The bravest people I know

Did you ever meet someone who gives you a window into another world? Someone whose life story is so radically different from yours that just listening to them feels like hallowed ground? Someone who makes you question, "Am I strong enough, brave enough, to live like them?"

I had that feeling one night this year when I met "A" through a mutual friend. A and his wife and kids (now teens and tweens) fled their homeland a few years ago due to religious persecution. They are now in limbo, caught between violent threats in the country they left, dead ends in their current host country, and financial barriers to the country they want to enter. They've inspired me to start a GoFundMe page for the first time in my life - not as courageous as their actions, but still an intimidating step into the unknown.

This is not ancient history or an impersonal news article. It's the real-life experiences of a husband and wife and their four kids, regular people who knew the massive risks of serving Christ in their context... and said yes anyway. They're night owls who enjoy biking and SpongeBob. They're cutthroat card players whose laughter echoes off the walls. One daughter covered my hands with henna designs. Another helps her mom cook seriously good food. This is the unfinished story of my friends, and I want you to hear it in A's own words (edited for clarity and security).

***

My name is A.M. My family and I are from South Asia. Due to religious persecution, we have fled from our homeland and hope to resettle in North America. To apply for visas, we need funds for our first year of living expenses there.

 

Unfortunately, our home country's law is dictated by a religion that seeks to harm and eliminate citizens of other faiths. As Christians, we lived without protection.

 

I used to go to different villages for prayer meetings. God enabled me to donate to poor families who were in need. I became aware of people trapped in debt-slavery, laboring day and night in brick kilns. I began to spend money to free these families and also shared my faith with them. Some had been forced by the kiln owners to convert to the majority faith, but they wanted to return to Christianity. Soon, their numbers increased. People showed interest in following Jesus after being freed.

 

This interest did not go unnoticed by the religious leaders and brick kiln owners. They grew angry over the freedom and faith of these poor people. My family and I began to receive threats from extremists with power and money. They would follow my daughters and try to kidnap them, in hopes of forcing them to convert and marry older men of the majority religion.

 

A few years ago, they attacked me and tried to kill me, but God graciously protected me with His mighty hand. People came to my assistance. However, government officials would not protect me, fearing for their own lives and families. Despite the many threats, my appeals for protection were ignored. The men who were against me found out about my appeals, and the persecution increased.

For security reasons, my family shifted to another city, but we were tracked down. The locals pleaded with us to go, so we moved again. The same thing continued to happen: we were tracked and had to flee. Religious leaders sided against us, and the police and courts threw out my case.

 

My church and my friends helped us to escape from South Asia and find refuge in an intermediary nation. It's been difficult to be stripped of culture, language, work, extended family, etc. Although we are safer here, we do not speak the language, and we cannot become citizens. We have struggled to find employment in this poor country with a faltering economy. Our children have not been able to attend school in several years. 

Our fervent hope and prayer is to be granted asylum and a new home in North America. A trustworthy refugee resettlement agency has offered to obtain permanent residency for us, with the right to work and a clear path to citizenship. But first, we must secure funding for our first year of living expenses. Our family of six needs $45,000 for housing, food, transportation, and other basics during that year of transition. We are grateful for your support as we pursue a brighter future for our children.

***

Several friends and I are teaming up to run a GoFundMe page for A's family. We hope this fund-raiser can provide them with much or all of their first-year expenses in North America. If they cannot attain that dream, donations may be redirected toward helping them rebuild their lives in their current host country. Got questions? (I sure did!) Send me a private message and I'd be happy to share more. We'd really appreciate your prayers and gifts for their family! 

The Carnival: Songs from the Tilt-a-Whirl

In February 2020, I read and loved N.D. Wilson's Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl:Wide-Eyed Wonder in God's Spoken World. This genre-defying book combines humor, storytelling, philosophy, commentary on visual art, and more, to wrestle with questions like "Why would a good God allow suffering?" and "How do we know what's really true?" It's quirky yet profound, captivating my heart and mind with observations on the minutiae of his surroundings:

• The ants pouring out when he lifts a rock to mow the lawn. 
• The man who elbows him in the head playing basketball. 
• The functions of intestines. 
• The quest of his toddler to touch a butterfly. 

Many times during Covid, I thought back to some of the book's vivid imagery and creative perspectives. It strengthened me to laugh, to trust, to bring fresh eyes to my stale surroundings. I wanted more people to experience the joy I had in reading it, but name-dropping it didn't have much effect. 

Earlier this year, I sent some favorite passages from it to a friend, Jeff, whose apartment building was quarantined for several weeks. I thought it might be a fun diversion, but he replied with something like, "I'm so confused. What is this about? Is it random word generated prose?" Hang in there, I urged. The writing isn't always linear, but it slowly builds a line of thinking that's worth the fight. "I think I need to hear this as a song," Jeff concluded. On their own, these brilliant paragraphs weren't quite communicating like I'd hoped.

That sparked an idea. I'd recently begun experimenting with songwriting and thought this book could be a great fit. I tried to turn one part into a song, but it kept expanding as I spotted more connections between ideas and images. Finally, I split it into multiple songs to let the story unfold at a leisurely pace.

Some of my favorite albums are those that tell a story. Has a lyric, concept, or musical element from one song ever surprised and delighted you by re-emerging in a later song? I love that. Maybe I could tell this story via songs, and maybe listeners wouldn't feel as stressed about the connection from one song to the next as they would if reading a book. That's what drove this "Songs from the Tilt-a-Whirl" project. So far I've written seven songs, inspired by the first 20% of the book. How many more to come? No idea. Whether or not they all find an external audience like you, I've really enjoyed this way to engage more deeply with Wilson's work. But you'll have a chance to hear at least the next few in the weeks to come.

