my life!". Yes, it was a good day.

Sunday Church

While I enjoy attending Khmer church (particularly for the music and expanding my language), it has just not worked with kids. For them, the services are long and unintelligible so they quickly become fidgety and difficult. I can persevere armed with food, colouring books and a well-chosen toy but it’s just not worth it. I’d much rather the congregation focus on the message than my children’s antics.

So, I have been attending a small English-speaking church with the children while Steve continued at a Khmer church. However, being a single Mum for a morning means that I am always too busy and distracted to either connect or contribute. Without fail, I run off early to get Lion Cub to bed, sometimes even before the sermon begins.

Like many parents, my primary reasons for attending church were so that my children could “go to Sunday school”, connect with other Christian children and develop a life-long habit of church going. But I am coming to realise how ridiculous these aims are for my family.

What “Sunday School” could be better than Steve and I sharing our own faith and reliance on God in the every day, teaching them God’s values and character through loving discipline / discipling, and keeping night time routines that include bible stories, prayer and worship?

And, why do they need another opportunity to develop Christian friends when they already attend a Christian school for misso kids?

And finally, do I really want my children to be church-goers out of HABIT??

The church that I would rather my children see on a Sunday is one where they have an opportunity to develop their faith in action by reaching out to others – what some call a missional church. I have no idea what that might look like for me and my young family, but I am excited to finally be thinking outside of the box.

Democracy - third world style

National elections are being held on July 27.

Strategies for winning the election have included charging opposition members with defamation, and throwing parties where attendees receive a “gift” of 20,000 riel (ie US$5). Some opposition candidates and even voters have been physically threatened or attacked (although it has been far milder than any previous elections where there were a number of fatal “accidents”).

My personal favourite is the convoy of trucks, tuk tuks or motorbikes (depending on party affluence / influence) decorated with flags and ridden by “party faithfuls” wearing printed shirts and caps while a loud speaker blasts out rhetorical messages, slogans and even music into the streets.

Although the current Government is expected to retain power, our team leader advised us to stock up on canned goods, medicines, water and batteries. I honestly felt silly about it… until I heard of a Khmer lady who has purchased an extra 5kgs of rice and prepared 30 salted duck eggs in case of an emergency.

All this sounds entirely absurd to Australian ears, but this is just normal here… a different kind of normal.

Safe as houses

The Bible has been hammering me in my morning devotions as I continue reading through the early chapters of Matthew. Jesus taught clear as day “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal (or world market crashes devalue)” Matt 6:19 (with a little extra).

In the following chapter, Jesus pointed out that the person who heard His teaching but didn’t put it into practice was like a fool who built his house on sand only to have it flattened by the first storm that came along. Yet, to follow and obey His teaching would be like building your house on a rock that could withstand the harshest storm.

Only a fool would put their security in investments that can be lost in a blink rather than the son of God who has the power to determine eternity.

What a short-sighted FOOL I am... willing to sacrifice my soul for the hope of a comfy retirement!

My Quiet Place

There is one advantage to a baby who wakes early… I get up early too. (I am only able to say this now that he is FINALLY sleeping through the night)

In fact, early morning is a beautiful time of day, particularly up on my roof top. It has become a habit whereby I take my Bible, Baby and Brooks up onto the roof (ie my 20 step walking track through “tropical forest”) for morning quiet time and exercise. While the children play in the sand-pit, I am able to connect with God, learn from Him and take to Him all my concerns and thoughts.

This morning routine combined with a full night’s sleep has done wonders for my outlook and attitude. I love it! So does my family.

Then this week disaster struck. Our landlord wants to build another level on top of our house. This means we have to find another place to live by the end of next month.

Devastated seems a little dramatic. Maybe it would be best to say that I am going through the various stages of grief.

Finding a cool, secure, mosquito-proof, 3 bed-room townhouse with external windows (for natural light and breezes), close to school, AND with a walking track on top is not so easy to find here.

In my morning readings, I am encouraged to...

"Do not worry ... your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seeks first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well". (Matt 6:31a, 32b)

Jesus listed only food, drink and clothes - not a home. Yet, I am determined to trust that He can provide according to my needs.

I just hope He knows that I really need that walking track. Really. Really.

