A follow-up on Any Guesses??. Here's the source of the problem.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Beneath the surface...
He stood amongst the men’s group ready to sing to the Sunday congregation with a silly grin on his face, feeling and looking like he didn’t belong. Actually, he looked like someone who didn’t belong anywhere other than in a Bible College Library.
Everything about him shouted geek. Awkward shuffle. Glasses. A golden arches hairline. Pale saggy skin. Pokey teeth. A podge tucked into his belted pants. A middle-aged geek. I cringed. It is guys like this that give missionaries a bad name.
And it only got worse. He wasn’t just another voice singing from the purple hymn book, he was also the visiting preacher.
Inwardly I groaned as I saw him rise to the lectern. With the same silly grin, he began the sermon, massacring the Khmer language with his broad Canadian accent. At least the words he used were simple, making it easy to follow. He also spoke slowly but this only made me wonder about his intelligence.
Yet as I listened, my smug internal criticisms were muffled and silenced.
Four years earlier he had left Cambodia to return to Canada. He was determined to study at Bible College (see, I picked it) while also sending his two children to University despite not having any money of his own. Fellow churchgoers had looked down on him there – a returned missionary with nothing to show for himself. Yet, God had stood by him and provided for their every need.
It was an enthralling story. Everyone loves to hear how God provides. Yet, he wasn’t done. With the precision of a surgeon, the geeky preacher man then took a knife to my heart.
He led us to a story in Luke 7 of Jesus and the prostitute in Simon the Pharisee’s house. In what felt like excruciating detail, He showed us how Jesus looked beyond the outside, and then dealt with people who “merl ngee-ay” (look down on) others.
Had anyone else given this sermon, I would have nodded and keenly agreed with a warm glow of self-righteousness. It was only through my geeky preacher friend with the horrible accent that I could see the blackness of my own heart.
I wasn’t the only one. The Pastor was blown away. Others who normally sit tall were hanging their heads. Then the Holy Spirit did His work while we ate and drank from the communion table as a church.
It was a forceful example of God’s power being made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 5:9).
This guy is now a pin-up boy for me and I will always remember his sermon. I will also choose to reject the wide-spread mantra of “professionalism is next to godliness” for such thinking only serves to harden the masks of exterior holiness and deepen hypocrisy, destroying the power of God in our lives.
And I will celebrate that I am counted in the company of this great man.
Everything about him shouted geek. Awkward shuffle. Glasses. A golden arches hairline. Pale saggy skin. Pokey teeth. A podge tucked into his belted pants. A middle-aged geek. I cringed. It is guys like this that give missionaries a bad name.
And it only got worse. He wasn’t just another voice singing from the purple hymn book, he was also the visiting preacher.
Inwardly I groaned as I saw him rise to the lectern. With the same silly grin, he began the sermon, massacring the Khmer language with his broad Canadian accent. At least the words he used were simple, making it easy to follow. He also spoke slowly but this only made me wonder about his intelligence.
Yet as I listened, my smug internal criticisms were muffled and silenced.
Four years earlier he had left Cambodia to return to Canada. He was determined to study at Bible College (see, I picked it) while also sending his two children to University despite not having any money of his own. Fellow churchgoers had looked down on him there – a returned missionary with nothing to show for himself. Yet, God had stood by him and provided for their every need.
It was an enthralling story. Everyone loves to hear how God provides. Yet, he wasn’t done. With the precision of a surgeon, the geeky preacher man then took a knife to my heart.
He led us to a story in Luke 7 of Jesus and the prostitute in Simon the Pharisee’s house. In what felt like excruciating detail, He showed us how Jesus looked beyond the outside, and then dealt with people who “merl ngee-ay” (look down on) others.
Had anyone else given this sermon, I would have nodded and keenly agreed with a warm glow of self-righteousness. It was only through my geeky preacher friend with the horrible accent that I could see the blackness of my own heart.
I wasn’t the only one. The Pastor was blown away. Others who normally sit tall were hanging their heads. Then the Holy Spirit did His work while we ate and drank from the communion table as a church.
It was a forceful example of God’s power being made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 5:9).
This guy is now a pin-up boy for me and I will always remember his sermon. I will also choose to reject the wide-spread mantra of “professionalism is next to godliness” for such thinking only serves to harden the masks of exterior holiness and deepen hypocrisy, destroying the power of God in our lives.
And I will celebrate that I am counted in the company of this great man.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Any guesses?
Happy New Year everyone. Rather than bore you with New Year Resolutions that I'll never keep, I am starting the new year with a photo quiz instead.
Can anyone tell me what I have been doing (besides neglecting my "velcro" heels)?
Can anyone tell me what I have been doing (besides neglecting my "velcro" heels)?
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
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…
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”.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
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??
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.
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.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