Here is song #1, based on the book's opening pages.

The Carnival

I am a traveler Not on the road like *Kerouac I am a traveler More like the flea on a dog’s back I am a traveler Couldn’t stop this journey if I tried I’m with the Carnival It’s where I’ve played and I’ve grown up I’m with the Carnival Where I’ve slept and I’ve thrown up I’m with the Carnival Death will get me into the gnarly rides We all spin around As we orbit 67,000 miles an hour We all spin around In this hurricane of stars We all spin around I cling to the lawn fearing I might fly What is this tilt-a-whirl? Full of bugs and full of spheres What is this tilt-a-whirl? A pockmarked ball pulls the oceans near What is this tilt-a-whirl? Wilder than pulp fiction could describe *Jack Kerouac is an American author whose 1957 novel On the Road is based on his travels with friends across the United States.

Whenever possible, I spliced together Wilson's original language, and I haven't added any of my own meaning. The opening line, "I am a traveler," is not inspired by my time overseas. It's the book's opening sentence, discussing a kind of travel experienced by all humans. This song also explains the book's title. If you find it confusing, don't be shy to write me. :) 

Like my other songs, it's condensed and missing a ton of the book's great phrasing and content. But I hope it hints at the flavor of this chapter, maybe even enough that you'll want to read the original. (Because we all know the book is better.)

So far, my songs have not persuaded Jeff to read the book... but he did say they helped him value its content. He graciously collaborated on this one, providing vocals (I'm on backup), guitar, and the video. Thanks Jeff! 

Homebody - an original song

I've gotten into songwriting the past year. I guess it's my new Covid hobby. Most of the songs I've written so far are part of a series that I'll introduce soon. But this one, "Homebody," stands alone, and even though it's my most recent, I'd like to share it first. 

In the group where I originally shared it, we had a "no disclaimers" rule. Each participant had to play their song and share the lyrics before explaining anything. So I'll abide by that policy here and give the background below.

The Lyrics:

1. What’s it like to leave Peoria

After a whole century?

Looking out your bedroom window,

Do you ever have to blink?

Daddy’s fields are far from sight.

You’ve always been a homebody.

Why see Chicago?

All you’d ever wanted was right there.

You delighted in the flowers and birds 

And people you’d known all your life

Like your love could never fade away. 

2. I tasted travel as a toddler.

Now it’s in my blood, I think.

Looking out my bedroom window, 

Still some days I have to blink.

Phnom Penh streets are bold and bright.

I’ve never been a homebody.

Why shut out the wide world?

My heart has scattered pieces here and there.

Fighting to delight in the flowers and birds 

And people revolving through my life,

I pray my love will never fade away. 

3. A third your age and triple the hometowns,

Both of us are moving on.

You finally outgrew your old house,

Hungry for a deeper bond.

Home beckoned you across the night.

Now you’ll always be a homebody.

Why miss Peoria?

All you’ve ever wanted is right here.

You’re delighting in the flowers and birds

And people like you’ve known them all your life

Filled with love that only grows more dear. 

4. What’s it like to trade your body

After a whole century?

Looking in your bedroom mirror,

Can you even help but blink?

Abba’s beauty floods your sight.

Nobody does homebody like you

But someday I’ll be a homebody too.

The Story:

In August, just before returning to the US, I joined an online workshop on songwriting. It included two Zoom sessions with a facilitator and a small group of peers who performed original songs for the others to critique and encourage. I was way out of my league, but I loved hearing what they'd written, and their insights for me were valuable!

For the second session, we were asked to write an original song with one week's notice, incorporating these four elements:

• Starts with a question
• Addresses someone we haven't talked with in a long time
• Mentions a room in our house
• Uses only three chords (in any combination or order) in the chorus

I was intimidated by the thought of combining all these aspects, but if you search for "creativity constraints quote," you'll find many different people who have observed that the latter fuels the former. My song flowed quickly once I started.

 

I decided to write a song for my step-grandma, Irene Hoeltje, who married my grandpa (both were widowed) before I was born. She loved my family and me like there was no "step" about it. She passed away in July, a month shy of her 100th birthday, which was literally during the workshop in August. A lifelong Peoria resident whose retirement community was built on land from her parents' farm, Grandma Irene was never a big traveler, but in recent years she couldn't wait to go meet her beloved Jesus. 

My song is inspired partly by my 2016 blog post about visiting Grandma. It's also reflecting on the parallel between her passing and my decision the same month to leave Phnom Penh and start over in a small Cambodian town next year. I'm excited to move to this community that's drawn me since my first visit years ago, but part of me wishes I could put down deeper roots with one place and group of people, like Grandma did. This song explores how our sharply contrasting lives are shaped by the same love and hope. Heaven holds what neither of us have been used to, but what both of us have always wanted most.

With Grandma and her daughter, my Aunt Linda

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you might remember that last year's Hutchmoot conference initially sparked my interest in songwriting. Specifically, I was moved by Hutchmoot's discussion of the Tolkien short story "Leaf by Niggle." (Hutchmoot is coming up again October 8-10 and I can't wait! It's about art, music, story, and faith. Join with me and we'll have fantastic conversation starters. Tickets are $20 for dozens of hours of online content, which you can livestream or watch later.)

As I explored lyrics and music last fall for the first song I ever wrote, unsure which should come first, I came up with the guitar riff used in "Homebody." It never fit right with that song, but there's a clip of just the guitar in my blog post about "Niggle." 

In August, after I wrote the lyrics and started the melody for "Homebody," I realized that this guitar riff worked perfectly for both the verses and the chorus. Plus its arpeggios use only three chords, complying with the songwriting prompt. I wasn't sure I could play something so complex while singing, but it came together with a bit of practice. I was amazed! It's like this was meant to be. 