Increasing rental prices

On holidays I also managed to receive a hand-me-down copy of "The Australian" (a treasure indeed!) and read of the predicted 30% increase in rental prices throughout Australia over the next three years (see BIS Shrapnel report - Residential Property Prospects 2008 to 2011).

.... umph ... ahh.. (excuse me, just getting on my soap box).

Perhaps Christian landlords (me included) could first consider the economic situation of their tenants before deciding to follow the market rates. (Is it possible that Isaiah 3:14 would consider high rental market rates "plunder of the poor"?)

Or on a related note, perhaps property investors could restrain from buying up any more real estate (which would help dampen prices allowing first home buyers to get into the already ridiculously expensive market). You might think I'm crazy, but then again maybe ask Isaiah (5:8) what he thinks.

I realise that this would then leave Christian investors with the conundrum of how then to be a good steward of the resources God has given them...

If you're really stuck, I have a few ideas.. so does Isaiah (58:6-12).

A slice of heaven

I know many people from “home” pity us cross-cultural workers (I do too sometimes). But our recent holiday is surely a cause for jealousy.

No, we did not visit Disneyland or trek in the Himalayas. It was even better.

Introducing "The Juniper Tree".

Located in lush, sub-tropical Chiang Mai, the Juniper Tree is a retreat centre for Christian workers needing rest and recovery. (For a "donation", you get 3 meals a day, laundry, library, swimming pool, TV/DVD, playgrounds etc)

Apart from eating way too much, I also devoured biographies, fiction, books on mission and children’s education as well as fulfilling the daily quota of children’s stories (for the kids, not me.. really!). Ahhh… Heaven.

But the real treasure is the people you meet there. Most we won’t ever meet again until we really do get to heaven, but somehow we made friends that I hope last a lifetime.

Puhn's smile

With a dazzling smile, little seven year old Puhn looked far different from one month ago.

At that time, he was losing a lot of blood from his grotesquely swollen "nether-regions". He was about to be admitted to hospital to try to address the condition that had almost taken his life a number of times over the last couple of years. His treatment was made possible by a visiting team that were moved by his plight and raised funds from Australia.

Little Puhn had a stoic look of someone accustomed to pain. With few pain killers, his only comfort was praying to Jesus for help whenever it became unbearable. We and visitors from Australia prayed with him on the eve of his treatment - our prayers merely a drop in the bucket compared to the years of prayer from his foster Mum.

Puhn's foster Mum (who also looks after 26 other children in her continually growing family.. but that's another story) was in tears as she shared of how much she feared for his life. A trained nurse, she knew of the dangers of his previous episodes of blood loss. So last month, she left her other "children" with her husband and volunteers from their church in order to accompany Puhn to the doctors' clinic.

In Cambodia, hospital patients are cared for by family members who sleep on mats under or beside their beds (even in Intensive Care Units). They must provide food, change bandages, administer drugs and seek (beg for) blood donors as directed by the doctor.

Over this month, Puhn's foster Mum stayed with him - caring for his needs, praying for healing, comforting him through the nights of pain following his 15 operations. In the end, she and her resources were exhausted.

Although Puhn was originally operated on by a visiting European doctor who volunteered his services, his treatment was later being managed by a local doctor in a public hospital. Not known for their ethical practices, the doctor was recommending even more operations in his private clinic. Puhn's foster Mum with her nursing training suspected that further operations were no longer necessary. The doctor finally agreed to discharged him.

When they came to visit me with a gift of avocados (a rare treat here), Puhn was a different boy. His shy, fearful eyes now shone with joy and gratitude. Even after saying goodbye, he kept looking back at me like he had seen an angel. Ah, such misplaced gratitude... I wish the team could have seen the difference that their concern and action had made in his life.

Thank you, Jesus.

Report cards

Last week was the final week of school bringing with it two birthdays (ours), two birthday parties (others), a swimming carnival, a break-up party, goodbyes and ... report cards.

While we are incredibly proud of how well our two eldest are going, the following statement in one report made us laugh.

"(Princess) is someone who knows what she wants. This works well for both her and us most of the time".

I can't help wonder if I were to receive a report card from the Big Boss whether it would include a similar statement.

Thanks

When we signed up for missions, we were warned to not expect any thanks from those whom we were reaching. A mentor who has worked many years overseas can count on one hand the number of thank yous he has received.

