No, I'm still not working - and here's why

Every week for the past six months or so, I've picked a morning to walk down the stairs, out the gate, and just a bit up the street to buy baw baw (rice porridge) from my neighbor. Unlike many customers who order it to-go, I sit unhurried in one of her red plastic chairs and eat my breakfast on her shiny metal folding table. And so there's time nearly every week for her to ask the question, "Are you going to work today?" 

Not just rice and water - this steaming hot baw baw comes with fish/chicken and bean sprouts, and I can add lime juice, pepper, hot chilies, and deep-fried pastries. Not bad for 62 cents!

The best is when her super-extroverted granddaughter is visiting

The answer is always no, I'm just studying Khmer for now, but I get why she keeps asking. It's confusing! Why am I, a grown single woman living away from my parents, not going out every day and earning my keep? She's been placated some to hear that I'm employed by an organization that's paying me to study right now, so that I'll be able to do my job down the road. I've told her, too, that I like coming and hanging out at her baw baw stand so that I can practice speaking and listening with native Khmer speakers. 

But if I were to tell her the truth - that sitting at this shiny metal table and chatting with her is literally part of my "job" right now - I think she'd need my help to pick her jaw off the floor. Wait till I tell her I'm graduating language school this week and I'll *still* be a full-time student. (Actually, she might never know - yesterday she told me she was moving away that day to take a new job due to a family health crisis! I'm going to miss her and her other baw baw customers.)

The truth is, I can't just learn language flipping through flash cards in my kitchen. Vocab and grammar are just a tiny part of learning a language. As we learned in my "Continuing Language" seminar this weekend, you also need...

• sociolinguistic competence (using language appropriately considering the context, listeners, etc.)
• strategic competence (finding ways to convey your meaning despite obstacles like limited vocab or a noisy room), and 
• discourse competence (knowing how a news article, conversation, short story, etc. connects phrases and sentences to create a larger meaning). 

I'll need to keep growing in these areas for years to come - learning a language is a lifelong process. And it takes intentionality. Language school graduates tend to be "intermediate" at first - nowhere near fully proficient and able to do their whole lives well in the new language - but actually regress over the years that follow, except in their vocab. That's why this seminar aimed to give my classmates and me the tools we need to keep honing our skills outside of a formal classroom setting. That's also why my organization is giving me a few more months to keep growing before I start work. Several of my teammates have told me, "When I finished language school, that's when I really started learning Khmer."

It's impossible to learn much language in isolation from culture. One way I've gotten to combine the two is by tagging along on home visits by community workers at three local nonprofit schools for children from low-income families. Since I hope my work will benefit students like these, I've loved glimpsing the students' context beyond the classroom. 

There's a lot to learn from each conversation between the community worker and a family, and the seminar gave me even more ideas on what to listen for. For example, what does small talk look like in this community? How do you transition from that to the purpose for the visit, and then signal it's time to wrap up? It's neat to see how each worker builds rapport with the family before bringing up the task at hand, which is often a student's chronic absence, but sometimes other topics like good news about their progress. We're able to sit with some parents and families probably 20 minutes, surprisingly long for this time-oriented American, before it's time to go. 

Photo credit: Mindy Kozloff

Across from one school, this lady was picking lotus flowers to sell at the local pagoda: 60 flowers for $5. Many families here make their living that way, and some can also get higher prices by taking them a few miles down the road to downtown Phnom Penh. She said there are lots of leeches - eek! Her long pants guard against them, but we met another lady that day with leech bites and scars all over her legs. 

The school, like this whole community, has no running water. It collects rainwater in these huge containers (left) and buys water by the truckload in dry season. Rainy season had just ended when I visited last November, but the water was already gone. Apparently everyone at the school says rainwater is more delicious than truck water.

This student in the second community was happy to show off his puppies. They were so cute! He had a smart idea for helping them thrive: keep them under a mosquito net so the bugs stay away. Since his house is on stilts, pretty soon he'll need a new plan for keeping them from falling down the ladder... one ventured awfully close to it before he grabbed it and carried it back to safety.

About half the students in this community are ethnic Vietnamese, meaning their families don't have Cambodian citizenship or the right to own land. Many of them still live on houseboats and earn their living by fishing, like when they first emigrated here nearly 40 years ago. I'm not sure where they park their motos, but it must be on land, because there's no way this bridge is for anything but pedestrians! I feel for the parents of small children, trying to get them back and forth daily. 

