little lisa lasi

THIS is what my God does.

2012-02-06T08:34:00.002+07:00

In June 2011, I shared L’s story about her husband who left her for another woman, taking all their savings, motorbike and even the son’s bicycle to pay off gambling debts. I was amazed by L’s determination to hold onto God through this time and continued to walk with her through the ups and downs of the following months.

Seven months on, I think it is time to share with you the miracles that L has seen within her own family.

Despite L’s consternation about his motives, her husband began attending church. She refused to sit with him at first because her 3 month separation hadn’t yet concluded. Yet, the leaders of the church could perceive real repentance within him and after much encouragement from them, L begrudgingly accepted him back after only 6 weeks.

The following months haven’t been easy for her. Rebuilding trust is excruciating business. But, now when I ask L about her husband, she has a wonderful contented smile.

He is regularly going to church and reading his Bible. He is far more attentive towards the children and is involved in their learning. Following 4 months of unemployment (after being fired for not being able to pay off his debt to his employer), he is starting work today in an administration role.

He is a changed man who is reconciled to his family and determined to walk a new path. As L says, “It is more than I could have hoped for or imagined”.

THIS is what my God does.

School holiday ideas

2011-12-21T11:24:00.000+07:00

It's a three week break from school over Christmas and I'm enjoying the time with the kids. However, I'm not the most creative Mummy around and so when the whining started yesterday I was a little stuck. My ideas for setting goals for the holidays for learning a new skill etc didn't go down so well.

Then, this morning my eldest came to me with an idea. "Mum, can you set us some challenges like the neighbours do with their kid?"

I was delighted and started wtih the most obvious challenge.. "Great! Let's get your room organised and clean".

"Aw Mum. He gets to do fun things like smashing a huge block of ice with a spoon".

My practical mind couldn't comprehend the use of that one.. so we compromised. "How about cleaning the car?" It had all the elements of fun with a practical outcome. And it was only going to cost me a lolly each.

Over an hour later, they are off on another challenge set by themselves and approved by me. Running laps on our rooftop.. distance set according to age and has the double benefit of "training" for an upcoming sports day.

I wonder what they will come up with next while I thank God for creative Moms (yes, she's American) who inspire and challenge us in our own role at home.

I'm not sure if anyone checks this blog anymore as I've been silent for so long.. but I'd be keen to hear any other creative holiday ideas.

Cake not crisis

2011-08-17T13:42:00.003+07:00

I haven't blogged for a while. School holidays means that there are plenty of life sharing and stories but my little ones are not so keen on their exploits being exploited. But a new school year has begun and I find myself with a little more space to take a moment to share life.

This time, it's another photo. Steve turned 40 in July and his one request was a cake from Bloom. This was the result. Aren't those girls talented???

His surprise present from me was a book with a whole bunch of messages and photos from friends over the years. As the messages came in, it was humbling to be reminded of the impact of his life on those around him and to recognise this is only a small token compared to the lives he has changed through his healing hands.

He tells me that there is no better place than in the center of God's will... and he tells me he's not joining the mid-life crisis club anytime soon.

Phew! I'm safe for a few more years!

The dangers of being overweight

2011-07-06T07:24:00.007+07:00

A photo by Steve of someone having trouble with a heavy back-end.

The story behind the bronze...

2011-06-21T08:33:00.003+07:00

My name, bronze medal and 8km run should not really appear in once sentence. But add inaugural, 36-45yo women and Phnom Penh and maybe it begins to make sense. With very few women here running (or even playing sport in general) beyond their teens, a 37 year old woman pounding the pavement is very rare indeed. Then add school holidays and you’ve lost half the foreigners who might compete, and there you have it - me on the podium. Ha!

Our Christian Care for Cambodia team must be an oddly active bunch because we cleaned up the entire medal count for the women’s 36-45 category – Becky Sussex coming in first, Catherine Rogers coming in second and me. Pip Miner, our running legend from Poipet, took out first place for the entire 8km women's event and Dave Painter (later interviewed by tv reporters because of his impressive run and obvious “age”) ran a great half marathon.

Each place getter took home money (I got $12.50), a great basket of fruit and foodstuffs, two coffee mugs, 5 pens, two notebooks, a bunch of brochures, and of course, the medal. While standing on the podium was a buzz, the highlight of the morning was being asked by some local girls to have their photo with me - a place getter.

Still laughing…

Bronze

2011-06-18T12:03:00.002+07:00

A bronze medal with Olympic rings on it is something I never thought I would see in our house. Stay tuned for more photos and the full story...

How hard can it be?

2011-06-11T08:38:00.002+07:00

Steve often arrives home from work exhausted and flakes out on the couch until dinner – woe to anyone who disturbs the couch rest (ok, that’s an exaggeration but it sounded good). For the last four months, he has been treating patients four days a week in a room at Mercy Medical Center on the other side of town and it has been draining the life from him.

Really, you ask. Only four days a week? How hard can that be?

I must admit that I’ve wondered that too. But over the months, the stories come out and now I think he’s a bit of a champion (even if he is a growling bear at times).

Picture this.

Each morning Steve rides half an hour across town on his chugging old Dealim motor scooter, trying to avoid the other motorists who seemed determined to kill him. As he sits at a set of lights alongside a beat-up truck belching smoke, he tries not to think of the research that shows that Phnom Penh air is five times more polluted than Bangkok – heck even the air is trying to kill him!

Arriving at work without any signs of outward harm, he has no idea what the day will bring. Although he has a number of patients already booked in, the hot-house of a room at Mercy Medical Center comes without air-conditioning but with a condition to also treat patients referred by the doctors there. As these patients are often from the countryside, he must see them immediately before they make the long journey home.

Did I casually mention patients from the countryside? These patients are the most difficult Steve has even seen. Not only are their physical complaints compounded by years of neglect, they are often illiterate and poorly educated. For Steve this means that their spoken Khmer does not resemble anything we’ve ever been taught and their understanding of concepts of tendons, ligaments and other fanciful physiological imaginations is zip. Symptoms are often masked also by the general complaints of dizziness, headaches and full body aches which more than likely relate to dehydration or years of MSG use, but can’t be ignored by a physio. And rather than exercises, these patients would much prefer a cure-all tablet (wouldn’t we all) so as Steve sends them back to the countryside he has serious doubts about the productivity of his last hour or so.

While he probably won’t see these patients from the countryside again, he has many regular patients who have really grasped onto the value of physiotherapy and his appointments are in demand. He frequently has patients calling at all hours demanding, begging and clamoring to be seen. It’s enough to cause the normally gentle Steve to speak harshly and refuse treatment for those who continue to pressure him.

However, physiotherapy in general is a poorly valued service in Cambodia. Steve estimates that there are only around 350 physiotherapists in Cambodia (approx. one for every 30,000 people) and these have been only trained to a Diploma level. Unlike Australia, physiotherapy does not attract the best and brightest but ranks lower than nursing.

It’s something he’s working on.

For the last few months, he has one or two Khmer physiotherapists shadowing him as he treats patients, asking questions and learning treatment techniques. They work at a local hospital in the mornings and follow him around in the afternoons. Steve actually enjoys teaching but into the afternoon the room heats up to unbearable levels and he is often weary from the morning patient load. He is concerned that he often doesn’t have much energy to teach these guys but they seem happy enough with the scraps that he can give and keep coming anyway.

But training has been a significant part of his work for the past five years through his involvement in the Physiotherapy Upgrade Training Program. This program is supported by Singapore General Hospital who provided the funding and lecturers while Steve supervisors the clinical training. As the program has progressed, the top graduates have gained further training in Singapore and are now virtually running this year themselves.

But the last two weeks, Steve has been helping out by lecturing on the lower limb for the 5^th promotion of this program. And he has been a different man. Teaching in aircon only minutes from home really makes a difference. I visited the Physio School the other day and found a patient, clear and even joking Steve working with a bunch of physiotherapists keen to upgrade their skills.

It was a pleasure to watch and I’m no longer afraid to approach the couch of an afternoon. (ok another exaggeration). Next week, he is back in the clinic, supervising two to three physios at a time as they apply the skills they have learnt over a full working week - it's a seriously tough job

What God does now.

2011-06-01T11:19:00.002+07:00

My friend L has been having a hard time of late. A mother of three working full-time, it’s not easy. But her struggles have hit a “high” point of late. Her husband of 18 years finally left home for another woman, taking not just his clothes from the cupboard, but the family’s life savings (of about $500), the motorbike and even his teenage son’s bicycle which he used to ride to school.

This betrayal was just the latest bead on the string of their marriage which has included years of neglect, drinking, gambling and womanising. He’s told her a number of times that he wants to take another wife. The guy is an idiot. Sure, L is not the most beautiful woman around, but she is a hard worker, talented cook, strong but loving mother who is doing everything she can to make sure her children get a good education.

Now, she is close to destitute. And her husband’s boss is now calling her to pay back the money he was loaned to pay for bogus medical bills (for her!). The boss even brought the police in to make him promise to go back to his wife or he’ll lose his job (I’m presuming so that she could then pay the loan off). He signed the form, but hasn’t turned up to work since.

I hate sharing L’s misery in a blog. It feels like I am betraying her confidence at a vulnerable time. But there is another side to this story.

In the face of such personal devastation, L is clinging to God.

For years, she had heard about Jesus from various workplaces and even began attending church out of curiosity and maybe a sense of obligation towards her Christian boss. Then about a year ago, while in a church service, she was healed from a heart condition and a dorky thumb that had made work difficult. She came to know the power of God and dedicated her life to Him.

These kinds of conversions always make me a little nervous. We hear stories of people coming to faith like this and then fall away next time God decides not to answer a prayer for healing. But He is faithful.

Ls faith has been growing deeper and she attends church weekly eagerly sharing with me what she’s learnt. Her children have been going along too and this angered her husband. When he left, he quipped to the neighbour, “I’d like to see what her god does now”.

He doing this... L tells me how the people at church are concerned for her, give her money as they can, pray with her and regularly call her to check she’s ok. She is reading her Bible with her children and encouraging them that God does provide. She even overheard her 16yo son tell his father on the phone that the only way he is welcome back is if he repents and becomes a Christian too.

She tells me that as she clings to God, He gives her peace and strength and He will get her through. She says she feels like she and the kids are on a small boat in a big sea and is heading to some new land with God. With dignity and strength, she has filed for divorce (a very shameful thing here), will lose her family home and is trusting God.

Then earlier this week, L told me that her husband wants to come back and is willing to go to church. She is torn as she does not believe he is genuine. She’s heard that he has nowhere to stay and is getting skinny from lack of food. After seeking God, she has courageously decided that if he wants to follow God, he can come to Him on his own.

There’s no fairy tale ending to this story. It’s life – real and raw, ongoing and unresolved. Yet, amongst it, God too is real and at work. I too can’t wait to see what God does now.

One dozen oranges

2011-05-31T13:57:00.000+07:00

The first time I walked away, I’d left Yea (pronounced yay, means Grandma) sitting on the muddy road amongst the potholes and stones. Her face was dirtied from the fall that had occurred when she tried to catch the tail of her dogs that were chomping at my running legs. She sat there, swearing quietly to herself - at the dogs or at me, I didn’t know. I’d tried to help her up but with exasperation in her voice and the dogs still yapping, she told me to “just go!!”.

I didn’t venture any further down that street and the next two were also blocked by fighting dogs (it’s mating season). I turned homeward and gave up on my 8km attempt, settling for 7.12kms. Besides, my heart just wasn’t in the run anymore.

