Gecko-flavored coffee

ching chok house gecko

tokay gecko

Cambodia has many a gecko lizard.  They range from about two to four inches long (unless they're the scary huge tokay geckos that bite), and they're generally quite harmless.  They tend to scurry on the walls and floors of buildings, helping us out by eating mosquitoes and mostly staying out of people's way.  But about a month ago, my friend and colleague Neil was drinking coffee and found a dead one at the bottom of his coffee mug!  This of course led to all kinds of questions: Did it crawl into the mug or into the coffee pot?  How long had it been dead?  What does gecko-flavored coffee taste like?  Apparently not very different, because Neil managed to drink the whole cup before discovering the poor little guy!

The next day, I had a more serious question.  Neil became very sick and was in the hospital with confusing symptoms.  Could it be gecko poisoning?  

It turns out that the gecko was innocent in the matter - Neil's condition was unrelated.  But it *was* serious, and Neil's been at a hospital in Bangkok ever since, along with his girlfriend, my housemate Michaela.  Though he's recovering well, it will take time.

Last week, a bunch of Logos people went to the same hospital with various other health concerns, and we sent a care package with some of them.  My housemate Meagan had the brilliant idea to cut out gecko silhouettes that Logos staff could write notes on, and she even sent along a teapot to put them in.  

Continuing the gecko theme, our other housemate Annalisa wrote a limerick about Neil's gecko experience:

There once was a gecko who thought,

"That coffee looks so nice and hot!"

So he climbed inside,

And we laughed 'til we cried.

That gecko did not die for naught.

I was inspired to write my own.  Though I never came up with one as witty as hers, here's my first one.  It builds on Neil and Michaela's Scottish nationality and their love of ceilidh dancing (similar to US square dancing).

A gecko once traveled to Thailand,

Finding Neil and Michaela inside-land.

Celtic music was played

In their room every day:

Preparation for ceilidhs in the Highlands.

My next attempt references a podcast by comedian David Sedaris that I recently listened to with them both.  He describes crazy American state laws involving hunting: namely: in Texas and Michigan, blind people are eligible for a hunting license, and in Michigan they don't even have to be accompanied by a sighted person.  "If they shoot something, how will they FIND it?" he asks.

A scarred gecko who fled up to Michigan

Often feared being hunted or fished again.

Till a deer kindly said,

“You’ll not likely be dead –

Mainly blind people hunt here in Michigan.”

The hardest part

"God doesn't promise us better life circumstances.  
He promises us a better life."

-Tim Keller, "A Christian's Happiness"

Reflecting on the past five years in Cambodia, I realize how much better things have been than I might have expected. I am so aware of people's prayers for me, and I know that I have been very well protected here in the face of many risks.

• I have been bitten by thousands of mosquitoes, including probably hundreds that had striped legs (the type that carries dengue), and I have never contracted malaria or dengue fever.
• Twice on the road, guys on a moto have tried to snatch my purse, and neither attempt was successful.
• I have approached burnout many times over the years, and yet today my life has perhaps more balance than any other year in Cambodia. I teach far fewer hours per week than I did my first few years.
• After thousands of bike and moto trips through Phnom Penh's crazy traffic, including some near-death experiences, the worst injury I have ever sustained is a broken thumb.
• While many (or most?) non-religious foreigners here turn to cynicism and heavy drinking to deal with their sense of helplessness against corruption and injustice, my faith has given me hope for Cambodia to change.
• Although I arrived with no experience or training in teaching English, and although I've had few mentors here among the English staff, I've been able to learn quite a bit, gain confidence, and very much enjoy teaching it.
• Despite high turnover, I have enjoyed strong community and have always had friends who support, encourage, and listen to me.  Several of them have been here since I arrived.

I need to remember these facts and recognize their significance. They are great reasons to be incredibly grateful.