While the footbridge was pretty rustic, the houseboat we visited seemed sturdy and spotless. The owner was the only one of all the families we visited to offer me a drink. And I hadn't expected to find a well-tended hanging garden in the home of someone I considered poverty-stricken and oppressed as an ethnic minority. It reminded me of Chimamanda Adichie's TED talk on the dangers of a single story. I'd been reducing our hostess to the caricature of "victim of Southeast Asian politics" or "mother of an underachieving student," rather than seeing her as a whole person who's ahead of me in her gardening and cleaning (and I'm sure many other skills). I still have a lot of layers of pride and ignorance that God needs to strip away if I want to truly serve families like hers.

Walking back to the school, we spotted another skill I lack: gutting fish using a metal roller. I'm guessing they were going to dry and sell these fish. It seems to be an all-ages activity; I know this community has many kids dropping out to help on the fishing boats as well. But these young girls are in their school uniforms, so they're just helping in their off hours. They laughed at me for wanting a video, but I was mesmerized watching them.

The third school is just a couple miles from my house, and one of the families we visited is less than a mile from me. They even sell corn at the market a block from my house. But it felt like I was entering another world as I stepped into the cluster of shacks across from the vats of boiling water. Geese were waddling around squawking, and you'd never dream that we were two blocks from a major road whose traffic jam had made me late that morning. 

At that house, the mom had good news and bad news for the community worker. The bad news: her second daughter is still under the weather, hence the recent absences. (A much better reason than another mom's "Oh, I think he's out flying kites with his brother.") The good news: they were finally able to get a family record book. This government document allows their family, among other things, to register the kids in public school... something that should have happened years ago but somehow didn't. It sounds like the oldest child has special needs, so maybe public school wasn't a good option as it offers no special services.

At two of the schools, I got to stay and enjoy lunch with the teachers. While picking up some iced coffees from the market with two of them, I spotted this gem of a T-shirt. (8+ years in, I'm still not tired of Engrish and nonsense messages on Cambodian clothing.) 

I'm hoping these visits and other community interactions will help me build bridges, not burn them. But... for the innumerable times that I mess up... this shirt is a good reminder to laugh at myself, see the light in the fires of humiliation, and move on.

Disney for scribbles

Picture a little girl who gives her dad a drawing. “Do you like it?” she asks sweetly. “I spent forever on it.”

“Oh, I love it, honey! Let’s hang it up right here.”

"Is it good?

"It's wonderful!"

Her voice takes on a triumphant tone. “Well then, what will you give me for it?”

“What?!?”

“I’m giving up this wonderful picture that belongs to me. It’s a big sacrifice. What will you give me for it?”

The dad thinks, Hmm. Besides the snacks I fed you as you drew? Besides the clothes you’re wearing? Besides the paper and crayons you used for your drawing? Besides the house on whose walls we’re hanging it? Besides my love and support since before you were even born? You really believe you can put me in your debt?

He kneels to look her in the eye. “A trip to Disney World, sweetie. Let’s go to Disney.”

*********

Last night in Bible study, we discussed Matthew 19. Jesus urges the rich young ruler to gain heavenly treasure by selling all his possessions and following Jesus. As the young man walks away gloomily, Peter asks Jesus, “We’ve left everything to follow You… what will we get for it?”

Yup, Peter, you left behind your fishing nets. Your ragged, smelly fishing nets. What a sacrifice. And your big mouth has been such a great help so far.

But Jesus doesn’t mock him or cut him down to size. Instead, he replies with promises:

You get a throne in my kingdom.

You get a hundred times what you left behind – houses, family, lands.

You get eternal life.

This passage reveals two big truths: Those who belong to Jesus don’t get to hold anything back... and we will NEVER get ripped off when we give Him our all. 

The past couple months, God’s been revealing all my expectations for life in Cambodia. I left behind so much in America – don’t You owe me great ministry, relationships, health, etc?

He doesn’t. He doesn’t owe me a thing. And yet what He’s guaranteed me is so. much. better. than anything I could ever give up here. I can freely give Him my time and energy, knowing He’ll treasure my tiny gifts like that tender-hearted dad, and that just as He always has, He’ll continue to multiply them and overwhelm me with blessings.