These dogs are really testing my commitment to running. I’m not the first. Two other potential running partners (for the longer distances) have recently retreated to the treadmill and I’ve half a mind to join them.

The thing is, not only is running on a treadmill excruciatingly boring (and therefore mentally tough), it is also relatively expensive. At $3.50 a visit to the gym down the road, it’s more than 70% of Cambodian’s live off each day (that said, income is only one dimension of poverty – for more reliable indicators of the incidence and severity of poverty in Cambodia see here). Nevertheless, over a day’s wages for half an hour of running on pretend pavement, when there are “perfectly good” roads outside… I can’t get past it (just yet).

Yesterday morning I skipped my run and went to visit Yea, armed with a bag of oranges (incidentally costing less than $3.50). She received me graciously and showed me the bruising and scratches on her knee. She refused to take the bag but finally accepted a small peace offering of two little oranges.

That day, I left her with smiles and a bridge built. Now, if only the issue of running in Phnom Penh (or poverty in Cambodia!) was so easily solved.

On the road again

2011-05-19T05:17:00.002+07:00

I’ve started running again after recovering from some strange food intolerance that meant I couldn’t eat fresh fruit and veggies without being covered with welts but could gorge myself on potato chips (as long as they were plain). After that kind of diet, running is compulsory. (Actually, running with a virus was the cause of this bizarre immune system malfunction).

But I was procrastinating. Without footpaths, it meant I had to join the morning traffic of bicycles, motorbikes, street sellers with carts and the occasional Lexus who makes way for no one. It’s a far cry from running the bushland bike tracks along Bulimba Creek.

My upstairs neighbour was looking to increase her cardio vascular fitness in an effort to better manage hot flushes (can’t wait for that one!) and so we began running three mornings a week. Another never-run-in-her-life friend has joined us, making it three crazy foreigners pounding the pavement / dirt.

Keeping to the back roads avoids the majority of the traffic (but increases the incidence of potholes and plastic rubbish burn offs), we began choosing our route according to the least number of free-range dogs.

But it’s not just dogs who gain entertainment from our efforts. We often get cries of “mouy bpee mouy bpee..” (one two one two..) from the moto drivers waiting for early morning clients. The other week I was stopped dramatically by one standing in front of me with arms waving, asking if I could teach him English. “Ot jeh” (can’t speak it) was my smiling face-saving reply – an obvious lie. “Can’t you see I’m running????” was what I really wanted to say.

The heat is what gets me the most. We’re often sweating before we even start at 6am and my face is bright red for at least an hour afterwards, particularly the days I go out on my own early to add a couple of kms to the run.

I almost quit recently, but my addiction seems to run deep.

Besides, there’s a half marathon being held in Phnom Penh on 18 June for World Environment Day. No, I’m not going to attempt a half in this heat, but the 8km is looking possible…

Fibs, lies and statistics

2011-05-04T10:55:00.004+07:00

They have been the butt of jokes since the late 1800s due to their ability to misrepresent the truth (see wiki), but to me, there is nothing better than a bunch of well researched statistics.

So my latest project, reviewing reports and preparing an overview of development and the church in Cambodia for our team, is comparable with eating icecream (which would make the internet an endlessly deep freezer).

My ecstasy is probably due to the fact that I haven’t purposefully consumed statistics for almost 10 years. By the time I’m done, I will probably have a bad case of brain freeze.

As I trawl through the latest reports on the economic status of Cambodia, I delight in discovering the new developments in research methods. Thermal graphs of global health care development are like an exciting new flavour that I’m not quite sure I understand or like.

And while statistics gain bad press for being manipulated by people with “agendas”, there is no denying that they are handy in giving a bird’s eye view of some pretty complex issues, and are powerful tools for influencing opinions and attitudes.

For example, I wonder how hardworking Cambodian parents struggling to pay for their children to go to school would feel to know that public spending on education as a percentage of national GDP ranks the country at 167 out of a total of 175 countries (see cia). This kind of information is politically powerful.

And for my Aussie friends, I’m wondering how many of us would continue to complain about Government services and spending knowing that we are one of the lowest taxed nations in the developing world, noting that northern European countries are taxed at twice the rate we are (see tai). Anyone going to join me in asking the Government to increase our taxes?

I love statistics for their power to inform and change. Unfortunately, attitudes change hard.

Giving well (or sharing nicely)

2011-04-25T16:47:00.005+07:00

Late last week I wrote to my local MP (again) highlighting the need for Australia to increase our aid in order for countries like Cambodia to have a fighting chance of meeting their Millennium Development Goals. Apparently, there is talk in the latest federal budget of cuts to international aid.

Aid cuts would be devastating for many lives and even small increases in aid makes a huge difference in people’s lives. This is because the purchasing power of each dollar is so much greater in developing nations meaning you get much more for your money.

For example, through project funds Steve has paid for laminectomies for patients plus three days of inpatient care for US$600. In Australia, this operation costs at least $15,000.

Then, this note pops into my inbox shouting “Aid to Cambodia rarely reaches the people it’s meant to help”.

This emotive little opinion piece in the Washington Post is basically saying that the aid money that goes into Cambodia will invariably build bigger and better houses for its leaders and that donors should refuse to give any more aid until corruption is addressed.

Honestly, I can’t refute any of it. From what we hear on the ground, the article speaks a version of the truth. However, I am concerned that such articles only serve to create greater distrust and reduce giving.

Already, Australia is giving well below the agreed 0.7 per cent of gross national product and groups such as World Vision have given up on this target now only asking for the Australian Government to meet the 0.5 per cent target. And an embarrassing amount of this is tied to the purchase of Australian goods and services (dubbed “boomerang aid” – the aid that gives back).

The solution is to give aid in better ways. There is much research and many policies written to address these (see The Reality of Aid as an example) but all boil down to a simple few rules.

1. Share your toys nicely – no need to give them all away just one in every two hundred.

2. Give. Don’t rent them out or lend with interest.

3. Make sure there aren’t unfair rules with how they can play with the toys or that they have to pay daddy to fix the toys.

4. The struggling families need to agree to treat their children well and share the toys fairly, being honest with how they are used.

5. Don’t use your wealth to make huge numbers of toy boxes or toy parts at a loss and then dump them on other poorer families who are trying to make these for a living.

While the parents argue over these rules, I am encouraged to see is that there are an increasing number of kids who recognise already that they have plenty of toys and are willing to share. However, I am amazed as to how many (even amongst our own supporters) still distrust organisations to manage toy distribution.

Giving to well established organisations with a proven track record in these countries is always a very very good start.

Celebrating Easter

2011-04-18T16:38:00.001+07:00

It’s the most significant event within the Christian faith, however Easter is often seen by many Aussie Christians as an opportunity for a break at the beach and enjoy an Easter egg hunt or two (or seven).

In Cambodia, it generally occurs just after Khmer New Year. The new year celebrations are the largest on the Khmer calendar and so when Easter rolls around most people are just a little partied out (and chocolate melts terribly fast in the current 40 degree heat).

What makes celebrating Easter so difficult?

Fundamentally, the message really is a tough one for marketers. Talking about Jesus’ death and resurrection is a problematic because you need to mention the “s” word (sin) in a world where most people would rather think of themselves as basically good.

The Christmas message of God humbling Himself to become a baby gives us warm fuzzies. The Easter message of this God being murdered for our sin is horrifying and that He rose again sounds like the stuff of Hollywood movies.

Indeed, a nativity scene can be cute but a Jack in the box Jesus as he rises from the tomb goes beyond tacky.

So, if you’re like me, you’re stuck with melted chocolate (fair trade even if you are finally convinced that it’s worth paying the extra $2 for slave-free fair priced products – see World Vision’s Chocolate Buyers Guide) feeling somewhat at a loss as how to celebrate this deeply significant event with my neighbours and friends.

Buying an Easter chicken might help ease the conscience throughout the self-indulgence and is a whole lot better for the waistline (see TEAR), but there’s got to be a better way to share the best news ever.

No condemnation. Peace with God. Eternity with Him.

Preferably with something ice-cold.

Cast your bread

2011-04-03T14:13:00.000+07:00

On Sunday afternoons, we attend a little home church with another Australian family who live around the corner. At around 3pm they set up the laptop and the adults listen to a sermon while the children play in the next room. Last week the church grew by 50% when a new family from the UK joined in.

Last week we finished a series on Ecclesiastes where the ongoing theme has been gift (being gifted with the life we have) rather than gain (trying to achieve). With this perspective, the verses about the meaninglessness (or temporary nature) of life are no longer depressive but freeing. When everything we have is viewed as a gift (time, possessions, relationships, grace), we are able to stop chasing the wind and live with contentment and generosity with these gifts we have received.

The final sermon focused on Ecclesiastes 11. Here are the first two verses from the NKJ version which struck me. “Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days. Give a serving to seven, and also to eight, for you do not know what evil will be on the earth.”

According to a number of commentators, casting bread is thought to be a symbol of being generous with what you have because it will return to you. Give widely because (as the CEV version stated) “you never know when disaster will strike”.

This flies in the face of conventional wisdom which encourages us to save for the rainy day (check out the NIV translation for a typical modernised view on how to manage our money). However, in such uncertain times, with floods and earthquakes, tsunamis and cyclones, we are encouraged to be generous which, according to the Message, is a high yield investment.

For those with not much to give, the preacher encouraged generosity of spirit – extending grace to someone who has done you wrong, being generous with your time, slowing down and being wholly present with whoever you are with, and view each day as on opportunity to bless rather than a compulsion to achieve.

But I think that most of us do have money to share. For us, the message is particularly timely as we are currently making financial decisions regarding our abundance.

Jesus, please give us the courage to give while we can because times are uncertain. After all, it is a gift not something we have achieved.

Dried fish and white flesh

2011-03-22T20:49:00.000+07:00

I’d bought the dried fish out of pity. He’d been roaming the streets, eager to sell from the basket on the back of his cranky old motorbike. His teenaged country-bumpkin enthusiasm was being ignored by others, so I relented and purchased that fish that I knew I’d probably give away (it’s not a favourite of mine).

His response shocked me for days. He lowered his voice, put his fingers in the universal sign for sex and said he’d always wanted to “know” a foreigner. Despite his obvious gesturing, it took three times for the unusual request to register in my brain. I then went into autopilot – a smile, a shake of the head, a “no, that’s not polite”, and a quick retreat. My pity didn’t extend that far.

It’s widely thought in Cambodia (and many other parts of the world) that Western women are loose. I guess it’s our largely inappropriate dress habits where flesh reigns (particularly amongst the tourists unaccustomed to the heat of Cambodia). And another foreign import, pornography.

Magazines, tv, internet – we’ve got it all in Cambodia and it is highly accessible. You only need to go down the street to one of the local coffee houses at the right time of day to catch your dose of white flesh (or any colour really) on tv.

My guess is that I was the first real-live foreign woman that my fish-seller had met off screen. He was flabbergasted that I could speak Khmer and was keen to make the most of the opportunity before him.

But this incident was not allowed to fester into self-righteous indignation (a particularly revolting evil). With God’s perfect timing, the very next Sunday I heard an excellent sermon by a fellow team member, Rolf Lepelaar of CMS Australia, on the topic of pornography.

In Matthew 5:27-29, Jesus taught “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and throw it away; it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.”

