When told of Mickey Sampson’s death last Friday, I had one immediate thought, “What a GREAT life he lived”.
American born Mickey moved with his family to Cambodia in 1998 to use his PhD in chemistry to improve water quality and sanitation for the Cambodian people. After working with other non-Government organisations, Mickey established Resource Development International-Cambodia to address Cambodia’s health and development problems in holistic ways focusing on water, agriculture, health and education.
The work there is inspiring. A visit to the project site in Kien Svay last year almost tempted me to seek a new vocation in sustainable agriculture.
His most well-known project was the development of ceramic water filters “with a silver lining” that proved very effective in reducing diarrheal disease (even in my own family!). In 2008, they produced and distributed 250,000 life-giving water filters. In a country where one in twelve children die before the age of 5 (mostly from diarrheal disease), this is a significant contribution.
After experiencing heart problems on March 18, Mickey went to Bangkok for specialist treatment but died in transit on March 19. He is survived by his wife and five children, and will be mourned and missed by many more.
However, I’m sure all will say that he lived a life worth living, serving a God worth loving.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Adding knowledge to zeal
With a growing conviction that “It is not good to have zeal without knowledge” (Proverbs 19:2), I have reapplied myself to study lately.
I have been reading books like “Poor Story” by Giles Bolton on how globalisation and good intentions have failed the world’s poor (and what we can do about it), and “Economics Today – A Christian critique” by Donald A. Hay (a slow read). Also personal stories like “The Urban Halo” by Craig Greenfield on his life and work in the slums of Cambodia, empowering communities for orphan care.
I have resubscribed to e-newsletters by a range of organisations from Christian-based groups like sojourners to the “think tank” Australia Institute. I’ve even forked out a bit of cash to renew my subscription to New Internationalist – an independent magazine focused on justice issues. Meanwhile, my “favourites” list of websites on fighting poverty is growing out of control!
These have all served to enrich my mind and stir our consciences, creating some quite challenging discussion about our response (my husband and I had to limit our evening conversations to ensure we get enough sleep!). In addition to adjusting our lifestyle and attitudes, I am hoping one day my Marketing degree, career in public policy and experiences here in Cambodia will combine for some use in the justice movement.
In the meantime, I am currently working through a book “Not for Sale” by David Batstone about the modern day slave trade of an estimated 27 million people (that’s more than the population of Australia!). As I read horrifying accounts of trafficked sex slaves and generations of bonded slaves within Cambodia, I am often left deeply disturbed and need to put it down for a couple of days to ponder my role in all this.
Then last weekend, I unintentionally mentioned something to my husband Steve about the child soldiers of Uganda while my own children were in the room. Our seven year old son wanted to know more. Keenly aware that I could cause him more worry, I kicked myself for my stupidity and carefully explained a little about it. In conclusion, I encouraged him not to despair because there is something we can do about the injustices of this world. His decisive reply was “Mummy. I want to help you”.
Then yesterday, when his five year old sister was planning her upcoming birthday extravaganza, he told me “Mum. You can choose what we do for my birthday like what to eat and where to have it. I’ll even be happy for it to be on the roof”. When I asked, “Are you trying to make less work for Mummy?”, he nodded.
When told I was going to my first meeting tonight with a group, Christians for Social Justice, he said "Good. I'm very happy about that."
As my passion for nuturing my children and working for social justice comes together, the challenge for this Mum will be to gently add knowledge to the zeal of her young abolitionist.
I have been reading books like “Poor Story” by Giles Bolton on how globalisation and good intentions have failed the world’s poor (and what we can do about it), and “Economics Today – A Christian critique” by Donald A. Hay (a slow read). Also personal stories like “The Urban Halo” by Craig Greenfield on his life and work in the slums of Cambodia, empowering communities for orphan care.
I have resubscribed to e-newsletters by a range of organisations from Christian-based groups like sojourners to the “think tank” Australia Institute. I’ve even forked out a bit of cash to renew my subscription to New Internationalist – an independent magazine focused on justice issues. Meanwhile, my “favourites” list of websites on fighting poverty is growing out of control!
These have all served to enrich my mind and stir our consciences, creating some quite challenging discussion about our response (my husband and I had to limit our evening conversations to ensure we get enough sleep!). In addition to adjusting our lifestyle and attitudes, I am hoping one day my Marketing degree, career in public policy and experiences here in Cambodia will combine for some use in the justice movement.
In the meantime, I am currently working through a book “Not for Sale” by David Batstone about the modern day slave trade of an estimated 27 million people (that’s more than the population of Australia!). As I read horrifying accounts of trafficked sex slaves and generations of bonded slaves within Cambodia, I am often left deeply disturbed and need to put it down for a couple of days to ponder my role in all this.
Then last weekend, I unintentionally mentioned something to my husband Steve about the child soldiers of Uganda while my own children were in the room. Our seven year old son wanted to know more. Keenly aware that I could cause him more worry, I kicked myself for my stupidity and carefully explained a little about it. In conclusion, I encouraged him not to despair because there is something we can do about the injustices of this world. His decisive reply was “Mummy. I want to help you”.
Then yesterday, when his five year old sister was planning her upcoming birthday extravaganza, he told me “Mum. You can choose what we do for my birthday like what to eat and where to have it. I’ll even be happy for it to be on the roof”. When I asked, “Are you trying to make less work for Mummy?”, he nodded.
When told I was going to my first meeting tonight with a group, Christians for Social Justice, he said "Good. I'm very happy about that."
As my passion for nuturing my children and working for social justice comes together, the challenge for this Mum will be to gently add knowledge to the zeal of her young abolitionist.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Storm in a lunch box
I haven’t been so well for the last three weeks or so. Nothing serious - just colds, sore throats and a dog bite (the bite wasn’t so much of a problem as was my reaction to the precautionary rabies shots). I’d been pressing on regardless, but this morning it all got on top of me. It was Monday, of course.