And that’s why today, I’ve enjoyed total joy and peace all day long, just basking in that knowledge…

Oh wait, false. I was actually cranky and irritable for large chunks of today. I fell for some really old lies about what I need and whether I can trust God to provide for me. I sensed Him prompting me to come and talk with Him about it, and I resisted for hours because I didn’t think I could spare the time. Who was it that pointed out the irony in us not making time for the Maker of time?

I’m glad that even when I ignore them, His promises hold true.

I’m glad that He treasures our paltry sacrifices, even though all we have and give comes from Him. 

I’m glad that He’s patient when I keep demanding assurances He's already provided. 

Like the dad who promises Disney in return for some crayon scribbles on a page, God’s lavish generosity seems foolish and wasted on ungrateful, distracted, demanding me. But one thing's for sure: Anything I can give back to Him is anything but a foolish waste. 

YOMO - You only marry once

It almost feels like I'm back in grad school. I'm in my second to last five-week module at Gateway to Khmer (G2K), and the last two modules have big culminating projects where we interview a bunch of Cambodians. So for the past week, I've been transcribing data from nine different recorded interviews and starting to organize it into themes.

G2K's classes are all pass/fail, so it's nothing like the rigor of qualitative analysis for my Lehigh thesis. But it's still been a stretch as I try to decipher rapidly spoken words and remember them long enough to type them up. Rewind. Replay. Repeat.  

Each of my eight classmates and I have a different speech act to research, such as comforting someone, correcting a misunderstanding, or warning someone. My topic is persuasion. Before interviewing, I created three scenarios requiring persuasion:

1. You and a friend, Chenda, are invited to your mutual friend Neary's wedding. You don't know many other guests, so you want Chenda to go with you. But s/he's not convinced s/he wants to attend. How would you persuade him or her to join you? (The name "Chenda" can be used for either gender, so I assigned Chenda the gender of the person I was interviewing.)

2. Your younger brother has a long-time friend named Kosal. But lately Kosal has been getting drunk, doing drugs, and sometimes stealing money. He always wants your brother to join him for these activities. How would you persuade your brother to stop hanging out with Kosal?

3. Your boss just announced that your company is hiring. Your sibling is interested in applying, and you think s/he would be a great fit there. How would you persuade your boss to consider hiring your sibling?

For each scenario, I asked these questions:
a. What would you say? 
b. What would you do? (ex. body language, tone of voice, actions)
c. What would not be OK for you to say or do? 
d. How might your approach change according to the listener's age, gender, and social status? (For example, in scenario 2, what if you were persuading your younger sister or an older sibling? Does it matter if your boss is male or female?)

I interviewed 4 males and 5 females, ages 22 to 64,
with various jobs and education levels

All three scenarios have yielded intriguing responses, but the topic that inspired the most reflection for me is the first one, about Neary's wedding. A G2K teacher helped me create a role play that we'll perform in my presentation next week. Most of the "me" lines are direct quotes taken from interviews. 

Part of my role play - I need to finish typing it in Khmer

Here's a rough English translation:

Me: Hey Chenda! Did you get an invitation to Neary’s wedding?

Chenda: Yeah, I did.

Me: Are you going?

Chenda: I’m not sure.

Me: Why not?

Chenda: Money’s kind of tight right now.

Me: C’mon, you should go! You can always earn more money, but you can’t earn back your reputation. Neary’s been our close friend for a long time. If she invited us, she’s counting on us to show up. We need to make time to go encourage her and show her we love her. She’s only going to get married once in her life.

Chenda: It’s just so hard!

Me: If you don’t go, I won’t have anyone to go with, so I’ll have to go by myself. And you won’t be able to look Neary in the eye again. Don’t just throw away her friendship like that. Don’t you want her to come to your wedding someday? Don’t let her down.

Chenda: But I can’t afford to buy a new dress and get my hair and makeup done.

Me: You can borrow a dress and shoes from me - no need to buy them new. And I’ll do your hair and makeup.

Chenda: How are you getting there?

Me: On a tuk-tuk.

Chenda: Then could I go with you? I need a ride.

Me: Sure! It’s better riding with two people than all by myself, because it will be safer coming back at night.

Chenda: But my house is far away on a dark, quiet road. I’m afraid it won’t be safe going home.

Me: If you’re worried about that, just spend the night at my house. It’s on a busier road close to the wedding.

Chenda: That works then. What time should we go?

Me: I’ll come to your house at 2 and we can do hair and makeup together. When we’re ready we’ll leave around 5.