Obviously, looking at a woman lustfully is nothing new, but this past-time has flourished and grown by some estimates into the seventh largest industry in America – larger than Microsoft, Google, ebay, Amazon, Yahoo and Apple combined. Its invasion into the heart of society is further evident in the statistic by Sex Tracker, an adult search engine, which reports that 70% of pornography is viewed between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m – that is during prime working hours.

And good Christian, don’t pretend we are not a participant in this. Rolf had some stats for us too.

One survey found that 50% of Christian men and 20% of Christian women are addicted to porn. One pastor did not believe the results so he surveyed the men in his congregation. 60% had visited a pornographic website in the past year.

And leaders seem no better. One counsellor for a well-known mission agency in Europe stated that 60-70% of the missionaries in that mission agency are addicted to pornography (could this be due to greater isolation and less accountability?). Rick Warren did a survey in the USA of 6,000 pastors, and 30% said they had visited a pornographic website in the past 30 days.

Obviously there are some pretty good excuses going on amongst us that suggest we don’t see it as that bad after all. But these justifications seem kind of weak if Jesus was saying it is better to pluck your eyes out rather than participate.

And just one note on that - Jesus was obviously not advocating self-mutilation in order to enter heaven (through Him is the ONLY way). Instead, He was highlighting how drastically we need to address this seemingly harmless sin – it puts our very soul in harm’s way.

I appreciated Rolf’s thoughts on the impact of pornography on a marriage as an example of the damage it does. God’s design for sex within marriage draws us out of ourselves towards our spouse, to the person that we have promised to exclusively devote ourselves for life. It is a mutual giving of self.

With pornography, a spouse focuses inwards on their own arousal and gratification without needing to fulfil any responsibility, expectation or demand. The unblinking faces of strangers are not disgusted by body odour nor are they angry that he stayed out late after work. Nor will they respect him or show any love, warmth or desire. They provide no companionship or joy.

I am so sorry if my fishy friend has been exposed to such a relationship-killing, soul-destroying foreign import that caused him to proposition this foreigner. To know Jesus would bring him much more life.

As it does for all of us.

The head's still gurling but in the meantime...

2011-03-11T17:16:00.004+07:00

One role I've had for a little while already is the Language Facilitator for our team. This means I'm meant to assist the process of language and cultural learning particularly for those new to Cambodia. (You know, point them in the right direction, give them an encouraging pat on the back and let them go for it.)

This week I began my own formal language lessons at the Language Exchange Centre. LEC was started by an entrepreneurial Indonesian lady who realised that there were very few trained language teachers in Cambodia. I've found the teachers there excellent - proactive in preparing lessons and correcting errors.

This morning I received a lot of correction and it was clearly obvious to my teacher that while I can speak quickly (making many people believe I can speak well), I really have a limited vocab. The story I made up about the picture she held was pathetic and my listening comprehension skipped crucial points.

I ended the lesson demoralised. It certainly didn't help that my teacher had begun the lesson raving about Steve's ability in his lesson on Wednesday.

Ah, nothing like a good dose of empathy to make you better at your job.

Enjoying a gurgling head

2011-02-13T15:54:00.003+07:00

It's no surprise (but still disappointing) that my quality control job at the cafe fell through. They really need someone there full-time which just wasn't practical. Ruth (the heart and soul of Bloom) asked me if I'd be willing to pass on my metabolism instead. As much as I love her, I might need to pray about that one...

But the good news is that my depression at losing such an ideal job passed quickly. The ideas and opportunities for serving here in Cambodia are just pouring out of my head. Some have been gurgling in there a while (like soap nuts and solar ovens), while others spring from conversations with others (income generation and Board memberships). There are also the long standing projects like fundraising for the school's building program and developing my current language consultant role. Or the far off dream of writing a biography or two on some seriously amazing people working here.

It seems that each new person I meet sparks a conversation that brings new ideas and another night of difficult sleep (is there a recurring theme here?). I was beginning to wonder about my sanity until I spoke with a good friend Pip who has the same dilemma. However, she sees each new idea as an opportunity to develop her strategic thinking skills, so writes up a project proposal and promptly files it, forgotten until the day someone asks, "have you ever thought of...?".

While wondering about the random overflow of exciting ideas, another friend wisely encouraged me to enjoy it. Sooner or later, I will focus and become stuck in a job. For now, I can just enjoy a gurgling head ... and get those project proposals down on paper.

A perfect fit

2011-02-03T19:55:00.005+07:00

I've already mentioned how we are glad to be back in Cambodia.

After five and a half years here, like worn running shoes, we seem to fit here better than ever. The initial stressors of language, culture and climate have lessened with familiarity and growing competence. Dare I even say, we've developed a greater understanding of and empathy for Khmer people - valuing their strengths and recognising within ourselves their foibles.

Maybe a year away has brought fresh perspective and renewed enthusiasm.

Even so, it is a little shocking to think that when our much loved and admired friends, Barry and Fiona, leave at the end of the year, we will become our team's longest serving members.

Are we ready for that mantle?

Steve might be. This week one of the key physios here declared that Steve was "the Mahatma Gandhi of Cambodian Physiotherapy". He has no positional power but everyone looks up to him as "the man".

Me? Well, I'm concerned that they are seriously huge shoes to fill and I'm frankly a bit of a Cinderella.

But I'm pleased to say that it seems that a good friend has found me the "perfect job". It's a role which recognises my extensive experience and fits with my lifelong passion, critical analysis skills, discerning taste and ability to tell it how it is, utilitising my Khmer language skills.

Taste testing cakes at Bloom Cafe in Phnom Penh!!!! Baking starts Monday.

I just need to get into those running shoes before I have a different kind of problem with "fit".

The naughty suitcase and other misadventures

2011-01-19T14:43:00.003+07:00

Again, our renegade suitcase containing all our clothes went missing on our trip from Bangkok to Phnom Penh. I'm not sure of the bright spot this time, but I'm glad it is finally here.

Other than that, we are settling into life in Cambodia quite well. The noise, smells, dust and mossies are just as expected. In remembering these things, I had forgotten how good it is to be back amongst like-minded people who inspire and challenge us. Friends have gone out of their way to make us feel welcome and the kids have settled back into school with ease. One teacher commented that the school now felt complete with the West-Newmans back.

Our youngest, Mr Happy, is probably faring the worst. His life has been turned upside-down. He remembers occasional things like the houses with the pointy noses (the local pagoda) but he has forgotten things like Mum and Dad's ability to speak in some strange language that he cannot understand (which he finds particularly annoying). He has also started at pre-school which he enjoys once he settles into it for the day (but finds scary at first).

The upshot of all this major change is that he is having bad dreams and is afraid of falling asleep at night. I've taken to sleeping by his side which brings him great comfort, and me very little.

At least our suitcase has now arrived and I have fresh clothes in the morning even if my eyelids are still a little shabby.

A rest under the Juniper Tree

2011-01-08T11:43:00.009+07:00

2010 was an intense year. Living with a Masters student who received a Dean's Commendation for High Achievement, it could be nothing other than intense.

So were were looking forward to a brief 10 day holiday in Thailand before heading back to Cambodia for another three years. It could have been a week or two longer if we left Australia earlier but there was no way we were missing our first Christmas on Aussie soil for seven years.

After flying through Sydney to Bangkok, the plan was to catch a pre-arranged taxi / minivan from the airport to the Juniper Tree in Chiang Mai. This would save us hours of waiting at the airport in the middle of the night for another flight and we could sleep through half the trip until the sun rose.

Imagine our surprise when we awoke at dawn at the beach in Southern Thailand. The taxi driver had taken us to the wrong Juniper Tree hours in the opposite direction. The children were delighted to run, collect shells and build sandcastles while we problem solved. Fortunately, there was a room available for the night and we were able to rest up for a long taxi ride the following day.

The taxi company owner himself arrived before dawn in his own car. It was a sedan, not the mini-van we were expecting. After more discussion, we decided to take it anyway... hoping it would be faster at least.

Thirteen hours. Cramped in a Toyota Camry with one Thai driver and his Khmer magic markings, two weary parents, three active kids, four suitcases (we fortunately lost one in Sydney), five pieces of hand luggage and numerous fuel stops at places like Tankomart, we arrived in Chaing Mai with New Years crackers firing.

We were greeted by our lost luggage and a plate of sandwiches, relieved that the trip and 2010 was over. We survived both remarkably well and even enjoyed parts. Thank God.

Maybe there is a sermon illustration or some sage advice for travelling parents amongst this, but first I just need to rest a while under the Juniper Tree.

Wanted - Running Buddy

2010-12-01T05:36:00.002+07:00

Relatively new runner seeking female running buddy for motivation and company.

Have run a half marathon in the last year but am currently struggling to do 5kms due to recent illness.

Applicants must have ridiculous sense of humour and not mind the occassional chat (except while racing). Future running goals and GPS functionality a plus.

Previous running buddy refusing to relocate to Phnom Penh. (What's with that?!!)

Positional available from January 2011.

What a missionary should be?

2010-11-04T20:28:00.002+07:00

Whatever you do, don't look at me!

For starters, I am a terrible entertainer (missionaries are meant to be masters of hospitality, right?). I'm not much of a cook and my house is generally a mess. Our dishes are mismatched and our chairs creak and groan (I'm not keen to update when it is all just put back into storage). Besides, the kids are noisy and it just plain stresses me out. And that's in Australia.

But, we gladly put such excuses aside for one type of people - those interested in missions. We bring out a simple (ie fail-proof) Sunday lunch of fresh salad sandwiches and listen to their journey of faith so far.

Our most recent visitors were a newly married couple with great questions. But it was getting tough to talk over the kids who were bored in the newly tidied house. As my frustration grew, I suddenly thought to ask the kids if they'd like to answer some questions. They were keen to talk about Cambodia - for them, it is home and they are keen to get back there. With their seemingly boundless energy focused on communicating, I slipped away to chop the salad which I had not prepared in advance.

After it all, there was one question that remained with me. "What is your greatest challenge as a missionary?" The answer was immediate and clear. "Not meeting my own expectations of what a missionary should be." As a mother of young children, I feel like such a pretend missionary living out a life that can be easily transported to another context without my main role or even my key relationships changing at all! It is tempting to look at the work and lives of others and wish I could be as "good" as them.

Yet, a missionary "should" be someone who is (by grace) faithful to whatever God has called them to. Not distracted by the need or by the works of others but commited to the call and the One who calls. Then, there will be no mismatch of expections and enterprise.

Mothers take note!

Returning soon...

2010-09-10T17:38:00.002+07:00

All's been quiet on the blog-front... not sure if anyone still checks or whether you've given up. I almost have.

It seems the blog is just a part of the Cambodian me.

It's not that I don't have things to write about here in Australia. There's been a bunch of firsts - my first half-marathon, my first trip to Finland (the family homeland), my first Sri Lankan Dahl - all notable events.

But there are some things that more naturally fit with my life there in Cambodia. Blogging is one.

Prayer is another.

My prayer life has been slack but I didn't realise how different it was until an odd experience last month. I'd been providing the voiceover for a short play which involved reading a bible story in Khmer (and quite a bit of practice). Afterwards, I was compelled to pray - just the way I'd pray in Cambodia - walking and praying with urgency into the night. Something about the Khmer language stirred my soul in ways it hasn't stirred here in Australia.

Three months out from returning to Cambodia, the blogger in me begins to stir.

A rain-soaked morning...