However, our experience has been quite the opposite, particularly for Steve in his physio training clinic. Because they are only training, it is a free service. Yet it has been highly valued by the patients treated there.

Crumpled notes are often shoved in the donation box (which are then used to help with medical costs for poor patients). And weekly, we can expect a bag of fruit from a patient’s own tree (which are shared amongst the physios or brought home to us). Once, we even got a packet of Tim Tams (which was NOT shared!).

But over the last couple of weeks, we have been showered with appreciation.

One wife of a missionary invited us to a scrumptious homemade dinner of lasagna, mango and coconut cake, and chai tea. A high level Policeman has taken Steve and the physios out a number of times to a seafood restaurant (the kind with live fish swimming in tanks outside “waiting” to be chosen).

But my favourite “thank you” came from yet another man of few means who had a back operation paid by the project funds. Only days after the operation and just as he was leaving Phnom Penh to return to his home in the Provinces, this father of 10 children came to Steve’s clinic. Overjoyed with his treatment and success of the operation, the man thanked Steve again and again, calling him one of his own sons. He has invited us all to visit him and his family in the Provinces where I am sure we would be treated with hospitality beyond their means.

The challenge is communicating that they should be thanking the One who sent us and the One who inspires others to be generous in giving. Mostly, it just falls on deaf ears... but we pray that it sits in their hearts, one day to take root and grow.

Do you see what I see?

“It is the biggest blind spot of Western Christians”, he concluded. It had been an intense conversation about the corporate world, wealth creation and an ethical response between two business graduates now committed to living out our faith in an unjust world.

“But what can we do about it?” I moaned. No one wants to hear that being a good steward of God’s money does NOT mean generating wealth (aka investing wisely) to hoard (ie enjoy for our own purposes) but actually investing and spending it as God would (remembering that EVERY person is a precious to Him as we are).

He replied simply, “Talk about it. Live it.”

I’m not sure which of these is more difficult. Talk invites pride, criticism and misunderstanding (particularly on such an emotionally-charged taboo topic as money). Living it means not just going beyond the talk and letting go, but investing time to think it through, making changes and taking risks.

It’s easier to pretend I just don’t see the problem from behind my "Jesus loves me" rose-coloured (opaque) glasses.

And the cows ate...

Today is Royal Ploughing Day.

The ceremony held at the Royal Palace marks the start of the raining season ie rice planting season.

Two of the King’s cows (I wonder how many he has and if he has names for them) are hitched to a wooden plough and then plough around the ceremonial field three times. For their hard yakka, they are then offered selected foods on seven silver trays – rice, corn, beans, sesame seeds, grass, water and rice wine.

Fortune-tellers then predict the outcome of this year’s harvest according to the cows’ appetites. Cereals are good. Water means there will be plenty of rain. Herbs mean disease and the worst can be expected if they drink alcohol.

Today, they ate mostly corn… they King smiled broadly and there was much rejoicing.

Everyone is keen to hear some good news (particularly with current police warnings about dog-nappings supplementing the Khmer diet). But what about Good News?

zzzz...

insomnia (in-som-ni-a) the art of keeping the mind active and alert throughout the early hours of the morning even when sleep is desperately desired

I don’t mean to brag but I’m quite skilled in this art. In fact, it comes quite easily for me.

Although loaded with natural talent, I’m not quite a master at it yet. I am far too undisciplined to stay awake all night and so employ various techniques to enable sleep.

Forget warm milk and massage (these require too much effort and a potential exchange of services). Lying perfectly still until sleep comes is virtually impossible and pretending to play dead in a movie only sends me off wondering how I died.

No, I prefer to pretend I’m the only person on a fully loaded plane who has a perfectly comfy place to lie down while I watch the nonsensical black and white pictures playing on the inside of my eye-lids. A few (sometimes more than a few) slow deep breaths and I’m gone…

Sounds simple, but the tickets aren't cheap. About 2 hours of mind work (on anything from solving world poverty to working out how to survive motherhood) is required before I am allowed on the plane to Sleep-topia.

I don’t mind really (not much..). I’ve had some of my best ideas while staring at the plastic flouro stars on the ceiling. But don't ask me to name any as my brain is a little hazy at the moment...