At a friend's wedding in December

Obviously most respondents didn't use quite that many forms of persuasion. And none of them mentioned doing Chenda's hair and makeup for her, though two females mentioned lending her a dress. (I've heard it's embarrassing to wear the same dress to more than two weddings, even in different social circles or years. Women are expected to expected to have professional-looking hair and makeup; fake hair is an option, and fake eyelashes are normal.) While several women mentioned the safety of riding together or spending the night, none of the men did. But almost everyone used the line about weddings being once in a lifetime, and most people also said that Neary was counting on Chenda to be there. 

Getting our hair done for a Khmer photo shoot in 2015

It was my impression that Cambodians invited almost everyone they know to a wedding, and so attendance wasn't that big of a deal. For example, I was once invited to the wedding of a guard at Logos whose name I didn't even recognize. We'd never said a word to each other, but he invited all 50+ staff members. I knew in at least some situations Cambodians felt obligated to go, even when they weren't close. I've heard them complain about all the money they have to spend when invited to wedding after wedding. And I knew you were at least supposed to send cash if you couldn't make it. (No gift registry here - every invitation comes with a small envelope that you fill and bring with you, often putting it into a big cardboard heart. A relative records all the gift amounts.) 

But to my surprise, everyone assumed that Neary was a close friend, or at least spoke as if she were. They felt she'd been intentional about inviting those that were dearest to her, even though she and her family would likely distribute 3-400 invitations to relatives, co-workers, neighbors, and classmates. Still, a couple people told me, "For a funeral, anyone can come. For a wedding, the couple carefully considers the guest list." Since there are no RSVP's, the couple pays for all the guests' food and drink whether or not that many guests come. It brings shame to them and their families if a lot of tables remain empty. On the other hand, I learned that if you get only a verbal invite and not a fancy envelope, you shouldn't feel obligated to go or pay. It can even be an insult, implying that the host doesn't think you can afford to cover your dinner. 

I started asking later respondents, "Would you say these things in real life? Or are you just using all these arguments because I told you to persuade Chenda?" They all answered, "Yes, we've really said or heard these arguments." One even told me, "A wedding is the most important day of a person's life. Until you get married, Khmer culture doesn't really value you." That was revealing. 

This assignment also highlighted the importance of reciprocity in Khmer culture. Why does the family keep track of all the gifts given? It's not to write thank-you notes. Later on, the couple is obligated to give at least that much when you invite them to a wedding for yourself or your child. Your attendance and contribution is quite literally an investment into your friendship, one that can't be replaced by quality time or homemade food. That's why, even though money is a constant concern for many Cambodians, they'll shell out big bucks, rearrange plans, and trek across the country to show up and look the part at weddings - not just of their very best friends, but of quite a few people in their social circle. 

That's not a natural way for me to see it. My default is to view fake eyelashes as a frivolous nuisance, not a symbol of my undying loyalty to the bride, groom, and their families. But even though I wish there were less financial pressure on my Khmer friends - especially females - shifting perspectives helps me appreciate the "why" behind their efforts. They're prioritizing relationships and community. After all, you only marry once.

Confession of an obsession: Andrew Peterson and the Wingfeather Saga

As undergrads at Penn State, a roommate and I had briefly overlapping crushes on the same guy. He was into a little-known Christian folk singer named Andrew Peterson, and therefore so were we. Andrew's voice isn't showy, but his lyrics left us awestruck:

I can see in the strip malls and the phone calls
The flaming swords of Eden
In the fast cash and the news flash and the horn blasts of war... 
We ache for what is lost 

("The Far Country")

Other songs were playful, like this one narrated by a penny:

I'd give you all of me to know what you were thinking
And if I had one wish I'd wish I wasn't sinking here
Drowning in this well, oh can't you tell?
("Loose Change")

Over a decade later, my friend and I have long since gotten over him... Mr. Penn State, that is. With Andrew, by contrast, I'm as smitten as ever. Perhaps even more, now that I've seen the power of his pen extend beyond music and into literature, and even back again.* I've turned to his music to help me grieve with a little girl and climb out of negativity. He has an incredible knack for combining personal anecdotes with universal themes. I've raved about him to dozens of friends, but never paid full homage to him on this blog until now.

About four years ago, I got wind that he'd written a fantasy called the Wingfeather Saga, aiming for the "vastness of Lord of the Rings" with the "whimsy of the Princess Bride." Since his songs always tell stories, a novel series didn't seem as far-fetched as it might have. I requested what I thought was his trilogy for Christmas, and my parents promised to send it over to Cambodia with my colleague. Before the colleague returned, I visited a friend in China and spent Christmas day with a 10-year-old boy who had received the same three books that morning. "Hey, that's my Christmas present too!" I told him with glee. His mom thought I was joking. 