2010-04-21T08:46:00.003+07:00

The husband is at Uni. The two older kids at school. The youngest is being baby-sat by Grandma so I can do some work.

As I sit down to the computer, I am astounded again by the beauty of this rain-soaked morning. The bush turkeys from the park across the road were also enjoying it. I couldn’t resist taking a photo to post.

Enough procrastinating… back to work.

+++

I wrote that post in the first week of March. Today is the first morning since then that I have had a chance to actually sit at the computer to get some work done (and it is curiously another of those rare rain-soaked days).

I opened my computer to discover the emails are collecting together and organising a revolt (they have already managed to stop my ability to reply to anyone). A number of work deadlines expired silently due to neglect.

It seems that I am not so good at this work / family balance. One happens while the other is neglected. Obviously the last 6 weeks have been family time.

Now, while I write, my three year old is discovering the many uses of freshly cooked playdough. I expect to be discovering patches of red throughout the house for months to come... all for a good cause, I guess.

(hmm, it is very silent out there... maybe I need to check on the playful Mr Happy first).

Green and keen!

2010-02-26T13:19:00.001+07:00

In my latest efforts to be “green-er”, I have been re-using plastic bags. Washing, rinsing and hanging in the sun to disinfect means that they are as good as new (with the occasional hole). These bags I take with me on every shopping trip – bread bags for fruit and grocery bags for, well, groceries.

My odd ways have caused a few eye-rolls and head shakes from people at the checkout impatient to get home and consume their potato chips (I would be if I was buying them too). However, on Monday one lady at the butcher even dared to giggle. I realised that it was ironic to be re-using plastic bags while purchasing one of the biggest environmental killers, beef, but justified to myself that at least we are eating it only once a week.

However, my indignation soon turned to horror when I realised the reason for her smirk. I had given the mildly-handsome young butcher a plastic bag from the school tuckshop which had my name and phone number written on the outside. It had held the book order I had recently collected and was now being filled with 500g of premium mince.

I am desperately hoping that he and his colleagues hadn’t noticed or at least realise it was an innocent mistake. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can show my red-face there again.

Fortunately, I haven’t had a phone call from him yet...

The BIG Question

2010-02-15T08:20:00.003+07:00

“Lisa, as well as looking after your family and all the effort that is in a developing country, you have also been able to assist various projects benefitting poor communities. What are some of the challenges the poor in Cambodia face and how can we help?”

This was the question asked by Ashley Withers, our missions pastor, at the morning and evening services at Gateway Baptist Church this Sunday. In my opinion, this is one of the biggest questions facing our generation. And with hundreds of people sitting there, waiting for what I would say, I was nervous. This is what I tried to say...

“Great question, Ashley. I think the biggest challenges that the poor face are the impossible choices they have to make. Recent research by the United Nations shows that the average Cambodian does not have enough income to cover life’s basics of food, clothing, shelter, education and health care.

One family we know were forced to choose between keeping their farm or selling it in the hope it would be enough to gain life-saving treatment in Thailand for their 21 year old daughter. (She died).

One man with severe back pain was unable to work and so took out a loan charging interest at 10 per cent per annum just to feed his family.

While these are extreme examples, there are also the everyday kind where a mother I know was unable to afford to use an electric fan throughout the night for years despite the pleas of her young daughter… they simply could not afford it.

So what can we do? A lot. You’d be surprised how much our lives impact the poor.

Gateway is a great giving church and I would encourage you to excel in this. But if we are serious about the poor, it has to go a lot further. We will need to make some tough choices of our own.

Firstly, choose to read with Bible with the understanding that we ARE the rich and take seriously the admonitions of God to care for the poor and not to oppress them.

Choose to live simply. If everyone in the world lived like the average Australian we would need seven worlds to support us. We are taking more than our fair share at the expense of others. (My heros in this are the generation of elderly people who grew up during the Depression and still now continue to live simply and give generously.)

If buying new, choose to buy fair trade where workers receive a wage they can live on. Our demand for cheap imports has serious consequences for the workers producing those items.

Choose to speak out for the poor. They have no voice and we can use ours to make a huge difference. Join the church Catalyst group and find out how. It is an election year here in Australia and everyone wants your vote.

And as we continue to take responsibility for our choices, it will change our prayers. We will pray more earnestly for the physical and spiritual poverty faced by millions.

Our lives and choices have a huge impact on the impossible choices of the poor. Choose well.”

It was longer than the allocated 2½ minutes (I had to pause a number of times to gather my nerves). Ashley was able to say it much more succinctly.. “Basically, it’s to love mercy, act justly and walk humbly with our God”. Exactly.

To be numbered amongst the numbered...

2010-02-09T12:17:00.003+07:00

I’ve always wanted to do a triathlon – to wear a race number and counted amongst the “fit”. However, being a TERRIBLE swimmer (completing 50 meters free-style without lapsing into side-stroke was a huge achievement), I never thought it possible.

This weekend, I did it.

It wasn’t quite a full triathlon, but an “enticer” designed to encourage wider participation by the general population. 200 meter swim. 5km bike ride. 2km run. But still, I did it.

A good friend had invited (or was it “conned”) me to try it and since arriving back in Australia we have been meeting twice a week at the local public pool for training, plus a weekly run together. Steve was impressed. He says that me swimming is like a vegetarian eating a steak.

So on that rainy Sunday morning in Caloundra, I thought my expectations weren’t so high. For the swim, I only wanted to “not get rescued and not come last”. So I was stoked when I beat 18 others out of the water.

But I didn’t realise that I had one other expectation ... that I would complete it without having to stop and walk. But having pushed too hard on the bike leg, riding my husband’s over-sized hybrid, I was exhausted by the run. I had to stop and walk three times over the 2kms. I still placed in the top half of the group but I was so disappointed that I stopped and walked.

It gives me something to aim for next time, right? I’m just trying to decide if there will be a next time because I discovered this weekend that, while I love training, I hate racing.

Still, it might be worth it just to pose in a race number again. :)

Starting at a new school

2010-01-30T11:56:00.002+07:00

This week my two eldest children, Velociraptor and Princess, started school with thousands of others around Queensland. Velociraptor was particularly keen to get into it – for him the extended holidays were like standing for hours at the starting blocks, waiting for the race to begin.

But now the big day had arrived, I was getting nervous for him. It’s not easy starting a new school, particularly in Grade 4 where everyone else already has a history and friendships.

So, I wrote a small note to accompany their water bottles, fruit and oat-bread sandwiches, reminding them that I loved them and I was praying for them. Before slipping the notes into their lunch boxes, I hesitated momentarily – what if this good-intentioned act of love was social suicide for a Grade 4 boy?

As expected, the first day wasn’t easy, especially for Velociraptor. Apparently the work was too easy and the teacher joked around too much. But we soon discovered the real reason – some boys had refused to let him join their game of soccer over the lunch break. Ouch. We were relieved that Princess seemed ok with her Grade 2 class… until she saw some photos of Cambodia and crumbled into tears.

I must confess that it’s times like these that I complain to God that this journey is just too much for my kids. It’s not fair that they must keep crossing cultures and continents, saying hellos and goodbyes, trying hard to fit into a place from where they will be uprooted sometime in the future.

Yet, God is good. He gently reminds me that He is worthy and He is near. Anything that occurs on this journey is for our good and His glory for only through struggles will we grow. Even the heartache for my children leads me to pray and be more intentional as a Mum.

I quietly asked Velociraptor if he got my note in the lunchbox. His frown turned to a grateful smile. “Yes Mum. I really needed it”.

I prayed even more earnestly that night for my kids, determined to trust Jesus and release them to His care. The next day, as we raced out the door, Velociraptor asked for the note again, anticipating the need for comfort on another difficult day. I was glad to be able to pat the lunch box and say “I’ve already written another one.” (When Grandma heard about the notes, she wrote one for the next day as well!).

When he arrived home that afternoon, I got the thumbs up. Some kids had let him join in on their game of soccer. “The note was still nice, but I didn’t need it so much today”.

Thank you Jesus. You are near.. and you are worthy.

Tips for a successful re-entry

2010-01-16T11:58:00.003+07:00

I’m no master at re-entry and this time I was far too preoccupied to read any books on it. So there have been a few shocks to the system… and I thought I should share from my experiences hoping someone might learn from them (even if I don’t!).

1. Leave well.

In 2007 when we last left Cambodia for home assignment, Steve worked until the day before we left and I was 7 months pregnant. Talk about stress!! This time, Steve had a couple of weeks off before we left and was a huge help in getting odd jobs done. Because of it, I was able to say goodbyes properly and leave with a sense that most things are in order (it didn’t stop me from forgetting my camera battery recharger though!).

2. Book in holidays and guard them jealously.

We should have learnt this last time, but again we have not had a break, hitting the ground running. While Steve has been attacking the house fix-it jobs, I have been out every day visiting my wonderful family and friends, dragging along the kids to visit people who are virtual strangers to them like “Mummo’s sister’s daughter … and her children” or “the lady who gave us the beautiful clothes” (she’s also one of Mummy’s cousins). While I have loved it, this week I hit the wall. There is still so much to do in setting up house, school is just around the corner and deputation looms ahead next month. There are so many more people I want to connect with, yet I need a break – a chance to just “be”. NOW!

3. Come as a learner.

Towards the end of last year, I was getting weary of being a learner within the Khmer culture (surely I should “get it” by the end of five and a half years!!), but I am discovering that I must also re-learn how to operate here in Australia. We all have our moments when we are stumped and need to ask for help. For me, it was the extreme range of milk of the supermarket. I got on the phone and was told to “just get the cheapest”. It got me through and hopefully one day I’ll work out a better decision making strategy.

4. Expect to haemorrhage money.

I was told this before heading back to Australia and it has reduced the shock considerably. I have even been pleasantly surprised when a swim at the local pool was only a third of the exorbitant entry fee I had been expecting. Besides, the income is so much greater than we have previously received while in Cambodia that it almost feels like we are swimming in money. Almost.

5. Enjoy.

There are so many aspects of life here to enjoy that don’t cost a lot of money – playing in grassy back-yards, running on the bike tracks along the creek, catching clean and reliable public transport, experiencing art galleries and museums, listening to the quietness of night. Soak it in… because the locals don’t seem to notice it.

6. Remember that not everyone may be enjoying it.

Yes. Our kids are missing Cambodia despite our seemingly idyllic existence. They are missing friends, foods and their beds… home. I think I need to give them more space to talk about it and grieve, rather than rushing them off to the next event.

7. Guard your heart.

Amongst the joys and wonders of being here, it is easy to get sucked into the consumer culture. My weakness is real estate and I have forbidden myself to read the local newspapers because of it. Nevertheless, this week I found myself reviewing the real estate section of the local rag and dreaming of purchasing an investment home where the rental income would go to missions (after I had magically paid it off, of course). The pull was strong, setting off warning bells within me. I need to tread carefully and guard my heart, committing my way to Jesus… not the way that seems good to me. Contentment is more precious than gold and needs to be guarded fiercely.

8. Love first.

My last tip comes from the cruel teacher of experience. Being loving is more important than being right. Don’t open your big mouth and discuss politics, impending environmental disaster or economics without an understanding of your “audience”. I blabbed on my way home from the airport and hurt someone I love most. I wish I’d humbly stepped down off my hobby horse and asked her more questions first. But it is a lesson I will carry throughout the year and hopefully be a far more effective advocate of the poor than I might otherwise have been.