Besides, it is a great time to make up whimsical, totally irrelevant blog entries.

Mirror, mirror...

Every time I write a blog entry, within days, hours and even minutes, I am shown to be a hypocrite. Since writing my blog, I have yelled at fellow motorists (Oct 07), run off to the new shopping mall during a power-cut (Apr 08) and just didn’t take a quiet time for days or weeks (Feb 08).

Slowly, I am discovering that my blog is a kind of mirror. It shows me my true self amongst all my lofty ideals. And it’s often not pretty.

It happened again last week, when I caught yet another labourer from next door’s building site helping himself to our fruit trees.

It’s not that I even like the fruit that he was hoping to snack on (nor can I ever remember its name). I had just had enough of their “pick as you please” activities, particularly from our now-bare mango trees. I had caught a couple of them but my cross words had little effect which made me even madder!

So last week, when I saw a young man jump the fence, I pounced. “What are you doing?”

“Can I pick some fruit?” I was taken aback that he actually asked.

“Um, er. Sure. Just pick me some too.” And I went to get two bags, pleased with my clever plan.

Unfortunately, the tree was almost empty so he dutifully filled my bag (eating a couple in the process) and left it on my wall while his own bag hung empty on a branch.

Realising he was a good kid after all, I raced out and told him to take the bag. He refused and jumped over the wall… in shame and without any fruit.

I was left with a bag of fruit I don’t like and a strange feeling that I had somehow yet again got it all wrong.

It’s not like I didn’t have any warning – lately I have been stuck in Amos with his prophesies against those who oppress the poor and crush the needy. (I particularly like chapter 4 verse 1 where he calls the women “cows”).

It’s just that I’m not so good at listening above my bovine demands for respect of property rights. It seems that I would rather crush the dignity of an under-paid hungry youth than share fruit that is inedible to me. (The societal mindset "it's only wrong if you get caught" meant that it was my actions that made him a thief.)

Again, my handy blog mirror also shows me that while I may be concerned for the poor in the current economic / food crisis, I’m having trouble actually living it. Forgive me, Lord.

Angels in Disguise - Khmer style

I went to jump on my pushbike the other day to run a quick errand without the kids. But it had been some weeks since I last rode it and the tyres were predictably flat. Fortunately, there is a sop gong (pump tire) place on the side of the road just around the corner.

After pumping my tyres and those of a fellow flat-tyred customer, the young man told me in broken English “Three thousand money khmai” (ie US$0.75).

I smiled. This is the guy who calls out “Hello baby” every time I walk by with Lion Cub on my back. His English is obviously limited or else he would know the double meaning of his friendly greeting.

In this case, he was charging me ten times the proper price. My fellow customer, a young man on a new motorbike, smiled too and gently corrected him. We all laughed.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the proper money and asked for change. The young man began fumbling with his earnings for the day when my fellow customer gave him an extra note and paid for me.

I was surprised at his unexpected generosity, but graciously accepted his gift with a “may God bless you”.

This is not the first time something like this has happened… Over a year ago, a prostitute chipped in 100 riel to help pay for a coconut I had stopped to buy for my thirsty Princess.

What gets me is that they would give to a perfect stranger richer than themselves. I don’t get it (like most differences between our cultures), but this one, I like.

Some sad Goodbyes

Today, I said goodbye to two friends who both make me laugh a lot… what a sad day!

The Aussie friend was just visiting for a week but it was really enjoyable to just hang and chat. The best part was being reminded that there are like-minded people in Australia.

My young Danish friend is heading home soon with her husband and one and a half children. She is a wonderfully wacky young woman who can find a reason to smile in the face of almost any circumstance. (She taught me how to say “wuss” in Danish while working out at the gym).

She tells me that she is experiencing that odd mix of “looking forward” and sadness at leaving. Her husband (a project director) commented that one of the things he was looking forward to was just having a normal job and joking around at work.

Life does get very intense here. Not only is the environment different and challenging, but cross-cultural workers also take on roles such as trainers / educators, mentors, directors, ambassadors, learners, hosts, role models, tour guides, marketers, financial managers and guest speakers (who may or may not wash the dishes).

We take each of these roles so seriously with a large dose of purpose and urgency… sometimes forgetting how young and silly we still are.

I think that is why I seek out friends who make me laugh. I’m sure going to miss them.