Once my copies arrived, I was eager to dive in. I really wanted to like them, but I tried not to get my hopes up too much. A good fantasy series is quite an accomplishment, and poorly executed attempts can be painful. What if it sacrifices art for preaching or Christian cheesiness? What if the storyline is predictable? What if it just kind of fizzles?

Unfortunately, between lesson planning and grading, my free time was pretty nonexistent that spring. So I urged one of my students, a compulsive fantasy reader, to take a look first. He soon reported back to me, approving but distressed. "Where's the fourth book?" 

"What fourth book? These three were sold as a package." 

"The third book ends in a cliffhanger! I checked online, and the fourth was just published. I need to know how it ends!" Oops.

We eventually got another book mule to bring it out to Cambodia, and by then I'd managed to start reading. I wasn't surprised that Book 1, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, was whimsical and well-worded. But I was taken aback by how often I laughed out loud at it... especially the footnotes. What kind of youth fiction is chock-full of footnotes?! Peterson spent over a decade thinking up this story, so it's amazingly complex and rich with detail. The footnotes, along with the maps and appendices, round out the colorful land of Skree, where farmers protect their crops of totatoes from pesky thwaps, while children play zibzy and handyball.** But like the rest of their world, Aerwiar, Skree is suffering:

Oh, yes, the people of Skree were quite free, as long as they were in their homes by midnight. And as long as they bore no weapons, and they didn't complain when their fellow Skreeans were occasionally taken away across the sea, never to be seen again. But other than the cruel Fangs and the constant threat of death and torture, there wasn't much to fear in Skree.

Still, concerns lingered at the end of the book. Each episode in the Igiby family - Janner, Tink, and Leeli, along with their mom (Nia) and grandpa (Podo) - was cute but not always compelling. They seemed to stick out their tongues at danger, and then run back to safety. Could the series hold my attention through another thousand pages? 

Yes indeed! Book 1 ends with the Igibys fleeing their home to guard a precious secret from their oppressors (organized under "a nameless evil, an evil whose name was Gnag the Nameless"). As I continued the series, I realized how well Book 1 lays the foundation for the following books. Like Lord of the Rings, Narnia, and Harry Potter, the Wingfeather Saga has many classic traits of an epic (both war and journey), a discovery which delighted me as a Brit Lit teacher. 

The farther I ventured into the books, the more the tongue-in-cheek liveliness reminiscent of "Loose Change" gave way to the stirring depth of "The Far Country." The Igibys are swept into a flood of events that reveal truths - some lovely, some frightening - about themselves and their world. Darkness isn't just "out there" pursuing them; it's among them and even in them. Plot twists abound as good guys betray them and grief divides them and courage fails them and help arrives from entirely unexpected sources. Yet the central story only grows more cohesive and more gripping. 

The later books still have sprinklings of laughter, though far fewer footnotes. They have strong characters with physical disability, with mental illness, with addiction and shame. They contain powerful imagery of brokenness and redemption, the many who bear the cost of one's mistakes, the necessity of family, the beauty of doing the right thing when it hurts, the power of forgiveness and reconciliation. They're not overtly religious and have less allegory than Narnia. But there's a lot that rings true on a deeper level.

I've enjoyed reading reviews from fellow fans. At a friend's wedding, I nerded out with a whole cluster of fans. They deepened my appreciation for the books, particularly for several minor characters. Some readers call the series "this generation's Narnia;" others say that's a stretch. If you're a die-hard fan of Lewis and Tolkien and Rowling, you'll probably find ways that Peterson fails to measure up; the Wingfeather Saga is not without flaws. But it will draw you in if you let it. 

I've been itching to re-read the books since I arrived back in Cambodia, where they've been in the Logos library since I left in 2015. But to my disappointment - and delight - they've been checked out every time I've stopped by. Apparently I hooked enough people, who likewise spread the word, that the librarian says it's still a hot commodity. 

While waiting, I've had fun with updates on Andrew's Kickstarter project turning the series into an animated show. The 15-minute pilot was just released this week. Despite my bias that "the book's always better," I was impressed at the film's quality. It also managed to convey Peterson's warmth and quirkiness. I've shown it to ten kids, all of whom were hooked and barraging me with questions. The older ones were desperate afterward to read the books. 