Any list of tips this long should make it to 10. Anyone have any suggestions from their experience???

Surviving a double life.

2010-01-16T10:44:00.001+07:00

Living in Cambodia and Australia, I have two lives. As I leave a country, I seem to pack away that life amongst the books and paints and toys we hope to return to one day. Not only that, I leave behind my friends and their lives and love. I am terrible at communicating across the countries despite the ease of email and skype. It’s like my head and heart is too full with life around me that I just can’t make the jump to really connect.

But then returning to our house in Australia means that I need to rummage through the stuff for my former life here and when found, dust it off and try it on for size (hoping desperately that it still fits with a couple of alterations). I am fortunate to have friends and family that are happy to pick up where we left off. Perhaps they too have trouble connecting across the sea.

To date, one of my main forms of connecting with friends in Australia has been my blog. Now, I am here again, I think a fundamental shift is needed. I will now also be writing to my friends in Cambodia who will be undoubtedly neglected while I am away. They’ve been warned, but I’m not sure if they believe it.

My motto? One life at a time..

Goodbyes

2009-12-16T23:51:00.003+07:00

In preparing to leave Cambodia for a year, I am more intentional in taking my camera to the places we frequent often but don’t ever capture on film. Even took it to our last game of touch footy three weeks ago.

Thanks guys. It’s been fun.

In need of a chill pill...

2009-12-16T23:31:00.002+07:00

A couple of weeks ago I went to a language conference in Thailand. It was remarkably informative and inspiring for my “volunteered” role as language facilitator for our Cambodia team. I also thoroughly enjoyed spending time connecting with the other facilitators from our teams across Africa and Asia.

But the greatest joy was each night before turning out the lights I would snuggle into bed with a novel (frivolity!) borrowed from the library there. Before I even opened the cover I would just laugh out loud at the bliss of it.

My room-mates thought I was a little crazy. They may be right. But it comes from laughing too rarely and taking life far too seriously. If I had to find just one word to describe our household, it would be “intense”.

In an effort to reverse the effects before we all end up in the nut house, I am brainstorming ideas as to how to inject more laughter and life into our house… but they all seem … well, frivolous! For example, I could make “time-wasting” my new year’s resolution … except that I have far too much to do. Or I could put on a funny DVD… but I really have to get into the packing.

It frankly seems beyond me. What I really need is a friend to hijack me, force-feed me a big steak and chips followed by chocolate mud-cake smothered in cream, and make me laugh until I cry.

Weekly, preferably, but fortnightly will do.

Homeland

2009-11-28T07:58:00.001+07:00

Yesterday a neighbour called out to me and told me that she’s off to America at the end of this month (Embassy-willing). Two of her daughters are already there and setting up house. It took an educated guess that the destination she was trying to pronounce was “California” (there are many Khmer already there). They don’t plan on coming back any time soon so I need to stop by soon for a visit to say goodbye.

It is such a common desire. So many friends are keen to leave here and try their luck in the West. We’ve been asked to sponsor a Christian NGO worker to go and pick apples in Australia, leaving his wife and new baby in Cambodia. We refused not out of stinginess but out of a love for them and Cambodia, wondering what would happen to this place if all the Christians left.

Then this week, I attended a conference for the Micah Network on establishing a plan for Integrated Mission. One of the case studies was by a young Khmer man (probably my age, actually) from Teen Challenge who have a youth drug-rehab ministry. As he spoke, you could just tell that he loves Jesus. He also loves Cambodia.

As he was talking about why a family is better than institutionalised care, he asked us “You know how I know this is true?” Then, answered with “Everyone thinks that America is better than Cambodia. Or maybe Japan or Europe. But I want to tell you something… I’ve been to Canada and I know different.”

There was a chuckle from the audience where Khmer outnumbered the foreigners 20 to one. Everyone there knew some foreigner who had relentlessly (and mostly unintentionally) insulted this country by making comparisons with their own country.

“There I had to eat hamburgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner until I was sick of hamburgers. I was just dying for some sour tamarind soup. Oooh, that would have been nice.”

We were all laughing by this stage. The sour soup really is great! And it was refreshing to hear someone insulting the West.

Then he had us in stiches as he wrinkled up his nose and said, “You know, it also smells”.

It was an uproar. The wonderful lady next me was a little concerned I would be offended despite my laughter. She leaned over and said just one word in English, “Homeland”.

There really is nothing like being in your homeland (which my neighbour is going to find out the hard way). Many of my struggles here are not because Cambodia is worse than Australia (although Australia is now #2 on the UN’s Human Development Index compared to Cambodia’s ranking at 137 … not that we should compare) but because Australia is my home.

It’s a good reminder as we pack up and head home in less than a month (for just a year).

And then there will be times when even Australia doesn’t match up and I will have to remember that in the eternal scheme of things we are all only travellers passing through to our eternal Homeland.

The Bold and the Beautiful

2009-11-19T06:06:00.001+07:00

One of Ridge’s teenage sons from his first marriage, Creek, was out partying on the weekend and was involved in an accident on his motorbike. Amongst other things, Creek’s hand was mauled badly and looks like it will need to be amputated. His Mother, Dawn, has contacted her niece-in-law, Carly, who lives in the city working as a cleaner, with the hope that she will be able to help pay for the operation and hospital expenses. Carly agrees to help some.

However, her own meagre resources are stretched after paying for the face-saving Wedding of Brook, her orphaned teenaged niece, to her 17 year old boyfriend/lover. After getting married, Brook’s husband refused menial work like labouring in the fields because his Dad was head of the village. He has big plans for renting out farming machinery but has no investment capital. Brook got tired of her lazy husband bumming off her and she gave up her job working in a factory. Now Brook comes to Carly in tears because they are out of money and her husband is hitting her. His parents agree that Carly should help financially because she is Brook’s closest relative.

Hearing that Carly is helpful, Ridge’s second wife, Sandy, has asked Carly to take in one of her five children so that he can get a better education in the city. Of course, Carly would need to pay for schooling and upkeep. Carly is angry. When she complained to her ex-husband (who ran of with his lover) that he should pay something towards their own daughter’s education, he refused pointing to the recalcitrant non-paying Uncle Ridge as a fine family example. The insult that Uncle Ridge’s second family is seeking her help leaves her fuming.

That’s just this week’s episode. The other week, Ridge’s brother, Peak, was shot in the stomach when a thief stole his motorbike. His school aged son, Hill, was also shot through the hands with the same bullet as he rode pillion hugging his Dad. Despite being ostracised by this family for her differing religious beliefs, Carly was contacted in the hope that she would help to pay for the operation needed to save Hill’s hands.

Could it possibly be true? What do you think?

Work in Progress

2009-11-19T05:56:00.001+07:00

I almost removed my recent post on marvellous melons as it was attracting a little un-wanted attention from ogling Googlers (they seem to have passed on now). While they would have been sadly disappointed, I am also aware that my recent blogging outbursts have not been particularly gracious, loving or kind.

Obviously, I am not the greatest example of someone who walks with Jesus … and I am nothing like Him.

When I am hateful, intolerant and impatient, He is only ever loving, patient and merciful (SO patient with me).

His love for is never-ending. His forgiveness is far-reaching. His creativity is unmatched. His wisdom is beyond anything we can ever fathom. His ways are just.

I’d hate anyone to judge Him on my example. So for my friends who are not yet Christians, please don’t let me be the only “bible” you ever read. Go get the real thing. I’m still a work in progress.

Before returning to Australia I'd like to get something off my chest.

2009-11-08T00:28:00.000+07:00

Maybe I’ve been in Asia too long, but I just don’t understand why Australian women insist on flashing their breasts at strangers, and even worse friends!

We had a visitor recently whose t-shirt was so low-cut that every time she leaned forward (intensely interested in the conversation she was having with my husband) we saw more than her interest. I realise that she wasn’t trying to seduce my husband. But what was she doing? Trying to prove that she is still attractive at 40?

To be fair, she may not have realised her fashion “boob” (I must give credit to my thesaurus for that witticism). I too have made the mistake of wearing a top that swept way too low - I was six-months pregnant and the bridesmaid’s dress had fit just fine a month earlier. But when cleavage becomes a central part of our wardrobe, what are we saying to the world? I value your desire or envy more than your friendship?

So, I’d like to cut a deal with my sisters fond of plunging necklines. I’ll keep my fabulous abs tucked away from your husband’s eyes and you keep your marvellous melons for viewing in your own bedroom.

Sour grapes? Yes, indeed. Mere grapes…

The Weekend News

2009-11-05T15:50:00.002+07:00

Each Monday on my way home from doing the weekly shopping, I buy the weekend paper (confusing the newsstands with why I want old news). It’s actually the colour insert of the Cambodian Weekend that I enjoy flicking through while trying to get two and a half year old Mr Happy to take a nap. Articles range from sneak peaks into the workings of a local factory specialising in “stressing” jeans to a report on a rock concert by a peace activist in Cuba.

This Monday I didn’t even make it to the coloured insert (with an extra few pages commemorating the old King’s birthday). The front page held me.

“Father, Four Sons Electrocuted in Floodwaters” by Phann Ana

A father and his four sons were electrocuted and two others were injured in Phnom Penh’s Russei Keo district when an electric cable fell into knee-high floodwaters inside their home, authorities and witnesses said.

The father, Mak En, 65, and his sons Mak Phea, 30, Mak Livon, 28, Mak Livin, 26 and Mak Livan, 23 were all killed when Mr En was electrocuted and his four sons came to his rescue.

“They are all gone!” cried Khin Khon, 58, wife and mother to the five deceased men, at a funeral ceremony held at Wat Uttarawattey in Russei Keo district on Friday. “In just 15 seconds, my husband and four sons… all disappeared.”

Ms Khon and her youngest daughter Mak Dina, 19, suffered electrical shocks and narrowly avoided the same fate when attempting to rescue their five family members who lay motionless in the floodwaters.

Flooding that has plagued Russei Keo district since last year was largely responsible for the deaths, relatives said.

Residents in Russei Keo and other northern parts of the city have said in recent months that the government’s decision to allow real estate developers to fill in natural lakes in the district has lead to severe flooding.

It’s a tragedy on so many levels. In responding to it, my tendency is to despise this country and its leaders that would take $79million to allow the developers to fill the lakes and flood the surrounding suburbs without recourse.

But as Steve reminds me, it’s because of the darkness that we’re here and the hope that it can change that sustains us. Hate momentarily energises us, but will eventually only drain us.

I just pray that I can gain some clear direction over the next year to know where to invest my heart and skills, and gratefully give up my treasured Monday rest-time with the coloured lift-out.

There's a millionaire in our bathroom...

2009-10-25T09:48:00.003+07:00

Our 8 year old Velociraptor this morning came to me as I was working on the computer to tell me there’s a millionaire in our bathroom … who spent all his money on flies!

I laughed until the tears came (they weren’t hiding far away as I had just written an email to my Mum). Then I tried to photograph his fortune for you all before Steve flushed them all back down the hole from where they'd come. Unfortunately, the photo is not so clear... so please just imagine the millions of flies on the walls.

Thank you, mate. It was a fine way to get back into my blog after a long break (I’ll spare you the life lesson within his joke).

Thanks to all who asked if we were ok. We’ve just passed through the seasonal alternating bouts of sickness and visitors that has kept me far from the computer and with a “to do” list that took longer to write than this blog.