Flyve-kys xxx

Money bags

My two eldest have been quite fascinated with money these mid-term holidays (which were survived with a helpful visit from their legendary Grandma known as Mummo).

They want to earn it, count it, hold it, exchange it, spend it, recount it and show anyone around them how much they have.

I have been trying to teach them how to deal with money well and that money isn’t everything… which is a difficult lesson when they see poverty first hand.

Was I successful? The following picture says it all.

What is it? A home-made money purse … sold to Mum for 500 riel (12.5 cents).

Angels in Disguise

Picture this…

A 30-something woman with three young children is weaving down the busy street towards the local market. Two of the children are gripping her hands as they naturally dodge motorbikes, cars, potholes and rubbish. Their light coloured hair and skin is in stark contrast with those around them and they cant help but attract attention. The baby is strapped to her back in an odd-looking carrier, creating more smiles along the roadside which he happily returns.

Bustling along, she accidentally bumps a white van with the baby carrier on her back. Focused on her destination, she doesn’t stop. Bumps are normal here. The van catches up to her and a man calls out… another foreigner. She realises he’s not “local” and expects he’s either upset by the bump or needs help with directions.

“Are you a missionary?” he asks. Uncomfortable with the term, but recognising that this is what most people would call her, she replies “Yes”.

At his signal, the van stops and a whole load of foreign men spill out onto the road stopping traffic. Horns honk as they introduce themselves. “We’re from Texas”. “Texas” she smiles unintentionally copying the broad Southern accent. “I’m Australian”.

It feels like a crowd is gathering around. A woman carrying her begging bowl comes close, hopeful. Their translators press closer, curious. The men give the children lollypops while the leader of the group continues asking questions while fossicking in his bag for something. He presently presses money into her hand.

“God told me to give you this. It’s from Him not me.” Tears prick her eyes as they circle around to pray for her. The children look up at the bowed heads, wondering and a little embarrassed.

The crowd soon moves on, with thanks and blessings. She peeks at the money and is surprised to find a $100 note. The men would never know that the money wasn’t urgently needed as she is far better off than most around her (even though they were looking a bit grubby).

It is the reminder that God is mindful of them… of her… that waters her thirsty soul as she continues onto the market with a prayer of thanks.

Not so good news

Whenever I am out and about, I like to purchase a copy of the Cambodia Daily – a local English language newspaper with a Cambodian language insert of the top stories. For 1,200 riel (30cents) I get current events and language practice in one!

News is rarely good, but Thursday’s edition disturbed me more than usual.

The front page story was headlined, “PM Bans Rice Exports in Bid To Rein in Price”. The country’s staple food has experienced a series of price rises, almost doubling in the last two months. The article also reported that in the last year, food prices increased by 20%. The price of cooking gas has doubled in the last week.

Cambodians are resilient people. Yet, these kinds of increases to basic necessities combined with already tight household income will create real suffering (not the kind that means you can no longer buy your favourite orange juice or holiday at the beach).

The Government’s response is to ban exports for two months and sell its rice reserves, mostly within Phnom Penh because of the amount of concern there (despite their higher purchasing power). No mention is made of the impact of these decisions to those in rural areas (ie 85% of the Cambodian people), except that farmers shouldn’t be too affected because it is only a short ban.

Further back in the paper was an article on the daily blackouts we have been experiencing coinciding with the HOT season. Annual demand in the capital is increasing by 10-20% - the major contributors being increased use of household appliances and the world-wide rising costs of oil encouraging factories and hotels to switch from generators to public electricity. Blackouts will continue to occur for two to three hours on the outskirts of Phnom Penh to fill in the lack of energy in central Phnom Penh.

Again, it’s another example of the rich being appeased while the poor and less powerful are left to sweat it out in the dark.

The only bright spot about all this is that I am concerned. My sleep-deprived hardened heart has softened enough to be concerned … concerned enough to make a stand. My night-waking Lion cub slept fantastically on the weekend when we stayed at an air-conditioned hotel for our team retreat. But sorry, I'm not about to install aircon at home. We’ll sweat it out so that our neighbours can have access to affordable power.

You might think I’m crazy, but our actions and consumption really do affect others. The only difference between you and me is that I know the people I am affecting.

PS. Bong Broh's back..