Why do I care so much about a book series aimed at kids? Because stories matter. In an interview, Andrew cites the quote, "If you want people to know the truth, tell them. If you want people to love the truth, tell them a story." (source unknown) Like Andrew's music, the Wingfeather Saga has helped me celebrate how God takes broken and twisted things and makes them beautiful - not just in the world of Aerwiar or the land of Skree, but here in my own story. 

*See this song taken from Book 3, The Monster in the Hollows. Even more perfect because the singer, Peterson's daughter Skye, is the inspiration for Leeli, who sings this song in the book. 

**Sample footnote: "A delightful sport in which each team tries to get the ball into the goal without using their feet in any capacity, even to move." 

The fine art of correspondence

In my Khmer class this morning, we read a fake e-mail between strangers: a Cambodian guy writing to a foreign girl. It reads as follows:

Dear Julie,

Hello! I want to tell you a bit about myself. My name is Somet and I live in the city of Phnom Penh, Cambodia. What city and country do you live in? I work as a professor at Royal University of Phnom Penh and I'm getting my doctorate in sociology. What do you do for a living? And what have you studied? I'm not married and I also don't have a girlfriend. Do you have anyone? My appearance is as you can see in this e-mail. Based on the photo, how old do you think I am, and do you think I'm handsome? Sorry Julie! I'm just kidding. Don't take it the wrong way. But I hope you'll answer the questions I asked above. Julie! Can I ask you some personal questions? How many siblings do you have? Can we meet up in Siem Reap when you visit Cambodia next year?

Missing you and feeling happy,
Somet

It cracked us up. How did he find her e-mail? Can this Julie somehow read Khmer? Is Somet even sure that she's coming to his country? It was definitely livelier than the "pen pal" e-mails I always find in high school language textbooks.

I asked the teacher, "How would you feel if you received a message like this?" Her reply? "Oh, it's common. Male Cambodian strangers often write on Facebook, telling me and my friends that we're beautiful and asking if we have a boyfriend." Hmm. That hasn't been my experience, and I'm really OK with that.

Our homework was to write Julie's reply to Somet. I did my best to answer his questions and use some recent vocab (bolded) but I couldn't resist the urge to create a plot twist, loosely inspired by James Veitch. 

Dear Somet,

Hello! I was very happy to read your e-mail. I think that you are handsome and around age 25. As for me, I'm 45. My profile picture is old. I'm an only child and a widow with five children. The police in America believe that I killed my husband last year. Ever since then, I've been in hiding in various countries. I heard that Cambodia is not very strict with foreign criminals. Would you like to marry me and live in a remote village, far from the police? I hope you'll agree. I probably won't kill you like my first husband. Sorry Somet! I'm just kidding. Don't take it the wrong way. Please send me $6000 so I can buy plane tickets for all six of us to meet you in Siem Reap next year. Thanks!

Missing you and feeling happy,
Julie

I'm not sure my teacher will appreciate it (they say humor is the hardest thing to translate) but it certainly improved my motivation in writing.
(Update: She got a good laugh out of it. She enjoyed my classmates' responses too!)

The ironic thing is that this afternoon, unaware of this assignment, my tutor asked me about a Facebook message she'd received. "It's from an American guy that I don't know. He says I'm beautiful and he's in love with me. What should I tell him?" The message (in English) was very gushy and very general. I was pretty sure the next message would say, "Can you please send me money?" I advised her to ignore it: advice she'd also heard from her son and neighbor. (Though, come to think of it, maybe I should have asked if she'd like to reuse my reply?) 

Oh, social media. Making the world smaller - by enabling people to flirt, stalk, and bilk across international borders.

Margin: not just for notebooks anymore

Today didn't exactly go as planned.

This morning, I planned to attend part of a women's prayer time at my Khmer church. I wasn't sure I'd written down the correct time several weeks back, so I asked two friends. One didn't know, and the other didn't reply in time. When I showed up, nobody was there. The drive was hot and fruitless.

I came home and thought, "This is good, I have time to clean the apartment!" But while cleaning the sink, I pushed down the plug, and there's no lever to push it back up. (You're supposed to be able to push it down once to lock it and once more to spring it back up, but the spring part doesn't work anymore.) I disassembled the pipes and spent nearly an hour cleaning out black gunk and hair, and trying to push up the plug with chopsticks. My roommate said it's the only way to do it, and she's succeeded multiple times before, but neither of us could get it to work. I was left with pruney fingers, pipe sections on the floor, a couple of broken chopsticks, and a still-plugged sink. 
(Update: She managed to fix it the next day!)