Yet, in a way, I've been through much more than these facts would suggest. I'm part of a small, tight-knit community whose members are all far from our home networks of support. When one person suffers, we all suffer. That's particularly true at Logos, but it's even true beyond that, to people I've only casually met or never even knew. By far the heaviest burdens I've carried here are those of other people's struggles. Sometimes it's been in the form of fear that it will happen to me; sometimes it's been simply compassion and concern for them; always their burdens have weighted my heart.

Though I only broke my thumb on a moto, I feel the burden of my friend whose foot was run over by a car, leading to months of terrible flashbacks. I feel for my students whose best friend Yo Han died on a moto, and for the young Logos family who left Cambodia because they couldn't handle the painful memories of their three-year-old daughter who died in a moto crash. I have mourned alongside them, prayed for them, and struggled with fear because of them.

Though I've never had dengue, I remember the two weeks that my housemate missed school, lying in agony and delirium, and the months of exhaustion that followed for her. I watch her continue to feel its effects on her brain even three years later. I try not to panic whenever I squash a blood-engorged mosquito on my skin and see its striped legs.

Though I can honestly say I'm doing fine emotionally, I can't forget the downward spiral and eventual departure of friends who have crashed and burned, some of whom arrived later to Cambodia than I did. In some cases, I had no idea just how bad things were until they left. In other cases, I've known of people who know they need to get out but can't. Cambodia has been home to many a shipwreck of people's marriages, families, integrity, and sanity.  

Though I've never felt isolated here, I listen to my students who have been through so many transitions.  Some have attended school in three languages on two or three continents.  Several have at times felt alone and misunderstood to the point of suicidal tendencies.  Some of them find it hard to trust people, hard to reach out, hard to believe that new friends won't soon abandon them like everyone else they've cared about.

I mourned with my colleague who fractured her hip when purse-snatching thieves knocked her off her moto, just months after her husband passed away suddenly. I visited her during her six bed-ridden weeks and struggled for words to say to her. I was here with her foster daughters after she moved back to the US to recover and they had to say goodbye to Mom, shortly after saying goodbye to Dad, for their third set of “parents” and umpteenth set of guardians.

I've watched a friend process the trauma of being dragged behind a moto when thieves couldn't quickly sever her purse's strap. Now I drive next to her to her house every week after church, and then continue on to my house on the same streets where the purse-snatchers targeted her and me. I pray for protection for us both.

I wrestle with the needless, heartbreaking deaths of Cambodians. One man told me how his son (probably chronically hungry) ate food left outside meant to poison stray dogs. Since his family didn't have cash, the hospital refused to admit him, so he died. A student's older sister was electrocuted and died when she opened her metal front door during a flood and a severed live wire was touching the floodwaters. Street kids often go missing and nobody ever finds them or pursues justice for them. Just because I never met any of them doesn't mean I can forget their stories.

Compared to any of them, my life is so peaceful and safe. Yet because of their suffering, I too have suffered – to a lesser extent than they, but still more than I ever did in the US. Being up close and personal with others' problems has been probably the hardest aspect of my life here. In America people often sweep their problems under a rug, but in Cambodia the rugs seem smaller and fewer. People's problems have a way of spilling out to those around them.

These burdens make me tired, but they also make me grow. I'm thankful for my community's honesty about difficulties. Being confronted with problems far too big for me has made me rely on God. Trying to be supportive and encouraging to these friends has left me with no words but the Word of God. Feeling discouraged and heavy-laden has led me back to the One whose yoke is easy.  Interceding on their behalf is a privilege, and so is witnessing the healing and joy He's given so many of them.

Today is one of those times, yet again. Turning to God is not natural for me. I feel heavy-laden by the struggles I have heard about recently, and by my own, much smaller struggles. I don't want to need more faith; haven't I increased my faith enough already? When will I even find time to pray through this daunting list of needs?  

But God knows I need Him. He's urging me to come back once again and find new strength to believe that He is good and that His promises endure. Though I'm tired and grumpy, I'm deciding right now to leave these difficulties in His hands.  I know that for my hurting friends, and for all who choose to come around them, tough life circumstances are essential to God's process of improving our lives by drawing us near to Himself.