... is 75% better.

Praise God!

STOP PRESS. Another up-date. Now reported to be 100%. Wow.

Bong Broh's back

In the physio up-grade training clinic, Steve and the Khmer physios are currently targeting back and neck pain. It changes every 10 weeks so they gain experience in a wide range of areas. It also means that they meet a wide range of characters, like the one Steve was dealing with yesterday…

Bong Broh (older brother) is a very poor man. He arrives at the clinic each week in the same clothes. He is often unwashed and smelly, yet Steve encourages the physios to treat this man with the same concern and respect as the office worker, foreigner or movie star.

After weeks of treatment with no results, Steve sent him to a local hospital for an MRI scan of his spine. As Steve was unsure of the cost, he gave Bong Broh more than enough money to pay for it ($150), instructing him to get a receipt and to return the remaining funds next time he came to the clinic.

It was a lot of money and it was too much temptation for Bong Broh. When he returned, he brought back only $5 claiming that they didn’t give him a receipt. Steve accepted this, but when he pulled the x-ray film from the envelope he also found a receipt for only $80.

Furious at being lied to, Steve managed to remain quiet while he slowly thought through the situation and his response. He knew that without his help, this man would never recover and his family would remain shockingly destitute. In the end, he spoke strongly to Bong Broh, reprimanding him to be honest in order to show gratitude for the support he was getting from the clinic.

The scan showed that Bong Broh needs an operation if he is to have any hope of reducing his debilitating pain. So yesterday (learning from his previous “near miss”), Steve met Bong Broh at the hospital and directly paid the operating doctor $550 of project funds (Bong Broh had previously told him it would cost $850). He also gave Bong Broh $40 to buy a clean set of clothes, a sarong, a sleeping mat and food for his stay in hospital… it was a generous amount from which we are hoping he can manage save a little for his family.

They operated last night and we won’t know for a number of days whether the operation was a success.

It all reminds me of Matthew 9:11-13 when the Pharisees asked Jesus' disciples why He eats with tax collectors and "sinners". Jesus replied, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice'. For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners".

Today's lesson

Just a quick up-date on the card making today.

In usual Khmer-style (which some might also describe as Lisa-style), the plan changed moment by moment and nearly an hour after arriving we were finally all sitting cross-legged around the low table, making the cards. Well, it was actually just the boss, the team leader and one of the girls.. but from my estimation they were the people who were going to run with it anyhow. Lion cub was also there wreaking havoc…

However, at 11am, the boss stopped. It was time for devotion even though none of us had finished the cards. She was confident she could follow the templates I had prepared. Sharing together about Jesus was a greater priority.

I tried to help pack up and the devotion time had already begun by the time I left. As I snuck out to get Lion cub home to bed, I was reminded of my own lack of discipline in spending time with God. I didn’t spend the time to focus on Him this morning and it showed – I was distractible, unorganised and only achieved half of what I had planned.

It is a lesson that I am (embarrassingly) excruciatingly slow in learning … even with a Template!

Productive Fun

You'll have to excuse me, I'm a little excited.

Tomorrow, I will be teaching a group of girls to make some cards that I designed (see below)… not because I’m an awesome card maker, but because I was just at the right place at the right time.

“Slum light” (terrible name, I know) is a card-making project begun by Servants to Asia’s Urban Poor in the Chbaar Ambow district. It provides work to a number of girls from the local slum area, selling the cards abroad through various volunteers who on-sell them in churches etc.

All of Servants' projects (as well as Slum Light) are now entirely Khmer run with various expat advisors from the Servants team. One of these advisors was working on developing some new, fresh ideas for the cards. My interest was sparked and she was kind enough to let me visit the Centre. From then, I was hooked and a bizarre transformation has occurred.

My normally pink and blue world has given way to greens, purples, browns and (horrors) orange! Paper, ribbons, stamps and cutting instruments actually excite me. The only woman in the world who hates shopping (me) is spending hours at the local market looking for paper, chatting with the sellers while my little Lion cub sits patiently in the backpack.

Apart from being a part-time, creative outlet that I can do at home, I love it because I finally have an excuse to play. I see it as “productive fun” with a wider benefit beyond myself. (Velociraptor who sells me his paintings to send to grandparents thinks I am being incredibly generous.)