Ten things I wonder about my life next year

It's official! I'm leaving for the US in two weeks and will return to Cambodia around New Year's... but not to my status quo. Instead, I'm planning to move to the capital of Preah Vihear province, a small town about five hours away. I loved immersing myself in Khmer language and culture there and have often visited since then. But of course moving there long-term will be an adjustment.

I've been wondering for a while about the timing of my US trip and the team that I should join next, now that I'm no longer on the education team. So it's great to have both of those questions settled. At the same time, as I announce this news, I'm fielding questions that I've been contemplating myself. I'm posting some of my questions here with my best stab at their answers.

1. What exactly will I be doing? 

World Team's Preah Vihear (PV) team has many great things that I could get involved in: a high school dorm for students from low-income rural families, a Bible school for house church leaders in the villages, Bible studies and church plants in the villages, translation and creation of Christian resources, and trainings for Sunday Schools teachers. There are other possibilities like guest-teaching for education majors at a local college and teaching English to kids in town. I won't be able to invest significant time into every one of those. It sounds like early on, a priority will be visiting Bible school students and dorm alumni in their homes out in the villages, to encourage them and help them start more Bible studies. As I observe and dabble in other programs, hopefully I'll find my niche over time. For now, I'm also continuing my role as a language coach for other World Teamers in Cambodia, mostly remotely. 

A small group of dorm students discussing during a nutrition seminar I led in 2018

2. Where am I going to live?

I'm going to start out living with fellow World Teamers Jim and Carolyn Gabriels in their traditional Khmer wooden home while I adjust to life in PV. I'm so grateful they were willing - I feel very comfortable with them, and it makes my transition more gradual. The plan is that for at least the first six months, I'll share the rent for my Phnom Penh apartment, where my dear friend Rachana will be staying. That means I can leave most of my furniture here for now and will still have a bed available when I visit PP. I'll see what's available for rent in PV and eventually transition to my own place there... after that, I can stay in a guest room at the World Team office when in PP. 

Petting a neighbor's calf in front of the Gabriels' home during my 2016 visit

3. How much time will I spend in Phnom Penh?

The Gabriels and their teammates Joel and Sina recommended that I plan to visit the city about once a month. That will let me decompress, maintain friendships here, stock up on groceries (anything most Cambodians don't eat is probably not for sale in PV), manage errands and appointments, and meet my language coachees. I'm not sure how long each visit will be - probably between two and five nights. It depends partly on how much I need to do in each place and how much can be done remotely. I'm hoping to find a balance that will allow me to thrive, and I'm not sure yet what that will look like.

4. What will I drive?

I was initially assuming I'd need to buy a larger, more powerful motor scooter. My 50-CC Honda Today runs pretty well, but it bottoms out even on some speed bumps and can't handle rutted or flooded dirt roads. But Jim recommended that I keep it for now and plan to borrow his motor scooter and/or car for my trips to farther-out villages. My Honda Today is fine for getting around this town of 24,000; we'll see if I can make it work for a while or will want more freedom to go to the villages. Either way, I'll need a license for the first time after a decade here. (I don't even have a driver's license for motorcycles, let alone cars - I think licenses are only required for motos above 125 CC.)

Can you believe Silat and I beat the storm home that day?

5. Who will I spend time with?

I know some of the people that I hope to hang out with. Besides the four other World Teamers, who are some of my favorite people ever, I'd count one Cambodia YWAM staff (Silat) as a dear friend and am friendly with the other three as well as the three staff kids. (Can't wait to be the kids' "ming" again!) I was also excited to see my teammates' plans for following up with dorm alumni and Bible students; I enjoy several of them who lived in the dorm during my summer there. Turnover is inevitable - some friends are planning time away to study or get more experience, and several dorm alumni would like to return as dorm staff now that they've graduated from YWAM's Discipleship Training School. In short, I'm excited to renew existing relationships but I'll need to stay flexible and begin many new friendships. It will be a big change for me to have very few other foreigners around, and I'm expecting to feel lonely and out of place at times. But the Cambodians I know there are very gracious and I've been so glad to see the deep mutual trust they've built with my fellow American teammates.

6. What is God going to do?

I really don't know this one. If the past year didn't teach us that life is hard to predict, I don't know what would! What I do know is that when World Teamers first went there, Preah Vihear had about a dozen believers in the whole province. Now it has dozens of house churches! I believe God wants His children in Preah Vihear to mature, let truth permeate every area of their lives, and multiply as they share the good news of Jesus with their families and neighbors. I hope to come along for the ride. 

7. What new things will I need to learn?

A lot, I'm sure. How to change a tire. How to ride a manual moto. How to find my way around rural roads and villages that all look similar to me right now. What to do when my home is visited by a biting gecko or a vicious centipede or even (shudder) a snake. How to grocery shop for a month at a time. I'm going to be spending a lot of time in farming communities, and I can barely pick a mango or remember the word for "plough." My Khmer speaking will definitely need to improve as I'll have a lot more conversation time, and I hope to get better at understanding the PV dialect. I have a feeling next year will also stretch me spiritually and teach me new things about myself. I'm expecting a lot of growth opportunities!

Sometimes visitors do you a favor and eat each other. Photo credit: Holly Ferguson.