A mucous filled mind

2009-09-09T21:55:00.003+07:00

It’s the third week in a row I have missed helping out at my 4th Grader’s “Wednesday swimming” because I and at least one of my children has been unwell. Today there were three of us at home.

Blocked sinuses. Coughs. Sleepless nights. Occasional fever. And a lot of whining.

Strangely enough, I haven’t had the head space to blog as there is little inspiration to be found within a foggy head and soggy tissue.

Today I even got fed up with playing with my camera while lying on the couch (there are only so many photos I can take of the kids, my feet, the dining room table, the coat rack, the reflection off the coffee table...).

Maybe next week.

The first 50 hours

2009-08-30T14:55:00.001+07:00

Over our recent holidays I enjoyed reading Malcolm Gladwell’s latest book, “The Outliers”, where he researches the secrets of the remarkably successful (as opposed to being a success in one’s own mind). While he banished the myth of the self-made man demonstrating the importance of luck and opportunity, he also introduced me to the law of 10,000 hours. Simply stated, work 10,000 hours at something and you will be a master.

The same holidays I also purchased a new camera. My old one had been dropped one too many times and the lens cover could not decide if it was open or closed, preferring the half-awake look. Securing it open with stickytape, I passed the now startled-looking camera onto my enthusiastic children.

Then I spent a week on research. Shying away from the bulky (showy) digital SLR, I finally decided on a compact point-and-shoot used at a back-up camera by professionals. And I love it – to the annoyance of many around me.

This week I wasn’t so well and so had an opportunity to begin reading through the manual in earnest. From the sick-bed, I began exploring the world of ISO, auto exposure and shutter speeds. I have discovered that it will be some time before I am able to choose better than the automatic mode / pre-set scene suggestions.

I’m not sure why but this photo is my favourite from my first 50 hours. Only 9,950 hours to go.

A full schedule.. and homework hassles

2009-08-18T22:06:00.005+07:00

I missed a meeting last night. Not sure why. After all, it was written on the calendar...

Thanks to Mr Happy I have a full schedule for the next couple of weeks.

He's also given Princess the most original excuse for not handing in her homework.

"My little brother drew on my homework, then stabbed it over and over with a pen, and then for good measure peed on it."

As you do, when you're two.

Tired

2009-08-11T11:27:00.003+07:00

People watching (also unfairly known as "staring") is a past-time that Steve and I enjoy and have developed in this stare-friendly country. On a date, we are frequently found watching and wondering at the glorious mix of diners around us - making up stories about who they are and why they are there.

Last Thursday, a particular group near us was bothering me. Although the foreigners were outnumbered by the Khmer, my gut-instinct told me they were new to the country. Over the next while, we worked out the cues...

* one wore a CLEAN white shirt
* they spoke English
* the ladies' coloured hair showed no roots
* they looked "fresh"

Yes. They didn't look TIRED. I'm back from three weeks of holiday and I'm still tired. I'm also suffering from "who would ever want to live here" post-holiday blues. I think I'll keep my mouth shut for another couple of weeks until it passes...

Evictions up-date

2009-08-11T11:08:00.003+07:00

The world doesn't stop while we're on holidays (surprised??). So there is a bit to update on the evictions issue...

* The last man standing was forcibly removed later that day.

* Representatives of the Australian Embassy have agreed to visit the communities that have been relocated outside the city.

* Following the Group 78 evictions, the Australian Embassy joined a number of concerned Embassies, the World Bank and United Nations to make a statement against the forced evictions of communities in disputed areas.

* For the Khmer, it is getting more and more difficult to speak out. Newspapers have been shut down, editors jailed, politicians fined, human rights workers threatened.

Now that our first level of requests have been answered by the Embassy, it's time to consider "what's next?". Hmm.

What can one man do?

2009-07-17T15:34:00.003+07:00

If he dares to speak up, his voice will be heard.

One man who dared to speak up was an American friend of one of our group who had a chance to meet with the Australian Prime Minister at a function in Rome. He asked his Aussie friend if there were any issues he could raise with the PM and we emailed him a copy of our Embassy meeting notes / briefing material relating to Group 78 and forced evictions in Cambodia.

In a stroke of brilliance attributed to his wife, he transformed these notes into a personalised advocacy package for the PM replete with a photo of Bonhoeffer's statue (whom Rudd has claimed to admire most in the history of the 20th century) and a quote from Rudd himself - "The purpose of the church is not to be socially agreeable; it is to speak robustly to the state on behalf of those who cannot speak effectively for themselves".

His prayerful approach was surely inspired by the Holy Spirit and combined with the package, this American Catholic Deacon who dared speak up was told by our PM "You've pricked my conscience"(for the details see his article).

Since this time, we have been working on how to convert a "pricked conscience" into the political will to do something. However, today time ran out for Group 78.

On Monday, the Court of Appeal heard the Group 78's appeal (assisted by Community Legal Education Centre) for an injunction to prevent the Phnom Penh Municipality from evicting them before a decision has been made about the legality of the eviction. The appeal was unsuccessful.

On Wednesday, the community protested outside the Canadia Bank who has provided loans funding the development. They then met with the World Bank who has provided $38.4million since 2002 towards the Land Management and Administration Project designed to "establish an efficient and transparent land administration system".

It was their last hope because Friday (today) was the scheduled date for their eviction.

I have been following the events from afar - enjoying annual holidays in Thailand actually. Only able to "speak" with the highest of powers, I have sleeplessly wondered how the residents of Group 78 were holding up.

Today's emails tell me that all but one family has finally accepted the offered package. They were witnesses to the strong arm tactics when their neighbours were evicted and were not keen to watch the violent destruction of their own homes with bulldozers and axes, aided by tear gas and a strong police presence.

The one remaining family is standing firm, rightly claiming the offer is neither just nor fair. Surrounded by police, media and monitors, the man of the house is calling out "You all come here with weapons. My family, we have no weapons. You can use your weapons to tear down my house, but I do not agree."

Please join with me and pray for this one man who dares to stand up to the authorities - praying that his voice is heard before it is hushed. Pray also if there is some opportunity where you can speak robustly for the 150,000 others around Cambodia still facing eviction.

The Embassy visit

2009-07-09T23:13:00.004+07:00

Six of us met in front of the new Australian Embassy on Tuesday to prepare for a meeting with the Third Secretary and the head of AusAID. Our purpose was to encourage further action to assist the 150,000 Cambodians currently facing forced eviction from their homes due to land grabbing and development.

A short 20 metre walk around the Embassy's 2 metre high wall took us to a community of around 90 families that is under threat of eviction - Group 78. The land has been valued at $14million. The community has been offered a package totalling $400,000 or be forcibly moved to a relocation site 20kms outside of Phnom Penh.

We sat down in blue plastic chairs at the closest tarpolin-roofed "diner", sipping cold waters over brief introductions prior to the meeting lead by Lisa H (see photo). One woman ran a project at the relocation sites where the former neighbours of Group 78 were violently taken three years ago and who still don't have electricity or running water. Two others live in poor communities that are facing eviction in a number of years. The rest of us were hoping our presence at the meeting would be suggestive of the great interest amongst the Australian expat community.

Issues were discussed and questions were divvied up before we headed into the cold bleak modern building. The Embassy staff had moved in only one week ago and we were apparently the first guests to use the Brisbane Room (which was a remarkably similar size to the 6x4m plots of land being provided at the relocation site).

My mp3 player and phone were kept "safe" at the front desk, but there wasn't much to record anyway. The meeting went something like this.

Blah blah BLAH we're monitoring the situation blah blab blab don't get involved in individual cases blah BLAH blah speaking directly to various members of Government blah BLAH hmmm.

It was disappointing. While they indicated their interest in identifying new opportunities to act, they declined our offer to visit the relocation site or fund coordinated advocacy efforts. No mention of the issue is made in the soon-to-be-released country strategic plan and the new wording within the 2009 budget which aims to provide vulnerable groups with "access to justice" was just extra words and didn't reflect a desire to actually do it.

I thought his one final word of advice was odd "just don't write any letters to the editor". However, I've just read that at the national food security forum held that same day the Cambodian PM stated that a number of foreigners have wrong views and are creating friction between the governments of the two countries involved. In the current environment where newspaper's are being forced to shut down and editors are being jailed for "misinformation", speaking publically on the issue could be a good way to get a fast ticket home.

The Third Secretary's advice was timely and perhaps his (and our) efforts are beginning to challenge the status quo after all.

One for the Mums

2009-07-06T19:11:00.001+07:00

I wrote this one over two and a half years ago, before I had a blog (with a self-imposed word limit) and before Mr Happy was born. I stumbled on it again recently and thought I would post it. The land issue is particularly timely as I go to the Aussie Embassy tomorrow to speak to them about land evictions (something this "at-home" Mum can do). Any prayers appreciated...

+++

As an at home Mum with two children, I have been asked by other Mothers in Australia "what difference is there between me and you?" In essence, there is little difference. I am a Mum, who wants to reach out to others with the love of Jesus in whatever situations I can.

It's the context that is vastly different. I am trying to be a friend cross-culturally in a language I am still learning (although I pretty good at chatting). I am raising my children in a challenging living environment and must teach them how to live across two (even three) worlds. But most of all, it is the people that are uniquely different. Each woman here has a remarkable story of traying to make a life for herself and her family.

Take my friend, Bun. I have known her for about five years from when we first visited Cambodia. She was newly married then. Now, she has two children but six months ago lost her husband to cancer.

I have listened to her heartache and cried with her many times through the pain of loss, uncertainty and loneliness. I have prayed with her and try to encourage her, but most of all I just try to listen and be a friend.

Today, her loss was raw and while my two munchkins raced around making their own games, I listened again. And we cried.

For Christmas, she and her children went to visit the beach with her former boss who was visiting the country. She had been nervous, but was determined that her kids get their first glimpse of the ocean. They had loved it! Also, the sea air was a tonic for her youngest who had been plagued by ill-health for many months.

While there she also visited some of her husband's friends with whom he had bought some land when they were first married. However, they didn't have good news for her. The land purchased by her husband had been stolen by a powerful businessman to further his business interests in the area (palm oil). It's a common story in Cambodia - the rich steal from the poor and then pay off the authorities. Any attempts by communities and activists to secure justice are blocked by the courts. Some even receive death threats of the non-idle kind.

For my friend, the 15 hectares are not as important as the fact that another link to her husband was cruelly severed. Before he even fell sick, he had tried to provide for his family's future, but it was stolen away. And that hurts her deeply.

My friend is fortunate that her former bosses sponsor her children to attend school. She continues to work to pay her day-to-day bills. Her own family and her husband's family also love her deeply and try to support her as best they can. But in her culture, tears are a sign of weakness and so often she is alone in her pain. So, I am a friend who can do little but listen and cry with her, together we are weak, but I pray that our times together will strengthen her.

I know they strengthen me. They strengthen my resolve to learn language, to pray, to be a light and friend to my fellow Mums.

Just in case I was getting proud of my newly-developed fitness...

2009-06-22T19:23:00.002+07:00

Yesterday, Princess (now 6) commented over lunch “Mummy and Daddy are so different!” Expecting a gem, I asked her how we were different. Pointing to her Dad’s muscular chest, she replied “Dad’s got big breasts”.

Then today, she decided not to eat the two pieces of fruit required before she could have a whole peanut butter cookie. “I’ll just have half because I don’t want to get fat”. I told her that it was unlikely she’ll have a problem with that. “Look at Mum and Dad. Are we fat?” Her reply “Well Mummy, you do have fat legs…”

I’m now waiting for the inevitable third strike that will send me to the dugout to sit on the bench with the rest of the flat-chested, fat-thighed, old and ugly Mummies. Innings over! Time to cheer on the next generation.