However, the benefit it yet to be seen as we wait to find out if anyone actually buys it!

But I have plenty more designs, loads of business ideas and still much passion. Who would have ever thought??

Flowers in the rubbish

I took this photo a couple of weeks back and it has been speaking to me ever since…

Life has been anything but easy lately. Another tummy bug, another cold, and yet another night of interrupted sleep has floored me. My mantra of “this too shall pass” is wearing as thin as I am. My awe of mothers with more than 3 children is sky high!

But like my Princess, I wanted to find the flowers amongst the rubbish. I needed to.

So, I endeavoured to list 10 things to be thankful for… my mum (of course), my husband, kids, various friends who had noticed my struggles and responded with such care, music, the latest Survivor episodes, a book on baby sleep. However, I soon found that my list could not contain all of the things I was thankful for… my sis, unexpected gifts in the mail, a note of encouragement, a friend who makes me laugh (a lot), people who pray daily for us, my pa, pizza, a wise voice.

I was struck by two things. One, I am not alone on this journey. And two (sheepishly), I was no longer looking for flowers amongst the roadside rubbish. I was actually looking at a flower bed but had been staring at some litter that could blow away tomorrow.

Forgive me, Lord.

Food for thought

In keeping with my current obsession with food, I’d like to show you seven photos taken from “What the World Eats” a photo essay of the Time Photo Gallery (there are 16 in total). I found it powerful and disturbing, fascinating in its detail and insight into lives in these countries.

Japan: The Ukita family of Kodaira City
Food expenditure for one week: 37,699 Yen or $317.25 AU$388.62
Egypt: The Ahmed family of Cairo
Food expenditure for one week: 387.85 Egyptian Pounds or $68.53 AU$79.42

Chad: The Aboubakar family of Breidjing Camp
Food expenditure for one week: 685 CFA Francs or $1.23 AU$1.39

Great Britain: The Bainton family of Cllingbourne Ducis
Food expenditure for one week: 155.54 British Pounds or $253.15

Ecuador: The Ayme family of Tingo
Food expenditure for one week: $31.55 AU$35.70

Bhutan: The Namgay family of Shingkhey Village
Food expenditure for one week: 224.93 ngultrum or $5.03 AU$5.69

Germany: The Melander family of Bargteheide
Food expenditure for one week: 375.39 Euros or $500.07 AU$625.24

This speaks to me about a number of things. Progress equals processed. Small changes to our western lifestyle combined with generosity could make a huge difference in the lives of others – the only thing lacking is willpower. The remarkable resilience of the poor. Feeding your family is an achievement worth celebrating (or you don’t need a million bucks to have a million dollar smile). Simplicity is a great and healthy aim which will also benefit the environment. And self-funded retirees who find themselves short should consider moving to Bhutan.

What does it say to you?

The people that you meet...

Every day, we have numerous sellers walk by our house calling out, wanting us to sell our recyclable rubbish or to buy their bread or “aromatic, delicious roasted eggs with special ingredients”. Mostly they just fade into the rest of the street noise, but there is one particular call that comes soon after 1pm every day. It’s distinctive because it sounds oddly like how I might call out to my two eldest children if I put their names together. I’ve even taken on the habit of using her sing-song tone to call them if I need their attention.

Last week, my curiosity got too much and I finally ran out with baby on hip and money in my pocket to find out what she sells. When I got out onto the dusty street, I saw that she had already been stopped by a worker from the building site diagonally across from us. She had taken her pole and two baskets off her shoulder and was squatting on the ground while she served him.

They both stared at me as I approached them. With a sudden shyness I stumbled through hello and asked what she was selling. She kindly showed me, lifting a wet cloth off one plastic bucket. Inside was an array of thick green rice noodles with a large block of melting ice to keep them cool. The colour came from a knot of banana leaves. She called the noodles “lote” (which it doesn’t sound much like either of my kids’ names). In the other basket she had a large saucepan with some almost transparent balls made from rice flour with perhaps beans in the middle.

Not fond of Khmer desserts, I reluctantly decided on the green noodles … but just a little. She took a bowl and rinsed it with water from a kettle and wiped it with a white rag before spooning into it some of the slippery noodles. She then added some coconut milk from another bucket and handed it to me, along with a spoon.