This afternoon, my teammate Victor came with his pickup truck to help me pick up a desk and a sofa. Getting the desk was fine, but the sofa couldn't make it out of its previous owners' apartment. After an hour of wrangling it, removing legs, and trying every possible twist and turn, we gave up. The husband was baffled because they'd gotten it in there somehow in one piece. We drove home tired, sweaty, and sofa-less. This poor couple is moving out of the country tomorrow after 25 years here, and as I was leaving, he was surrendering the keys to their apartment. They didn't get their money for the sofa, but they DID get a wall full of scratches and an angry landlord. What a sad way to spend their final moments in a cherished home. (His ability to take it all in stride was a great example for me, though.)

Happy about my "new-to-me" desk, though!

A day like this could have set me off big time, causing major frustration if not tears. But I'm fine. Do you know why?

• Yesterday afternoon after Khmer class, I chose to savor time with a friend, even though it meant I didn't have time to run two errands across town, which I really wanted to accomplish. When I came home, I took a much-needed nap. Driving across town for those errands would have put me beyond tired. Monday's not too late to get them done.
• I slept nine hours last night, up from seven most nights recently. Seven has not been cutting it.
• I had a good prayer time this morning. That hasn't been true every day.
• I ate well and drank plenty of water today.
• The power stayed on all day, so I had access to a fan most of the time.
• During my workout this morning, I listened to my "Help!" playlist. These songs reminded me of truths that transcend sofas, sweat, and sinks. Truths like...
• God's goodness satisfies me (Audrey Assad - "I Shall Not Want")
• God is my refuge and my strength (Eoghan Heaslip - "A Shield About Me")
• God holds onto me when I can't hold onto Him (Keith & Kristyn Getty - "He Will Hold Me Fast")
• I didn't have much planned for today. I had a "wish list" of tasks I'd like to accomplish eventually, but I was OK with them not happening today. I wanted to leave room and energy for the prayer time and moving furniture. My biggest goal for today is to go to bed on time.

In short, I'm OK because I was practicing margin.

I'm not very good at margin. Literally. I was that kid in elementary school who tried to cram my pages as full as possible with writing. Why should I have to stop at the vertical red line and go down to the next horizontal blue line, when there's a whole beautiful inch to the right, waiting to be filled? 

But margins on paper allow the readers space to process what they're reading and perhaps even to comment on it. They make the reader more relaxed, more attentive, and ultimately more effective. 

Margins in life matter too. In the US they're necessary, but in Cambodia they're absolutely essential. A week without margin leaves me stumbling around dazed, unable to think straight, let alone cope with stress. My 100% capacity here is about 80% of my US capacity, and since I'm still transitioning back, I'm still well below even that. I've been pretty amazed how exhausted I get just from the bare minimum: language study, cooking dinner, Bible study. I can't afford to indulge in my love of being busy  the way I (kind of) could last year in the US.

I've tried to push through the fatigue to get things done: finish my newsletter, set up my new phone, read the rest of my book. Sometimes it's worth it; sometimes I regret it; but either way, it leaves me more in need of rest later on. I know from experience that when I save tasks for later, it often works out better anyway, because I have more energy to accomplish things if I'm better-rested.

Thankfully, most expats around me have learned the value of margin and remind me to pursue it. My team leaders, my friends, and my classmates have urged me recently to prioritize self-care. They remind me to sleep, to do things I enjoy, to protect my times with God. They know if I don't, I won't be here for long. There are too many stress factors threatening to sap my energy and rob my joy. I'm thankful for their gentle admonitions and tough questions keeping me accountable. 

At its root, it's a question of trusting God. Can He take care of me and/or those around me if I go to bed on time or take my time reflecting on a Bible passage? Absolutely! But sometimes that's not the belief that my life reflects. When I get frantic and panicky, when I start convincing myself that I'm not *that* tired, and that I can and must fit just one more task (or three) into an already-full schedule, I know my heart is denying His promises to provide for me. 

The question is, do I stop and reflect when I notice these warning signs, or do I forge ahead with my impossible agenda until reality collides with me? Sure, there are times when overextending myself short-term is needed, and in those cases, I likewise need to trust God to provide for my well-being. But if it's just based on sheer stubbornness, then pushing through to stick to my agenda is a terrible idea that usually backfires.