8. What will I do for fun?

One thing I'm excited about is the scenery - PV has more "mountains" (OK, foothills at least) than most of Cambodia. There are day trips in the area to waterfalls, a sort of lake, etc. During my summer there, I often had fun cooking Western food like tacos with help from my Khmer friends, who have mad kitchen skills (homemade tortillas? better than mine!) and flexible taste buds. We also played a lot of Nerts, a card game, so I'd like to stock up on card/board games that don't require a lot of English. Dorm activities included regular aerobics classes and dance parties. Cambodians in general are good at sitting around chatting without needing a lot of structured activities. I've always been an avid reader and have recently gotten into songwriting, two hobbies that are portable and can be done in solitude. (Though I'd love to try partnering with Cambodians to write a song in Khmer!) I'll be 2 1/2 hours from Siem Reap, a popular destination for my Phnom Penh friends as well as international visitors, so I'm expecting to spend some weekends there. There are many options, and who knows what else I'll discover?

9. Will I feel ready to move?

My US visits have ranged from three weeks to two years, and I've never felt fully "ready" to say goodbye to my family. So even though this trip (4.5 months) is longer than the last few, I'm sure my return will be bittersweet. Plus I'm nervous about all these unknowns. But I'm already excited and hoping to feel recharged and ready to jump in come January. I've felt drawn to PV since my first visit in 2016 and have wondered what it would be like to make it my home. Here's my chance.

10. Will I be OK?

There are so many ways to define "OK"-ness and so few guarantees about what next year holds. I don't think next year will always be comfortable or straightforward, though I do think I'll have a good group of people rooting for and helping me. 

This quote keeps coming to mind:

Next year I will need God in new ways, and in many of the same ways that I have always needed Him. And next year, He will be available for me, abundantly providing His presence and goodness. He goes ahead of me and He meets me wherever I am. That's really the only answer I need, for next year and for all the days leading up to it.

Adventures with strangers

Some people think life in Cambodia must be constantly exotic and inspiring. Let the record show: despite being far from home, my life is often pretty mundane. In April, walking the dog I was sitting was the highlight of most days, a break from typing, reading, and Zoom meetings from my living room. Sound familiar?

But every now and then, a day hurls enough comedy, tragedy, and adventure at me to make up for months of monotony. 

One of those surprising days happened two weeks ago Tuesday. And it all started with walking the dog.

Remember the dirt alley next to my house that I passed through four times a day on Agrippa's walks? The one where kids always stopped us to say hi? I started recognizing more neighbors there. I stopped a few times in front of an open door where a woman inside looked at me. I smiled. She didn't.

One day, there was a much older woman sitting in front of the door. "What animal are you kids looking at?" she asked. I realized she was nearly blind. "A dog," they replied. "Oh, I like dogs too," she replied warmly.

The next afternoon, both women were waiting by my gate for us. "Could you please give me money?" the elderly one asked. "I don't have a family. I need food and medicine. I'm 95 years old." I was startled - I’ve never seen people begging near my house, though my neighbors have a wide range of income levels. 

Puzzled, I looked at "Auntie" for verification, who nodded while "Grandma" sat serenely, inches from Agrippa's massive frame. "I'm not her relative. I just found her a couple days ago, sleeping on the street. I felt bad for her so I invited her into my home. Her only living relatives are teenage street kids with no phone numbers. She got stuck in our area because of the lockdown and I can't get her back to them. I've been trying to buy medicine every day for her but it's expensive. She has a chronic condition." Auntie gestured at evidence of her guest’s poor health. I was embarrassed; Grandma wasn’t.

Was Grandma really 95, a quarter-century past Cambodia's life expectancy? When had she become this vulnerable, and how had she landed at Auntie’s? Whether or not the whole story was true, clearly neither woman was wealthy. Nor were they closely related: I couldn’t imagine a Cambodian disrespecting their mom enough to claim she was actually a homeless stranger.

I gave Grandma some money and offered to take them soon to a Christian clinic that partners with churches and NGO’s to offer discounted rates for low-income Cambodians. Though it was my first time referring patients, I was much more comfortable covering medical care than giving cash like I’d just done.

I returned to Auntie's house two days later with a medical form. Grandma was lying on the floor shirtless with her back to the door. She was barely conscious and didn't move the whole ten minutes that the rest of us struggled with her form. 

"She won't eat or drink. She wants her grandkids," Auntie told me.

"Should we still take her to the clinic? It’s an hour away and it doesn’t take overnight patients. Maybe she should just rest."

"No, she needs a doctor. If she gets better, I can take her to look for her grandkids… she knows their general area. And I have a throat tumor, see? It’s why I can’t work. I have to take meds every day or I'll die." My medical vocab isn't that great, and Auntie's raspy voice was hard to understand through her mask. So even if Auntie had a correct diagnosis, I’m not sure I heard it right.

"OK, we'll ask the doctor to look at you too." I asked if I could pray for them both, and nobody minded. I kept praying that evening, feeling very hesitant and out of my depth. If nothing else, I’ll get to know them better through this trip, I told myself. I’ve been wanting to reach out more to neighbors and show Jesus' love. This could be my chance. I practiced a brief Gospel presentation just in case.

The next morning, it took us 30 minutes to get a groggy Grandma into a shirt, shoes, a mask, and a neighbor’s tuk-tuk (motorcycle taxi). "The doctor will give you an IV so you'll feel better!" Auntie told her brightly. Auntie's 16-year-old granddaughter "Kunthea," who'd come along to help out, nodded. Auntie's cheerfulness faded as we drove on and on. "Does this hospital have good doctors?" 

"Yes, very good. And we can trust them to tell us the truth." I just hoped our trip wasn't in vain. Auntie had wanted to let Grandma sleep in, and we arrived 90 minutes later than the recommended time for new patients. Thankfully, it wasn't too crowded. The staff asked us the standard questions about Covid exposure and symptoms, took our temperatures, let us in, and helped Grandma into a wheelchair - what a relief!

Signing in was comical. I misread the handwritten Khmer on our first form and copied Grandma's name wrong. Her medical history was blank. Same with her address and phone number. For her birthdate, I wrote 1925, shocking the receptionist. Her health complaints were vague. I felt like the kind, polite staff weren't sure what to do with us.