Puff and buff

2009-06-18T13:14:00.003+07:00

The pictured shoes were my Mother’s Day present that I am working hard to deserve - no, not as a mother, as a runner.

Around three months ago I began running three times a week at the local sports club. It’s the first time since being in Cambodia that I have been able to find a regular form of exercise (apart from Saturday afternoon touch footy).

While I love sports, I normally hate running. But through the casual comment of a friend who offered to run with me when we go back to Australia, I suddenly have an aim – to get fit enough to run with her. But through the process, I’ve become addicted to the numbers… 1km, 2km, 3km, 10mins, 20mins, 30mins. I’m now regularly doing 5-6kms and working to improve my time.

The newly opened sports club services a growing market for rich Khmer and foreigners seeking to work off the extra kilos that accumulate with wealth. Although some members work hard on avoiding exercise, there are also a number of very determined people who are teaching themselves how to swim. Some sink. Some float. All employ whatever technique it takes to move forward. Their courage is often my inspiration to keep running when I’d rather stop for a walk (or lie down).

Each session as I search for a machine near a fan (and still manage to splatter it with sweat), I also note with irony the construction workers outside building a new extension to the gym area. Their glistening buff bodies are surely the envy of all who workout here.

Fighting despair

2009-06-14T23:27:00.003+07:00

In a speech at an anti-corruption concert held on May 30, the US Ambassador to Cambodia Carol Rodley sparked an uproar when she said that the Cambodian Government loses up to $500 million in public funds every year because of corruption.

The concert organisers were pulled in for questioning. Public letters from high level Government officials were sent to advise her that this is not how an Ambassador should speak. And a comedy skit by a well-known comedian (who also happens to be a colonel in the Prime Minister’s personal bodyguard unit) ridiculed local human rights groups for profiting from insulting the Government has been playing daily on three TV networks.

Three days after the concert, Transparency International released its annual corruption barometer revealing that over the last year almost half of Cambodian families have paid bribes, as did three quarters of those who dealt with the judicial system.

From what I could see, no media outlet asked the question as to whether the figures were accurate. No Government statements were made accounting for their income and expenditure. No one dared to dig further. Smoke, mirrors, lights and the issue is closed. The average citizen is no wiser and life will continue on as always. Meanwhile, non-Government organisations (NGOs) are increasingly viewed with suspicion as we seek to serve and assist the exploited poor of this country.

It’s a discouraging scenario for someone considering being involved in seeking social justice.

However, I am rebuked and encouraged by the words of Gary Haugen in his book “Good News about Injustice”.

In the Screwtape Letters, an ingenious reflection on the forces that drain the lifeblood from Christian faith, C.S. Lewis makes a startling statement. He writes that “Despair is a greater sin than any of the sins that provoke it”. And surely for Christians who look at our incredibly evil world of injustice and oppression, despair can always be found lurking at the door of our hearts, waiting to hobble us the moment we begin to take our first steps forward.

In taking one of my first steps forward, I am hoping to meet with the Australian Embassy this week with a number of Aussie friends. We hope to encourage Australia to speak out and act against the unlawful land evictions occurring amongst poor communities here (Group 78 is one community marked for eviction right next to the new Australia Embassy as reported by Dateline). I am told that previous meetings by local NGOs have not been productive.

While I use my previous knowledge and skills in Government policy to seek justice, I need to develop yet another more essential skill – the ability to fight off despair.

Gentle servanthood

2009-05-31T19:10:00.002+07:00

I’ve been a bit quiet lately, because I’m rediscovering the world of pen and paper - a diary for some thoughts best kept to myself. However, one entry this week was particularly significant (and a bit emotional .. so I’ve edited a little).

7.15am Thursday 27 May 2009 Kloth (known as Malaky to his family) died. His death leaves an empty chair at our team office, an ache in our hearts and a gaping hole in the Universe for his family. As I was told many times, “Malaky loved his Mum”.

Cancer of the liver (a curiously common disease here) had destroyed his insides and only 10 days after he left work it had eaten him out. There was nothing the doctors could do – it was too far gone.

Only 34. So young. Too young to die. Even the Khmer are known to comment.. “The good die young”. And he was good.

Although he was the only Christian in his immediate family (making him an embarrassment and outcast) and fifth of nine brothers and sisters, he was also one of its pillars supporting a younger sister and brother through their studies. I’m sure most of his money went to the rest of the family living in the province. He loved them with all he had and never even got the chance to marry despite his reasonable pay packet.

It was his dedication that seems to be his undoing. He would not stop work, even though he seemed to recover somewhat when he did get a break. His family now blames us. In their grief they cannot see their own complicity in his death – their reliance on his income so that he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, stop work. Now they have neither him nor his income. Their loss is huge.

At the funeral, his father reminisced with a mix of pride and grief while we quietly sipped softdrinks with chunks of melting ice. His mother was too grief stricken to receive us and kept a tearful vigil by his body.

One guest asked to see his face – the white sheet was drawn back to reveal his face, yellow and fragile with colourless eyes half open keeping an eye on proceedings. He’s making sure his family honours his final wish for his ashes being scattered where the four rivers meet in front of the royal palace. They will cremate him tonight at home, framed by banana trees on a bed of charcoal fuelled by petrol.

Kloth (a Khmer spelling for “Claude”) will no longer greet us at the office, reminding us of unpaid postage for parcels and visas due for renewal. He won’t be able to encourage me in my language efforts or smile gently (then wearily) as we chatted.

He’s now free – in peace and without pain. He’s gone to be with Jesus – the other Gentle Servant who gave His all.

They're the people that you meet...

2009-05-22T21:51:00.004+07:00

A while ago now, I worked up the guts to take my camera out onto my street. No, I’m not afraid of thieves, I just hate doing the “tourist thing” with my neighbours. But I realise that most of you will never get a chance to come and see this place so I shyly asked each of the people along my way to school to pose for a photo that I could send to my “brothers and sisters in Australia”. They too were quite shy but gave me some brilliant smiles. ... They were particularly pleased when I gave them each a copy of the best photos.

Introducing… the guy waiting to cook noodle lunches for the volleyball players on our corner.

The lady selling sesame flavoured waffles for 200riel (5cents) each

The motodop drivers waiting at the t-intersection for morning clients (my brother danced cheek to cheek with the one on the far left).

The convenience store where I get my phone cards and small packets of milo for fussy visitors.

Breakfast is served by the lady who's daughter managed to marry "up" so that she no longer sells breakfast out the front of her place. (I went to the Wedding and the daughter didn't seem so pleased...).

Tyre pumps and repairs (with an extra charge for the unsuspecting foreigners).

Our Wednesday afternoon treat… deep fried bananas cooked over a charcoal fire. (love the smile)

With plenty of other snacks... equally unhealthy.

Although the walk to school is barely 150 meters, it can sometimes take a long time to get there.

I've hit the jackpot

2009-05-10T22:28:00.003+07:00

I have come home from my second meeting of Christians for Social Justice jumping with excitement. No, it wasn't the food, the stimulating discussion, the opportunities to act, or the great group of people there.

It is the fact that my bag is weighed down with six books for me to chew through - short stories, political essays, optimistic models for development and justice by Professors of Economics and Nobel Peace Prize winners. They all come photocopied and highly recommended. I feel like I've won the lotto!

See you in a month...

I love my fan

2009-05-10T22:25:00.002+07:00

1.30pm Tuesday last week my fan (my friend) glided to a stop, as did all the electrical appliances in my house and along the street. It was just another black-out. We have them regularly throughout the hot season when load-shedding ensures that the city can continue to run (albeit with a noticeable limp) throughout peak usage times.

The quietness was then shattered as the generator for the bean sprout farm across the road chugged into life. (It was the noise that accompanied our every moment over the next 22 hours.)

But it wasn’t until the sun set that afternoon that I realised we were in for a dark, hot night. This was not just load-shedding - there was a problem that was not going to be fixed throughout the night. Workers need to eat and sleep. I just hope that someone had notified them of the problem and our entire street wasn’t just accepting the situation as “bad luck”. I certainly didn’t call the electricity company.

However, the kids always love black-outs. The candles cause rousing renditions of “happy birthday”. Dinner is eaten with far less complaints although it is interrupted by numerous trips to the toilet / kitchen just so they can hold the candle on their own. The muted light also seems to help reduce fights and lulls our senses to sleep.

At bed time, we moved the kid’s mattress so that they could sleep on the tiles under their mosquito net. Then we all chose our weapons for tackling the night.

Velociraptor asked for a wet towel to drape over his body. Princess wet her hair and wriggled her way to sleep closest to the battery operated fan. Mr Happy went nude but demanded that the mattress be returned to its normal spot. Steve smothered himself with RID and chose to sleep on the bare tiles downstairs, deciding cool was more important than comfort.

With a Mum’s protective instincts I slept upstairs just outside the kid’s room under a wet sheet for the dual purpose of protecting me from heat and mozzies. Or rather, tried to sleep. It was the perfect opportunity to catch up on a little thinking but I just wasn’t in the mood.

My mood in the morning wasn’t much better (nor was anyone else’s). But we were pleased to see evidence of the suffering of others around us – dragging feet, stooped shoulders, bleary eyes. Misery loves company.

And I realise now that there is nothing the “haves” can say to the “have nots” that will make them feel any better. Optimism is particularly distasteful while a helping hand is MUCH appreciated (a friend was happy to take my perishables into her fridge… although I still made us sick on some old cheerios).

But what I really wanted was to “have also”.

This, I did, at 11.30am. The generator ceased and in the quiet, I could again enjoy the cheery whirr of my fan. Ahhh. Bliss.

Pigging out on mango

2009-04-28T21:37:00.003+07:00

April in Cambodia is undeniably HOT (the feeling of sweat running down the back of my legs is no longer a remarkable event).

But, it is also mango season. Due to the unseasonal rains, it has been a bumper crop and we can buy them ripe for as little as 500 riel (US$0.12) each. My upset belly tells me that it had better end soon, while my mouth waters for more.

It's just another one of the perks of living here, I guess. Not that I expect it will be enough to attract workers to the following urgent staffing needs...

* Teachers are needed for Hope International School, beginning in August 2009, specifically a Year 1 and Year 5 teacher as well as a high school maths teacher.

* Our Christian Care for Cambodia team needs a leader. The job would be ideal for someone with management and pastoral care skills, committed to missions but with limited capacity for learning language.

All positions require an ability to moan loudly about the horrible heat combined with a large capacity for pigging out on copious amounts of fresh, juicy mango.

Pancakes...

2009-04-27T21:20:00.002+07:00

That’s what the unconscious lady on the road (previous blog) sold for a living. Selling yellow pancakes with dried shrimp and bean sprouts along the road, she earns enough each day for her daughters and her to survive. When she managed to turn a profit, she bought a necklace (the most common form of savings here).

Unfortunately, it was only a gold-plated necklace so the thieves will be very disappointed that they robbed someone so poor.

She is poor. My slum-living Aussie friend who coincidently lives on the same street described her place as a “hovel”. (My friend lives in a two room, tin roofed “toilet block” so she would know a hovel when she saw one.)