As I prepared to return here this time around, I knew I wanted to embrace margin even when it meant saying no to a lot of good things. Now that I'm here, I'm reminded that change isn't easy - but that in Christ, it IS possible because He is making me a new creation. He doesn't need me to be strong and energetic; He needs me to be listening.

I know I won't find a perfect balance of activities that will work in every unwritten chapter of my life, or even every page of this chapter. But I can allow God to keep changing my heart so that I'm ready to stop, listen, and respond to His voice. Maybe that's the most important task on my to-do list these days: the task of prioritizing margin so I can handle days that don't go as planned.

My house is now a beauty salon (and that's OK)

I've been back in the 'Penh for a couple weeks now, and people keep asking me what I notice about changes in the city since I moved away in 2015. It's evident that the city continues to develop rapidly, especially on my end of town. 

I asked my former housemate Michaela if she'd ever returned to our old house to visit the landlords, who used to live right behind us. "I went by, but they're gone," she replied. "Now there's a fancy salon! I can't even tell if it's the same building." 

So I stopped by this week to see for myself. It was indeed the same building, but extensively remodeled. No more gate. No more topless goddess bas-relief by the front door. No more chandelier. No more tile. No more party lights. *gasp!*

Before

After

I told the staff that I had lived there for five years, and they were happy to let me look around. They seemed surprised that I'd rented it, and commented, "It was so old!" It wasn't really, maybe 20-25 years, but it was poorly maintained.

Back in the day, this neighborhood - Toul Kork - was way out in the boonies, filled with dirt roads, fields, and a few brothels. Friends were telling me this week that in 2000, they thought Logos administrators were insane for renting out here. But it took off, becoming home to many "Khmer Riche" and dubbed Phnom Penh's Beverly Hills.

On the right

Straight ahead

On the left

In Cambodia, landlords can't raise the rent if the tenants don't change. Logos teachers continuously occupied this house from the early 2000s to 2015, under the same contract. So by the time I arrived in 2010, let alone left in 2015, the rent was absurdly low for the neighborhood. No wonder the landlords weren't motivated to fix the window screens, the toilets, the leaky roof, the mold, the lights, or the doors that wouldn't latch. 

We took it upon ourselves to hire a repairman from time to time, but the five of us were never sure how long we were staying, so we likewise lacked motivation for extensive repairs. It had great security, a convenient location, and consistent electricity; we could live with the issues. It took me a while to realize that some of the issues really weren't par for the course. Our house helper, who was by no means wealthy, told us she had a better roof and fewer rodents than we did.

A couple years before we left, the landlords got an offer. Someone down the street wanted to buy the property, raze it, and build a bigger, fancier place for a relative. Not surprising. We almost had to move that year, but the deal never went through. When we left, we figured the house wouldn't stay the same for long. But it never occurred to me that it wouldn't remain a residence.

Upstairs

Upstairs

Michaela's old room

As I meandered through the downstairs, it was surreal trying to picture my kitchen and living room. The stairs helped orient me, and upstairs was largely untouched since they weren't yet using it. However, they'd installed dark wood floors and repainted everything. Now it would be perfect for the black and white party we once hosted! My door was locked, but Michaela's bedroom clearly hadn't been renovated at all. So many memories flooded back. 

I had strong feelings about that house. 

Shame, when the motodop drivers dropped me off and commented, "Wow, so big! How many people live there?" and I had to answer, "Just five." 

Frustration, when the landlords' dog bit my friends and snuck in our unlatchable front door to strew garbage across the floor. 

Disgust, when rinsing shrew droppings out of the baking pan yet again. 

But mostly peace and joy.

Despite the house's quirks and drawbacks, it was a haven. Each of my eight housemates over the years came to be precious to me. A lot of music, prayer, and laughter took place there. We welcomed visitors for rich conversations. It was our home.

Seeing what's become of my old house left me nostalgic, but not sad. I'm delighted now to be in an apartment with functioning outlets, fewer critters, and far less space to clean. I like living in a more middle-class neighborhood. In some ways, it's a relief having just one roommate and no house helper. Michaela's my only remaining in-country housemate anyway, and she and her husband live near my new apartment. I can already sense this apartment, like that house, becoming a refuge for me.

And who knows? I might even go "home" for my next haircut.