And the life that I now live no longer is my own,
Jesus lives in me, the hope of glory!
And each day I live no longer is my own,
Jesus lives in me, the hope of glory!
Realizing this again this week brought a much-needed breakthrough. So easy to forget...so deliciously satisfying to practice! Thanks be to God that I am NOT the star of my life.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
His first-ever letter
Last week in 8th grade English, I had students write letters to former students who had moved at the end of last year.
One student, quite bright and motivated, was stumped. "If I put 'From (Name)' at the top, then where do I put who the letter is to?"
I tried to activate his prior knowledge. "Remember? You start with 'Dear So&So' and you end with...?"
But he didn't remember, and he asked for several more details before feeling satisfied that he had it right.
"Is it the opposite in Korean?" I asked him. "How do Koreans start a letter?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I've never written a letter in English OR Korean."
A smart, well-educated student, writing his first-ever letter at age thirteen. How did that happen?
After living here a year, I've still never seen a post office or a postal worker...my mail is sent to the school. The postal system is certainly corrupt, slow, and generally inconvenient. Still, though, I can't imagine. No thank-you notes? No pen pals? No "pretend you're this character and write to this other character" in English or history class?
This may have been his first letter for my class, but it will certainly not be his last.
One student, quite bright and motivated, was stumped. "If I put 'From (Name)' at the top, then where do I put who the letter is to?"
I tried to activate his prior knowledge. "Remember? You start with 'Dear So&So' and you end with...?"
But he didn't remember, and he asked for several more details before feeling satisfied that he had it right.
"Is it the opposite in Korean?" I asked him. "How do Koreans start a letter?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I've never written a letter in English OR Korean."
A smart, well-educated student, writing his first-ever letter at age thirteen. How did that happen?
After living here a year, I've still never seen a post office or a postal worker...my mail is sent to the school. The postal system is certainly corrupt, slow, and generally inconvenient. Still, though, I can't imagine. No thank-you notes? No pen pals? No "pretend you're this character and write to this other character" in English or history class?
This may have been his first letter for my class, but it will certainly not be his last.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Wade in the water
Even before my arrival last year, I heard about the flooding during rainy season. But where I lived last year, none of the streets flooded in my neighborhood. So all that I witnessed firsthand were giant puddles on the edge of streets, next to the sidewalks. I had to cross them a few times but never walk the long way through them. This year, I live several blocks away. The house never floods, but I've experienced a good bit more flooding on nearby streets.
Sunday night, I went to a local cafe for Internet. I opted to walk instead of driving my moto, since it's only about 10 minutes on foot. Every day brings an afternoon rainstorm, but I hadn't noticed heavier storms than usual that weekend. Having crossed one small flooded section, though, I was confronted with an entire block flooded about 8 inches deep. I happened to know that alongside this block was a field where oxen were pastured each night after pulling wagons with pottery all day. This water could NOT be clean!
Just in front of it was a motodup driver who agreed to take me the rest of the way for $0.25, a bit pricy for such a short distance, but well worth it in this case. I hopped on and we began to cross. It was kinda like fording the river, for you Oregon Trail fans. His moto soon began making sounds: bug-a-bug-a-JOOT-a-bug-a-JOOT... Seconds later, it quit entirely. I sat on the back, wondering whether to give up and walk or stick it out. He pulled off a part and blew on it a few times. No luck. Then he propelled the moto, using his feet, until we reached dry ground. I realized both his flip-flops had broken along the way! He stuck them under his thighs and blew on the part a little more until it started again shakily. Success!
An hour later, I emerged from the cafe. There were no motodups in sight my entire way back. I rolled up my capris and started crossing the lake, much to the amusement of some young Khmer guys on the corner. I dind't want to pick up my feet with each step and add to the splashing, so I slogged through slowly. The longer I was in there, the more prayers I added under my breath: "Thank You, God, that I don't have any open wounds on my legs. Please, if I fall, don't let my computer land in this. Thank You that I haven't hit anything mushy yet. Please protect me from typhoid and all the germs in here. Thank You that my house doesn't flood like some of Sarah's friends' homes. Thank You that I didn't get my moto stuck in this." I arrived safely, rinsed off thoroughly below the knee, and I'm hopefully none worse for the wear. It may have taken over a year, but I'm finally initiated into Cambodian flood-wading!
Sunday night, I went to a local cafe for Internet. I opted to walk instead of driving my moto, since it's only about 10 minutes on foot. Every day brings an afternoon rainstorm, but I hadn't noticed heavier storms than usual that weekend. Having crossed one small flooded section, though, I was confronted with an entire block flooded about 8 inches deep. I happened to know that alongside this block was a field where oxen were pastured each night after pulling wagons with pottery all day. This water could NOT be clean!
Just in front of it was a motodup driver who agreed to take me the rest of the way for $0.25, a bit pricy for such a short distance, but well worth it in this case. I hopped on and we began to cross. It was kinda like fording the river, for you Oregon Trail fans. His moto soon began making sounds: bug-a-bug-a-JOOT-a-bug-a-JOOT... Seconds later, it quit entirely. I sat on the back, wondering whether to give up and walk or stick it out. He pulled off a part and blew on it a few times. No luck. Then he propelled the moto, using his feet, until we reached dry ground. I realized both his flip-flops had broken along the way! He stuck them under his thighs and blew on the part a little more until it started again shakily. Success!