Squatting there, I balanced the baby on my knee and slowly sucked on the slippery jelly-like noodles. Meanwhile, I asked her whether her desserts are selling well at the moment. She proudly told me that she sells it all every day… but profits only $2.50. I cheekily glanced at her other client and suggested that she raise her prices, which sent the conversation off towards the current cost of coconuts.

I wanted to ask her more about herself, but the sun was beating down and my little boy was starting to squirm. Unlike me, she was dressed for the sun – long sleeves, long pants, hat and Khmer scarf wrapped around her head so that all I could see clearly were her wrinkly smiling eyes.

Unable to finish the noodles, I gave back the bowl half eaten not noticing where she put them. I paid her 500 riel (12.5 cents, the price of a full bowl) and refused her offer for change. My presence had attracted the attention of the other construction workers and she had a couple more bowls to fill.

As I said goodbye, I told her that I would try the rice balls next time (what was I thinking!!). Upon returning home, I took a double dose of acidophilus to fight anything I might have picked up from the “lote” or the communal utensils, and wished that I had been able to ask more questions of this obviously hardworking, yet poor, woman.

I share this with you because my encounter with the Lote Lady typifies my current relationship with members of my local community. Curiosity seeking answers. Relationships curbed by shyness and demands at home. Exposed enough for risk, but sheltered from really knowing. Impact on the community - purely economic.

This can be frustrating... only when I forget that my work here first and foremost is to remain in relationship with Jesus. From this, He will work and I just have to follow.

Introducing the gang

As I share about my life in Cambodia, there is often a big part that is left out… my kids. In my blog I have endeavoured to protect them somewhat from the eyes of strangers… even though most are friendly and wonderful and caring.

I think I have a solution, inspired by a visitor who stayed with us and became a friend. Before she left, she gave us some amazingly well-chosen gifts including some figurines that reflected our children’s interests and characters perfectly.

So, let me introduce to you my children.



Velociraptor (6 ¾ years old) is a speedy, meat eating dinosaur with a surprisingly large brain. Favourite past-times include reading dinosaur books, playing soccer and making home-made versions of games found at friends’ places.

Princess (4 ¾ years old) is into all things pink, pretty and luxurious. However, she is also an outdoors girl who will spend hours in the sandpit, singing made up songs with a tiara on her head… and she can definitely hold her own with two brothers.

Lion cub (11 months) is a crawling, roaring, biting, eating machine. He charms everybody with his cheeky smile and alert blue eyes. Unfortunately for Mum, he still isn’t the best sleeper… but we all love him to bits.

They are equal partners and fellow-travellers on this journey of ours. Each of them are growing into beautiful, amazing, spirited young people. I am privileged to be called their Mum.

A weighty lesson

48kgs. That would be a lot of chocolate (240 blocks of my favourite Nestle Dark chocolate to be exact). But it doesn’t add up to much when it’s 165cm me.

I stared at the scales dumfounded then gave the lady who owned them a 500 riel note (about 15 cents). She smiled broadly and thanked me – it was 5 times the normal price. It was the least I could do as she looked even skinnier than me.

Three weeks of battling a bout of food poisoning followed by stomach bugs while still breast feeding has left me weary and a shadow of my former self. At least I have lost my post-pregnancy weight (plus 5kgs).

Unfortunately the cost has been more than just physical. Emotionally I am worn out. My temper is short. My complaints are long. My memory is shot. And perhaps worst of all, my heart is hard.

It’s only now I have seemingly beaten the bug (with the help of a good dose of anti-biotics) that I can begin to see the lesson. No, I’m not talking about hygiene in food preparation – although that is important.

I’m talking about the reality that telling people about Jesus is pointless if they are unwell or have a desperate overwhelming need. You need to show them. Live it before you talk about it. Help them. Heal them. And above all, never ever ever EVER judge. Grace is far more powerful than criticism. Love them… but remember that this is mighty hard to do when you are unwell yourself.

So, this morning when I bought a couple of waffles (noum boum) freshly cooked at my neighbours’ road-side stall, I realised my foolhardiness at eating there. Yet, there is something in me that wants to connect, to relate, to understand, to empathise, to learn. And admittedly, I was also curious to know what the waffle tasted like (it had shredded coconut).

Some people never learn.