Next, I joined Grandma and Kunthea in the waiting area, sending Auntie inside to register. "But I can't write!" she protested.

"OK, then dictate to the receptionist."

Ten minutes later, she hadn't emerged. Instead, the receptionist came to ask if we could help tell her Auntie's info. I couldn’t, and neither could Kunthea. "What do you mean, you don't know your grandma's name?” asked the startled receptionist. “What do other people call her?" Kunthea shrugged shyly. (Later Auntie told me Kunthea went to elementary school but had trouble learning.)

"Auntie knows all this. Can't you just ask her?" I pleaded. 

"I can't. She's already inside." I was baffled, but the receptionist had already walked away. Later, we learned Auntie had been coughing and they’d sent her to the Covid isolation area. I told the staff that Auntie’s cough was probably from her chronic throat condition, but they said to go ahead with Grandma’s appointment and meet Auntie at the end. What choice did I have?

Kunthea smiled when I returned to the waiting area. "Just now, someone was telling us about Jesus. I like hearing about him. I used to go every week to a kids' program near my house. People told stories and gave us snacks, but now they've stopped meeting." 

Delighted, I asked if she remembered any stories about him, but she said no. "I love stories about Jesus too," I told her. "Maybe we can read one together today." 

Grandma's turn came to check vital signs. To everyone's chagrin, she kept pulling off her mask. I put it back on, feeling bad for her. It was my fault she was going through this discomfort, and I still wasn’t sure the clinic would be able to relieve her symptoms. 

"Has she eaten or drunk anything today? You need to make her," the nurses admonished us as they sent us back out. We tried, with other patients looking on across the waiting area, but Grandma was too stubborn. Kunthea, on the other hand, was happy to share my snacks and water. "I usually get to eat just once or twice a day. What about you?" Oof. No wonder she's so thin. 

They called Grandma back in to take a blood sample. Grandma was not happy. Neither were the nurses, when they saw her low oxygen levels. They consulted with each other, then took her temperature. She'd passed the temperature check at the entrance, but now she was definitely feverish. "Take Grandma to isolation. You can meet Auntie there." 

A friendly isolation nurse asked me, “Auntie seems like a really kind person. Is she Christian?”

“I don’t think so…” I asked Auntie and she said that she was. I was surprised - I thought I’d seen a Buddhist shrine in her home. She added that she misses her old church and can’t read the Bible on her own. I offered to read a Bible story aloud later and she seemed pleased.

The nurse returned with our receipts and told me, “Please take them both for a Covid test, pronto. Let us know the results." Auntie and I reassured an anxious Kunthea that needing a test didn’t necessarily mean you’d be positive.

As we loaded Grandma back into the tuk-tuk, the staff reminded us, "Please go right away to the Khmer-Soviet Hospital!" 

The driver turned to me, alarmed. "Why do you need to go there?" These days, it's used exclusively for Covid testing and treatment. I told him tests were needed, and he grew agitated. "Don't tell them I was your driver! They'll lock me up too! I'm not going to that place!" 

"No, we don't have Covid," Auntie snapped. "Everyone's fine. We're going home. And we’re dropping off Grandma on the way." She muttered about the strict hospital staff, started a rapid phone conversation, and occasionally slapped Kunthea, making me wince. Every five minutes, Auntie coughed, making the driver wince. Kunthea was squished up front next to him. Grandma was squished between Auntie and me. Whatever germs were present, we were sharing them all.

Grandma's hand resting on my leg on the way back

I didn't argue with Auntie. It was already 11:30, and we’d been together since 8. We were all tired and thirsty. Was it OK to buy water on the way if we might have Covid? What about lunch? How long would we have to wait for tests? Would our driver abandon us and leave us to prop Grandma up for hours? Could we find another driver willing to pick us up from the testing center? I was overwhelmed, but I knew they needed these tests. 

I let us go all the way home, right past the Covid testing center and 30 minutes farther. As we piled out into the crowded alley, rumors started flying before I could even pay the driver. "Is it Covid?" someone asked. 

"Of course not!" Auntie retorted. “That’s ridiculous!” 

Once we'd gotten Grandma into the house, I pulled her aside. "Eat lunch and take a nap, but we’re going at two for Covid tests." To my surprise, Auntie didn’t argue.

Fortified by lunch and water, I booked a new driver with a bigger tuk-tuk so Kunthea could sit in the back with us. He kindly agreed to wait with us so Grandma could stay in the tuk-tuk. I was so grateful! Kunthea and I took turns guarding Grandma’s side of the tuk-tuk since she kept trying to stand and threatened to tumble to the ground. Our driver seemed remarkably unfazed, even with two terrified testees gasping and wheezing loudly nearby.

The staff said they couldn't test Grandma and Auntie, who hadn't brought ID along to verify their address and phone number. “But you have to – another hospital sent us here and said they have to be tested!” Meanwhile, the Christian hospital was calling me to ask if the tests were completed. We finally convinced them to list my contact info instead. After that, Auntie and Kunthea quickly made it through the line, and the staff tested Grandma right inside the tuk-tuk. Amazing!

On the way back, Auntie was desperate to drop Grandma off. I told her we should wait for the test results before sending her somewhere new, but Auntie directed the driver to another part of town. She called someone and yelled for a while before giving up and telling the driver to go home. “They’re still locked down,” she sighed, defeated.

I flipped my Bible open to Mark 5, where Jesus heals the dead girl and the sick woman. It was so perfect, my eyes welled with tears. I don't think Auntie was really able to concentrate on my narration, but she told me it sounded pretty. I told them, "Jesus loves old people and young people, people who are sick for a long time and a short time, people with and without a family to help them. He even called the penniless, sick woman his daughter."

