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.

Connecting with the Creator

Nights in Cambodia have become a precious time for me.

With the children asleep in bed, my work is over for the day. I can take a moment to breathe and enjoy the stillness. The only sounds I hear from outside are crickets chirping and the occasional shock of the neighbour’s mosquito zapper hitting its target.

Usually, Steve and I sit on our couch with the ever-present fan whirring above and talk about our days – the highs, the lows, the struggles and the joys. It is a great time of connecting, while we too swat the mosquitoes. Six months ago, we began also alternating these chats with a Bible study and prayer.

Tonight we added a new element to our routine. A quiet time of personal devotion.

I am notoriously bad at “doing” devotions. I get distracted by things to do, or bored with prayer lists. But the longer I am here, the more I am convinced that time with God is a necessity of life and effectiveness. Jesus being the vine is no longer an abstract thought and His statement, “Apart from me, you can do nothing”, is plain and simple truth.

Determined to connect with Him, I decided to start by sitting at the electric piano to spend some time in worship. However, my favourite songs weren’t working and I just wanted to run upstairs and bury myself in a novel. Annoyed, I closed the song book and began “tinkering” – just playing whatever my fingers felt like.

Soon I began thinking about my friends… and my music turned into a prayer. I prayed for my friend who walked through the valley of death this week with a young Khmer boy, another friend with a new precious life in her womb, another still who is struggling with being here, and another soon returning to Australia. I prayed for my family. With each prayer, the music changed – the intensity, the tempo, the melody.

The list grew longer when I glanced at the clock. I was startled that the time had passed so quickly. I wound up softly and covered the keyboard with its dust jacket… at peace.

God gave me a precious gift tonight. He reminded me that He is not into forced or boring or trite. He doesn’t have just one love language, one style of devotion that I must religiously follow. He loves me to spend time with Him as the creative, distractible, emotional woman He made me to be.

Tomorrow night I might paint while I meditate on John 15 - remaining in Him. I can’t wait.