An hour later, I emerged from the cafe. There were no motodups in sight my entire way back. I rolled up my capris and started crossing the lake, much to the amusement of some young Khmer guys on the corner. I dind't want to pick up my feet with each step and add to the splashing, so I slogged through slowly. The longer I was in there, the more prayers I added under my breath: "Thank You, God, that I don't have any open wounds on my legs. Please, if I fall, don't let my computer land in this. Thank You that I haven't hit anything mushy yet. Please protect me from typhoid and all the germs in here. Thank You that my house doesn't flood like some of Sarah's friends' homes. Thank You that I didn't get my moto stuck in this." I arrived safely, rinsed off thoroughly below the knee, and I'm hopefully none worse for the wear. It may have taken over a year, but I'm finally initiated into Cambodian flood-wading!
Monday, September 6, 2010
Grasshopper pie
Thursday was the annual senior class "Pie in the Face" fund-raiser, auctioning off the right to smear a pie in various teachers' and students' faces. As one of two senior homeroom teachers, I was involved in helping them organize it. The first dilemma: what kind of pie filling to sue. Ready-made whipped cream is pricy here, as is shaving cream. (Yuck!) Last year's seniors used meringue, but I wasn't confident ours would succeed - making meringue is a delicate operation. Plus, with no mixer, ten pies' worth of meringue takes a lot of time and elbow grease. Finally I hit on banana pudding as an easy and cheap alternative. It seemed like a shame to waste all that food...it worked beautifully as a fund-raiser, but there sure are a lot of hungry people around here.
A team assembled Wednesday afternoon at the home of Monique, a Khmer girl who lived with relatives in California until two years ago. I knew her neighborhood was upscale, but wasn't prepared for the fishpond in the living room, the bathroom sink made of shimmering glass, or the seven servants hovering around us. When one cook finally arrived with the ingredients, we abandoned our Uno game and dove in.
We easily mixed up the pudding, and Monique even added Kool-Aid last-minute for a deep rose tone. Because of the cook's delay, the other students had to leave after we made the first of two batches. Monique invited me to eat dinner before continuing. I seized the opportunity, partly bause I don't know her very well yet, and partly because I was really enjoying our conversation. She's very American, having grown up in a mostly-white US community. It was neat talking to her about the culture shock two years ago of being treated like a princess at her parents' house. (And "princess" really is how she's treated, in terms of both privileges and responsibilities.) She became a Christian shortly after starting at Logos, much to her parents' chagrin, and struggles to find any common ground with them. During our entire dinner, her mom never once looked at either of us.
Thursday morning, the seniors added Monique's secret ingredient: fried bugs! We had beetles, crickets, and more, but the tarantulas caused by far the biggest stir. The victims were pretty grossed out, especially my roommate Megan - I didn't realize how much she dreads spiders! Thankfully, her pie just had crickets, but I'm living in fear of her retaliation. Most people were resigned to their fate, though they agreed that the smell (vaguely like vomit?) lingered for hours.
The auction started slow, but soon students really got into bidding. We ultimately earned enough for our class trip, sparing us the need for other fund-raisers we had considered. The pie filling *did* look pretty remarkable on faces, even if it wasn't the traditional look that meringue or whipped cream would yield. Even students who didn't bid were captivated as each pie was smashed on a face. Dan and Dean, our principals, were great sports. Dan ate a giant spider from his pie, and Dean took off his shirt ahead of time and let students smear the pie all over him. At the end, the victims pooled their money for the right to pie Monique out of pure revenge. I'm so glad they spared me!
A team assembled Wednesday afternoon at the home of Monique, a Khmer girl who lived with relatives in California until two years ago. I knew her neighborhood was upscale, but wasn't prepared for the fishpond in the living room, the bathroom sink made of shimmering glass, or the seven servants hovering around us. When one cook finally arrived with the ingredients, we abandoned our Uno game and dove in.
We easily mixed up the pudding, and Monique even added Kool-Aid last-minute for a deep rose tone. Because of the cook's delay, the other students had to leave after we made the first of two batches. Monique invited me to eat dinner before continuing. I seized the opportunity, partly bause I don't know her very well yet, and partly because I was really enjoying our conversation. She's very American, having grown up in a mostly-white US community. It was neat talking to her about the culture shock two years ago of being treated like a princess at her parents' house. (And "princess" really is how she's treated, in terms of both privileges and responsibilities.) She became a Christian shortly after starting at Logos, much to her parents' chagrin, and struggles to find any common ground with them. During our entire dinner, her mom never once looked at either of us.
Thursday morning, the seniors added Monique's secret ingredient: fried bugs! We had beetles, crickets, and more, but the tarantulas caused by far the biggest stir. The victims were pretty grossed out, especially my roommate Megan - I didn't realize how much she dreads spiders! Thankfully, her pie just had crickets, but I'm living in fear of her retaliation. Most people were resigned to their fate, though they agreed that the smell (vaguely like vomit?) lingered for hours.
The auction started slow, but soon students really got into bidding. We ultimately earned enough for our class trip, sparing us the need for other fund-raisers we had considered. The pie filling *did* look pretty remarkable on faces, even if it wasn't the traditional look that meringue or whipped cream would yield. Even students who didn't bid were captivated as each pie was smashed on a face. Dan and Dean, our principals, were great sports. Dan ate a giant spider from his pie, and Dean took off his shirt ahead of time and let students smear the pie all over him. At the end, the victims pooled their money for the right to pie Monique out of pure revenge. I'm so glad they spared me!
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