When we got back, Auntie started telling neighbors, “It's fine, we tested negative. I told you we would!” I wasn't sure when to expect results, but I knew she didn’t have them yet. She invited me inside to sit and chat, and I thought, Why not? If they have Covid, I’ve already had plenty of exposure to them today. So I sat with her family for ten minutes, sipping on the cool water they brought me. 

A man around Auntie’s age coughed frequently. His skin was covered in red circles, indicating he’d done cupping recently. Auntie told the hospital she didn’t know anyone with symptoms. This is crazy. Why did she want to go with us if she was afraid of testing? A pale young man, shirtless with a necklace and an asymmetrical haircut, asked about my age, my marital status, and if he could add me on Facebook. I almost refused, but I let him send a request. A young woman with tattoos, probably his sister, asked, “So you helped today because of Jesus?”

"Yes! He's the reason I have hope, the reason I want to show love to Cambodians!" They told me they were "all three" religions - Christianity, Buddhism, and... something else I didn't recognize. I summarized the story I’d read that afternoon with the three women, and told them a one-minute version of what Jesus has done for us, the first time I’ve shared with a group. They listened attentively. Then I went home, took a hot shower, boiled my clothes, and disinfected my bag and its contents. That's when I realized I'd never told Auntie's family about the results not being in yet.

I spent most of the evening on the phone. My landlady Pheak asked me to self-quarantine until I knew the test results in a day or two. My neighbor Rachana kindly agreed to walk Agrippa for me. The isolation nurse from this morning and the young man (Auntie's son) both asked me to verify Auntie's story about already receiving negative test results. I’m so glad I added him! Now I can communicate with their family. I asked him to have the whole family stay inside while waiting for results. On behalf of his family, he thanked me again for my help. Thanks for what? My impression is that nobody with Covid wants the government to know, unless they need serious medical attention. I wondered if Auntie was ranting about my meddling.

I was sad but not surprised the next evening to learn that all three women were positive. But there were more surprises ahead. My next two weeks would be homebound, but far from mundane.

Continued in Part 2...

Locking down with a new roommate

When my roommate moved out last July, I wondered, "Should I look for someone new?" While I'd never wanted to live alone, I was a bit commitment-shy. I work mostly from home in general, a lot more people have been working from home because of Covid, and it seemed like an intense adjustment to be together 24/7. Since my rent is affordable, I decided to wait until I found someone I knew well.

Then lockdown started last month, and to my surprise, two days later a new roommate arrived. My first male one, at that!

As roommates go, he's been pretty easy. He's laid-back and social. He loves how I cook chicken, and he never complains if I leave dishes in the sink. He doesn't mind if I have work to do, but while he's the strong silent type, he's always up for spending time with me.

Yup, Agrippa is a great dog.

This wasn't my first time sitting for him, but it felt different. Previously, I've watched him at his owners' house while they went on vacation for a few days. This time, his new owner dropped him off at my house before heading to the US for a few months. She planned to leave him with another family I know, but discovered he had a fungal infection on his rear that was contagious to kids unless they washed their hands well. Understandably, with a 7-year-old who loves lying all over the dog, they were hesitant, so I agreed to take him until he recovered. Today, the first day lockdown was lifted, he moved over there (another surprise - I thought I had about a week left). 

On a Thursday four weeks ago, his owner asked me to watch him, the same day that we started a city-wide lockdown. On Saturday, outdoor exercise was banned. On Sunday, Agrippa arrived. On one hand, lockdown seemed like a perfect time for dog-sitting... he wouldn't be lonely and I wouldn't be away when he needed to be let out. On the other, I wasn't sure about this "no-exercise" thing. Agrippa has lived with foreigners all of his nearly five years. He's used to being walked mornings, afternoons, and (very briefly) evenings. And while my landlords later gave me a key to the rooftop for rainy days, Grip thought it was too clean to poop on.

But he loved being off-leash in an open area!

In Khmer culture, he's an anomaly, even though German Shepherd mixes are really common here. But Khmer dogs are usually tied up, locked inside a gate, or roaming free, not taken for walks. So I wasn't sure "I have to walk my dog" would count as an exception to the policy, and I wasn't sure I had an alternative. So I braved the streets with him, hoping that if I stuck with quiet streets close to home, wore a mask, and social distanced, I could get away with it. I soon discovered that...

1) The few police that passed us didn't care, and

2) Walking a dog is difficult when the neighbor dogs aren't used to it. 

Many dogs are raised to guard and protect their homes and owners, and they take this duty seriously, often chasing passersby well beyond the property line. It's one reason I don't like jogging alone (there's some safety in numbers) and am always ready to slow to a walk if I see a dog approaching me. One of my landlords' dogs feels this way even about people, and as a result is always separated from the renters by a chain-link fence. Last week he clawed a little boy, the great-nephew of his owners, who has lived on my side of this fence since before the dog was born. He barks at anything that moves. But intruder dogs are especially suspect, for him and for others in the neighborhood.

Soon my neighbor, the one whose son got clawed, gave me a stick. "Use this to help break up the dog fights," she told me. "Otherwise it's too dangerous to walk him by yourself." I felt empowered, but even with the stick, I was experiencing multiple adrenaline rushes (or "cardio bursts"?) per walk. I experimented with various streets near my house, but most of them had dogs that would try to attack Agrippa, and confrontations seemed inevitable when both ends of my block had pairs of aggressive dogs. Grip is great at staying calm to a point, but when they get too close, he'd lunge back at them or wriggle out of his collar, running off to safety. Would he ever engage in an all-out battle? I didn't think so, but I didn't want to find out. 

Then I tried the alley.