My friend also tells me that the equally-poor neighbours on the street took up a collection so that the public hospital would agree to do the necessary tests. It took 14 hours – the doctors finally agreeing to look at her at 2am in the morning when the initial US$100 was delivered. They operated soon after.

The next morning my friend heard the two daughters discussing whether to go out selling pancakes or stay with their critically ill mother (who would have no nursing staff waiting on her). They chose to sell pancakes to help pay for the mounting hospital bills.

My friend’s husband visited the lady last Friday in hospital and says that she is improving but her speech is not yet recovered. It will take time to know how serious her head injuries are.

I could tell you this has been a good opportunity for our children to learn how to pray for and give to others in need, but it would be hollow.

I’d just rather it never happened.

Think you're safe?

2009-04-12T09:36:00.003+07:00

Without fail, visitors to Cambodia comment on the crazy traffic.

Drivers use rear view mirrors only for personal primping. Stop lights are optional and lane markings only suggestions. Large, shiny 4WDs flash their lights while careening towards you in “your” lane. Dodge them along with the motorbikes, bicycles, carts, pedestrians, police, potholes and piles of rubbish and you may reach your goal safely.

The lady I saw on Friday lying unconscious in the centre of a main road didn’t make it.

She had been riding a motorbike taxi when her necklace was ripped from her neck by thieves on motorbikes. She fell, hitting her bare head on the bitumen of the busy main road. Her motorbike taxi driver took off while a crowd of men collected around her, their curiosity protecting her from being run over by the midday traffic. A Good Samaritan with some knowledge of first aid laid her in the lateral position and phoned the ambulance.

Road accidents are horribly common here. I’ve seen more bleeding, twisted bodies than I want to remember.

The Road Safety Committee here in Cambodia reports that road accidents seriously wounded 32 people and killed 4.5 on an average day. This is an annual rate of 11.5 deaths and 82.25 serious injuries per 100,000 people. This is in a country where helmet wearing was only recently made law (however the US$2.50 ice-cream bucket impersonators used by most are colloquially called “helmets that protect from police” rather than “safety helmets”).

For interest sake, I decided to google Australia’s stats (yeah, insomnia again) and found some interesting results. In comparison, the most recently available data shows that 4.42 people die and 138 are injured on Australia’s roads each day. This is an annual rate of 7.7 deaths and 248 hospital admissions per 100,000 people.

On the surface (not accounting for under-reporting), it would seem that more bravery is needed to venture onto the roads in Australia.

Happy Easter!

Language learning and dishwashing liquid

2009-04-11T14:06:00.001+07:00

I love language learning. I know that most people hate it and they think I am mad … but I love that having a chin-wag with my teacher for three hours a week is considered “work”.

My current lessons are actually more productive beyond just learning new words and developing greater cultural understanding. Since taking up study again last year, my language teacher has not only persevered through the marketing text book with me, but he has been inspired to start his own business.

“Green Cleaner” is a dishwashing liquid that he sells in 500ml water bottles with a laser-printed label. Produced on a shoe-string budget, the product doesn’t look much, but he has trained all his salespeople to groom themselves well and speak beautifully to even the rudest customers.

His unique selling point is that it is made in Cambodia and is very successful with the current climate of increased antagonism towards neighbouring countries. Old ladies are patting him on the arm and saying “If I can’t support Cambodian business, who can I support?” So business is growing fast, and he now employs 7 full-time staff and another 15-20 people on the weekends.

Priced at only 1,500 riel (US$0.37), his staff earning 300 riel (US$0.07) with each sale (up to US$80 per month), are making more money than he is… but he is not concerned. He is delighted to be helping out young people in his neighbourhood who have just lost their jobs in garment factories due to the global financial crisis. He is also committed to tithing 10% of his turnover to the local church, despite my protests that tithing off profit is sufficient and will leave more money for re-investing.

My role in this has been so insignificant but I can’t help wondering if my motivation and advice has been more effective than if I had tried to start my own business from one of the many business ideas swimming around my head. My teacher is far more committed, motivated and skilled than I could have ever hoped to find in a business manager because he is investing his own money, energy and ideas in a business that he (not a donor) controls.

He now needs at least US$6,000 to take the business to the next level which includes registering with the Government, buying a tuk-tuk for transport, buying moulds and producing bottles that cannot be copied by others (there is already some con-artist selling identically labelled green-coloured “water” in one market for 1,000riel).

I have no troubles advocating for him as this would be money very well spent.

My enemy my friend

2009-04-09T14:24:00.002+07:00

The Economist Intelligence Unit last month rated Cambodia with a very high risk of social instability (fourth out of 165 countries) due to economic challenges, underpinned by other social factors such as unemployment, inequality, lack of trust in institutions, corruption etc.

It’s not surprising at all really. Increasing reports of land grabbing, justice systems that are simply an oxymoron, a large population of youth with low education, a country rich in natural resources and a growing base of people with nothing left to lose are all factors that could lead to violence. The global economic crisis only turns up the heat further in this pressure-cooker environment.

Then last week I attended a workshop organised by the Advocacy and Policy Institute (a locally-run NGO), supported by the British Embassy. There were around 200 people there, amongst them I was one of only five foreigners (hooray!). The workshop followed a three day training course in the development of lobbying in Cambodia and culminated in the establishment of a Civil Society Lobby group.

As the speakers summarised their training presentations into bite-sized bits, I was greatly encouraged by an ongoing theme – developing relationships with people in power to advocate change.

Chris Baker-Evans, the instigator of Christians for Social Justice, comments “The more we are willing to see our opponents as part of the solution the more we are able to find creative and effective methods of addressing the underlying issues, which exist no matter who is in charge.”

It is easy to demonise the “enemy” but Jesus commands us to “love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Building relationships and seeking a common ground help us humanise the perpetrators of injustice and work together towards change.

I have no idea if this is possible in Cambodia for I find it hard to put this into practice in my own life. But it is imperative that we try.

The Economist Index claims an impressive 70% hit rate or in other words, there is a two in three chance of social instability spilling over into violence in Cambodia over the next year.

Let’s pray they are wrong.

A life worth living

2009-03-24T14:00:00.002+07:00

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.

Adding knowledge to zeal

2009-03-20T06:16:00.003+07:00

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.

Storm in a lunch box

2009-03-02T23:32:00.001+07:00

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.

Caring for cons

2009-03-02T22:22:00.001+07:00

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.

Children's ministry

2009-02-07T16:51:00.001+07:00

The cool season not only brought a plague of mossies but also a three week school break. Over this sometimes chilly period, there was a significant warming in our relationship with the landlord as the kids frequently played outside in their dusty yard. Our children are often the oil that eases relationships!

Honour your father and your mother

2009-02-07T16:25:00.002+07:00

I had a good chuckle the other day as I returned downstairs from hanging clothes on the roof top. Below me, our landlord’s 40-plus son (who also lives with their house with the entire extended family) was lounging back on the concrete outdoor setting. His arms were spread across the backs of the curved bench and his legs extended across the round table so that his pot-belly was nestled comfortably in between. With a beer close at hand and his teenage son laboriously digging around a leaking water pipe, he had the smile of a satisfied man.

The teenage son was in the process of repaying a lifelong debt to his father for the gift of his own life. It is such a strong cultural value that there is a Khmer proverb that warns a child “Don’t trust a mother that says there is no debt”. There is always a debt. It is through this debt that parents are obeyed, revered and then cared for in their old age. And in most cases, it works (no nursing homes here!).

Now as a mother of three, I can more clearly see the immensity of this gift of life and love given to each child and I can only conclude that the Khmer, like other Asian cultures, have got it right.

With recent visits by my in-laws and my Mum, I am reminded that my own tendency is to rely on my parents and in-laws for baby sitting, managing our finances and their handy skills. They even cross the seas to maintain a relationship with us and their grandchildren! All this they lovingly do without a hint of the huge debt I owe.

Next time, I need to take more seriously the command to “honour your father and your mother” and have a beer / wine chilled and myself readied to serve. However, I think that my “taut and terrific” Mum needs to work harder on developing a pot-belly in order to gain the full effect of that satisfied smile.

And the answer is... mossies!

2009-02-06T21:28:00.001+07:00

It is mosquito season here in Phnom Penh. Each time the weather cools and the dry season begins they multiply dramatically. Funny enough, we always look forward to the cooler weather forgetting the not-so-enjoyable aspects.

However, I do enjoy swatting the abundance of mossies with my handy zapping racquet. It gives such a satisfying crack (and if they get caught in it you can really make them sizzle!). The day I took the photo (which is why I was lying down) I had been swatting those hiding amongst our laundry for about 20 minutes before noticing them accumulating on the soles of my feet.

Thanks for your good natured guesses and your patience with the clues and answer. I have been busy with visitors and then haven’t been well the past week but I am now back on board. The cool season is even over! More posts coming soon…

Final Hint

2009-01-29T06:04:00.004+07:00

Some very good guesses from some late starters makes this hint almost redundant.

For the final clue, this is a photo of my weapon of choice with evidence of the slaughter all around.

The love of a father

2009-01-19T23:20:00.001+07:00

As I shared recently, it is easy to think more highly of ourselves than we should because we lack God’s perspective. Today, I found the clearest picture of what is really happening in my life.

Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father / son team who compete together in marathons and ironman triathlons, except that Rick has cerebral palsy and can’t even walk and talk. He is pushed, pulled and carried through to each finish line by his loving Dad.

Likewise, if I make it to the finish line of Life with shouts and cheers, it is because my broken body is being powered onward by my ever-loving Father.

If you haven’t yet heard of Team Hoyt, watch and be inspired.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flRvsO8m_KI

Hint 2

2009-01-16T06:18:00.003+07:00

A follow-up on Any Guesses??. Here's the source of the problem.

Beneath the surface...

2009-01-07T15:41:00.001+07:00

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.

Any guesses?

2009-01-03T17:33:00.006+07:00

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)?

A Christmas gift...

2008-12-30T17:10:00.001+07:00

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

2008-12-16T22:33:00.001+07:00

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

2008-12-16T20:53:00.000+07:00

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

2008-12-07T15:27:00.001+07:00

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

2008-11-30T06:38:00.002+07:00

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

2008-11-27T14:23:00.001+07:00

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

2008-11-17T22:28:00.001+07:00

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

2008-11-17T21:30:00.001+07:00

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.

2008-11-14T03:52:00.002+07:00

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...

2008-10-27T14:11:00.000+07:00

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.

2008-10-27T14:06:00.002+07:00

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

2008-10-19T08:29:00.002+07:00

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"

2008-10-13T20:30:00.002+07:00

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

2008-10-08T20:49:00.004+07:00

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

2008-09-15T23:46:00.003+07:00

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...

2008-09-15T23:12:00.003+07:00

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)

2008-09-10T00:11:00.003+07:00

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...

2008-09-09T22:29:00.000+07:00

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

2008-09-02T13:47:00.003+07:00

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

2008-08-28T03:30:00.002+07:00

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

2008-08-21T14:03:00.004+07:00

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?

2008-08-11T23:05:00.003+07:00

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

2008-08-07T23:48:00.005+07:00

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

2008-08-07T22:47:00.004+07:00

“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

2008-07-28T20:07:00.000+07:00

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

2008-07-26T22:53:00.002+07:00

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)

2008-07-22T22:30:00.004+07:00

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

2008-07-22T22:05:00.007+07:00

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

My child, give me your heart

2008-07-17T14:56:00.004+07:00

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

2008-07-13T14:48:00.003+07:00

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.