The issue was pathetically insignificant - whether to take jelly beans or nuts to the lunch-time birthday party for the Grade 1 teacher’s aide. I demanded the healthy option while everyone wailed for the jelly beans (including my life partner). The whining uproar was too much and I angrily flicked the decision to Steve while fleeing upstairs for my morning quiet time.
I walked and raged, while the tears flowed. I was ready to resign after such mutiny. It took quite a number of laps on the roof-top before I was ready to open the Bible. “What are YOU going to say about this?” I challenged God, opening the Bible at my bookmark.
The title so surprised me that I laughed out loud, snorting through my mucous-filled nose. “Jesus calms the storm”. Squinting my watery eyes, I continued to chuckle as I read the story of the disciples’ panic and Jesus’ authority over the wind and the waves. By the time I reached His question, I too was calmed and ready to hear.
“Where is your faith?” He asked (Luke 8:25).
Indeed. Where is my faith? Do I think I am doing this mothering-job on my own or do I have the God of the wind and waves walking with me? Is it all on my shoulders or is He the one who is carrying us all?
As I stood to walk / pray once more, I wiped away my tears and marvelled at our God who calms storms, gives peace and instils hope in 2 minutes flat. Even for tired and unwell Mummies. Maybe especially so.
And for those of you who are wondering jelly beans or nuts? She took both.
The issue was pathetically insignificant - whether to take jelly beans or nuts to the lunch-time birthday party for the Grade 1 teacher’s aide. I demanded the healthy option while everyone wailed for the jelly beans (including my life partner). The whining uproar was too much and I angrily flicked the decision to Steve while fleeing upstairs for my morning quiet time.
I walked and raged, while the tears flowed. I was ready to resign after such mutiny. It took quite a number of laps on the roof-top before I was ready to open the Bible. “What are YOU going to say about this?” I challenged God, opening the Bible at my bookmark.
The title so surprised me that I laughed out loud, snorting through my mucous-filled nose. “Jesus calms the storm”. Squinting my watery eyes, I continued to chuckle as I read the story of the disciples’ panic and Jesus’ authority over the wind and the waves. By the time I reached His question, I too was calmed and ready to hear.
“Where is your faith?” He asked (Luke 8:25).
Indeed. Where is my faith? Do I think I am doing this mothering-job on my own or do I have the God of the wind and waves walking with me? Is it all on my shoulders or is He the one who is carrying us all?
As I stood to walk / pray once more, I wiped away my tears and marvelled at our God who calms storms, gives peace and instils hope in 2 minutes flat. Even for tired and unwell Mummies. Maybe especially so.
And for those of you who are wondering jelly beans or nuts? She took both.
Caring for cons
Within the 5x10m prison cell home to around 20 men, Steve’s attention was drawn to the weighty butcher’s knife raised towards him. In Crocodile Dundee-style, the inmate magnanimously reached out, “Here, use this knife. It will cut much better”.
With relief and gratitude, Steve discarded his scissors that had been carefully checked through security and had required a guard escort (cameras, which are far more dangerous, are allowed under NO circumstances). He took the butchers knife and attacked the ill-fitting mattress. It didn’t cut much better, so another prisoner offered his knife - each prisoner had at least one for cooking his own food despite the obvious security risk. Hungry tummies are riskier still.
Steve had been visiting a particular inmate every other day for the last three weeks. First, he had visited him at the police hospital that has a room for desperately ill prisoners that is best described as the Nil-Care-Unit where a doctor is rarely seen and patients mostly die of neglect. Later, the patient had been moved back out to the medical unit based at one of the prisons outside of Phnom Penh.
The man had a mystery illness that wasn’t responding to treatment so Steve was just making him as comfortable as possible while staff of Prison Fellowship worked to gain more tests. He had also taught two other inmates how to assist the patient in his daily exercise program. The mattress was the only one in the prison’s medical ward where the other patients lay on woven mats or bare boards.
It’s a luxury that he’s going to need as he might be waiting there for a while. There is much red-tape to wade through to get the necessary tests and if an operation is required, there will be much more. Steve fears it will all probably be too late for the patient who will most likely sustain irreparable damage as a result of the delays.
The take home lesson?
Don’t break the law in Cambodia, even if it looks like everyone else is.
With relief and gratitude, Steve discarded his scissors that had been carefully checked through security and had required a guard escort (cameras, which are far more dangerous, are allowed under NO circumstances). He took the butchers knife and attacked the ill-fitting mattress. It didn’t cut much better, so another prisoner offered his knife - each prisoner had at least one for cooking his own food despite the obvious security risk. Hungry tummies are riskier still.
Steve had been visiting a particular inmate every other day for the last three weeks. First, he had visited him at the police hospital that has a room for desperately ill prisoners that is best described as the Nil-Care-Unit where a doctor is rarely seen and patients mostly die of neglect. Later, the patient had been moved back out to the medical unit based at one of the prisons outside of Phnom Penh.
The man had a mystery illness that wasn’t responding to treatment so Steve was just making him as comfortable as possible while staff of Prison Fellowship worked to gain more tests. He had also taught two other inmates how to assist the patient in his daily exercise program. The mattress was the only one in the prison’s medical ward where the other patients lay on woven mats or bare boards.
It’s a luxury that he’s going to need as he might be waiting there for a while. There is much red-tape to wade through to get the necessary tests and if an operation is required, there will be much more. Steve fears it will all probably be too late for the patient who will most likely sustain irreparable damage as a result of the delays.
The take home lesson?
Don’t break the law in Cambodia, even if it looks like everyone else is.
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