Looking back at my tall green building from the far side of the alley

By cutting through the alley next to my house, I could get to an adjacent street and continue on a loop where the few dogs soon left Agrippa in peace. I rarely jog or drive that way since the alley isn't paved, but it made our walks so much more enjoyable. 

Faithful greeters

We weren't the only ones who preferred this route. The kids in this alley had been missing a playful Golden Retriever, Mango, who moved away a week before Agrippa arrived. I made the mistake of telling them he was friendly and telling them "Wash your hands!" instead of just saying "Don't touch," and soon it was too late - they'd all rush up to him each afternoon, disregarding instructions. (At least they mostly avoided his infected rear.) I was so happy to get to know a few of the kids that I'd often seen playing in front of my building - I don't usually hang out there like Mango and his owners did. Within a couple weeks, they were telling me stories and giving me hugs. Teens were stopping us to ask questions about what he ate and how much he cost. One of the worst "culprits" was my downstairs neighbor's helper, whom I barely knew before Agrippa arrived. We'd get to the gate and she'd hold him hostage for several minutes of petting. It took forever to get past them and start our walks. I didn't really mind. In fact, I relished the idea that in lockdown of all times, I was connecting (however slightly) with all these new people. 

The helper and another downstairs neighbor coming to say hi...

... and to pick sour mangoes from the tree down below (why have I never done that?)

I've always heard that babies and dogs are a great way to start conversations on walks. It's true! All throughout our route, neighbors would stare and comment. "Yikes, he's so big!" "Does he bite?" A few picked up their children or backed away looking concerned. They were torn between responding to him as a threat (a large, unfamiliar German Shepherd approaching them) and as a novelty (a dog on a leash with a foreigner). I kept calling out, "Don't worry, he's gentle! He doesn't bite!" And gradually, they got used to us. 

One grandma would sit in her hammock out front with a grandson, telling him "Look at the dog!" Others taught me the word for "German Shepherd" and told me about their love for dogs, or asked me why I knew Khmer. Kids asked me, "What did he eat today?" and "Is he a police dog?" and "Does he need a leash because he was hit by a car?" Still others, complaining that "Agrippa" was a hard and unusual name (can you blame them?), found all kinds of ways to mangle it. They often settled on "Kiki," which is kind of like the middle syllable repeated, and a common way in Khmer to call a dog toward you. I even saw a few other dog walkers - not on the streets, but at the tiny park a half-mile away. I realized Khmer people had a broader range of attitudes toward dogs than I'd previously assumed. 

Meeting a friend's dog at the park

I wasn't sure how long it would take Agrippa to recover from his fungal infection. About ten days in, I took him to the vet, who said he was doing much better but needed to return in 2 weeks. I decided to do that follow-up appointment next Tuesday before passing him onto the next family. I didn't mind the extra time with him, though he didn't love being blown dry after his weekly baths (treatments for the fungus) and had a special knack for spitting out his pills no matter how well I buried them in chicken. 

We tuk-tuked through flooded streets and past police barricades to get to the vet

Walking Agrippa was less intense than my occasional HIIT workouts and twice-a-week jogs, but also more fun... and more consistent, so probably as good for me overall. Compared to driving or jogging, I had time to slow down and notice faces and flowers, puppies and produce vendors (forced to go mobile during lockdown). I discovered a beautiful, massive vegetable garden just 2 blocks away, and a small recycling center even closer, where some of Phnom Penh's poorest live and work. I always try to smile at the "Aichai" workers when they go by, but I never thought of them as my literal neighbors. Last week, when the government allowed exercise again, a neighbor from my building joined me on several walks. Across from the recycling center, a home/restaurant had a sign: "Mangoes, 1500 riel per kilo" (17 cents a pound). We sat and watched while a grandma and her grandkids picked 8 pounds of mangoes for us, as another granddaughter entertained her baby sister and laughed at Grip for drinking rainwater from a bucket.

Walking Agrippa led me straight into one of the biggest adventures I've had here, one that's still unfolding, which is the reason he left early. I'll probably post about that story soon. (Update: Here's the sequel!) But while most days with him weren't thrilling, he brought warm fuzzies to lockdown. Thanks, Grip! 

The case of the disappearing produce

 The answer was obvious - why was she denying it?

I was already frazzled. I was suddenly cooking dinner for six people, hoping to drop off some of the food before biking with a friend at 5. I dragged myself out in the mid-afternoon heat to buy groceries. My first stop, for meat at the grocery store, was quick. My third stop, for fruit at the open-air market, was quick. But the middle one, for vegetables, took longer. For one thing, I was buying a lot more veggies than usual. For another thing, "Auntie" was extra chatty that day. 

As her moy or loyal customer, I've been buying from Auntie for over three years. She knows I always prefer my fabric bags to her plastic ones, she gives me fair prices, and she smiles at me good-naturedly, even when I make dumb mistakes in Khmer. But she's less of a talker than I initially expected. I've never felt the closeness with her that I did with my pre-2015 seller, Little Sister, who patiently conversed with me in Khmer and still remembered specifics about me when I visited years later. Still, if Auntie's not too busy, we’ll exchange a friendly comment.

Saying goodbye to Little Sister

On Saturday, Auntie sighed that customers were down due to Covid. I told her I was buying extra to cook for a crowd, but it was my new bag that got her attention: bright blue canvas from a nearby supermarket, sturdier and bigger than my usual bags. 

"This is from Thai Huot?" 

"Yes, have you been there before?"

"I live near it. How much did it cost?"

"Ninety cents, but I can use it a long time." She was silent. I knew that must sound like a lot to her for something that just holds food. Unlike supermarkets which charge 10 cents, traditional markets can still give away free plastic bags, though they're pretty thin and flimsy. Full of imported goods, Thai Huot probably wasn't in her price range. 

"Do you live with your daughter?" I tried to continue the conversation. Her daughter sometimes helps sell.

"Yes, with all five of my kids."

"Everyone still lives at home? Isn't your daughter married?" 

"Yes, but she still lives with me. And my husband. He lost his arm in a moto crash and had to stop working as a carpenter. Our lives are hard. How much money do you make?"

A typical question here for foreigners, and not my favorite, but I gave an approximate answer anyway to show her that I valued our relationship. She packed up my bright-blue bag and accepted my $5 payment, much higher than most of her customers would spend at once.

Our conversation continued another minute or two before I reluctantly pulled away. Wow, maybe after three years, I was finally getting to know her! 

After grabbing a dragonfruit from the fruit seller, I continued home, only to realize my veggies were missing. Silly me, they must still be with Auntie! Come to think of it, I couldn't remember loading the bag onto my moto. I sheepishly drove back, knowing she'd laugh at me. 

Auntie was busy out front, so I went to the scale where she’d weighed and loaded up my veggies. She stared at me in confusion. "Do you need something else?" 

Hadn't she noticed? "I forgot to take my veggies with me. Did you see them?" 

"No, you took them with you."

I looked around her stall in disbelief. Nothing blue in sight. Now other customers were staring at me too. 

My mind raced. Maybe I'd left the bag by the stairs up to my apartment. Maybe on the shoe rack outside my apartment. Maybe... 

Maybe I was already late cooking dinner, and I needed those veggies NOW.

I drove off in a frenzy to check at my building. Definitely no veggies. They had to be with Auntie! Why would she steal them? How short-sighted, to steal a bag of veggies and forever lose a moy. Two Khmer friends were there, and I explained the situation. They looked at me skeptically. "We don't think your moy would do that to you." But where else could the vegetables be? I even checked with the fruit seller, knowing I'd only dismounted my moto for a second to take money out of the seat. How could anyone have stolen this bright, heavy bag from the hook beneath my handlebars? 

I returned half a block to Auntie.

"You're back! You couldn't find them?" 

"No, Auntie. Could you please look again one more time? Maybe you just didn't see them." I pleaded with her, convinced I hadn't taken them with me. Her denial made me think she'd intentionally taken them and distracted me, hoping I'd carelessly drive off without them. I knew that directly accusing her wouldn't end well - she'd never admit wrongdoing, and I might even make others around us suspect her, which would fill her with shame and anger. My only hope was to offer her a way to save face and restore the situation. 

"They're not here. You took them. I already told you. Do you need to buy everything again?" I loaded up the plastic basket again, angrily picturing her inwardly mocking me. "Sure, whatever," I muttered flusteredly. "I'm already late making dinner. My guests are coming." I hope you're happy, making $10 on me in one day. You'll never have my business again. I bet your husband never lost his arm. And if you have five kids at home, why is only one ever at your stall? I raced home with the veggies, missing the bike ride but calming down in time to enjoy the evening's visitors.

I'd love to clear her name, but I can't see another plausible explanation. I don't know if she planned from the beginning to be extra-chatty in hopes that I'd forget, or if she just saw me distracted and went with the flow. She probably hoped that she was the first of five stops so I wouldn't be sure where I lost the veggies. 

Most crimes in Phnom Penh are crimes of opportunity: picking someone's pocket on a crowded street, stealing a moto from an open gate during a noisy monsoon rain, running an errand for the boss and giving back too little change. Petty thieves have taken my purse, camera, and helmet. If it seems low-risk, some Cambodians will place loyalty to family and close connections ("this can help us pay the bills or get ahead") above honesty with a more distant connection. Auntie's snatch from a moy was unusual, but part of a broader pattern of corruption here that many of my friends decry as unfortunate but inevitable. Few would feel guilty about dodging taxes or sneaking through a red light. Paying bribes is often essential for getting things done. Playing the system is much easier than fixing it. 

I've forgiven her, but I haven't gone back. Two Khmer friends recommended that I not return to her, confirming my instinct. One said that though I could buy from her occasionally, the moy relationship can't be restored, and lots of other vendors could use my business. The traditional Khmer way is not to pursue truth and apologies: it's to pretend everything's OK until you can't, and then sever ties, usually permanently. I've felt awkward shopping at other stalls near hers - I'm sure she sees me sometimes, so I just try to go to the farthest one and avoid looking in her direction. 

I feel for Auntie, though. As she well knows, five dollars means so much more to her than to me. The difference between our lives weighs on me. Writing this post made me imagine her life. She's old enough to remember the late 1970s Khmer Rouge era, where betrayal was rampant and deceit was key to survival. Children were brainwashed to rat on resisting relatives. Doctors trying to avoid execution tried to pass for illiterate farmers. Parents and older siblings risked death to pocket food from the fields for starving toddlers. I've heard several Cambodians bemoan this period's devastation of community trust to this day. What did that time teach a young Auntie? How many of these lessons got her through the '80s and '90s, in a nation crushed by economic collapse and guerilla warfare? How is she passing them on to her children in this latest widespread crisis?

I'm pretty sure telling people "Just have integrity" won't do much. So what could I do? Obviously, I can promote external accountability by checking that I have my purchases before I leave and avoiding repeat business with those who rip me off. But heart change is slower and harder. I can do my best to model integrity. I can try casting vision, pleading with teachers and parents to teach the next generation differently than they were taught. I can pray for the Holy Spirit to give people new hearts that want to love and imitate the God of grace and truth. And I can help disciple Cambodian believers to bring their whole lives under His authority, trusting that He will provide all their needs as they live uprightly. It's not easy for Cambodian Christians to be honest here in a sea of deceit, but it sure stands out when they do.