Planning lessons using "I do, We do, You do"

The text below is my script for a recent event with the Cambodia Teacher Community on lesson planning. I've enjoyed volunteering with these events every other month since last October, but this month was extra special, getting to co-speak with a teacher named Rumny!

Nakru (Teacher) Rumny just shared about the Khmer format for lesson planning. Now, I want to build on that by helping you plan lessons that connect your objectives to your activities and assessment. This will make your lesson plan flow smoothly and help your students grow so they can reach the objectives. My objective is that you can recognize and use the steps in the teaching technique called “I do, we do, you do.”

One difference from Khmer schools is that in American schools, there is not just one format for lesson plans. It depends on the state, school, and level. But every American lesson plan includes many of the same components or parts that we saw in Nakru Rumny’s presentation just now, including objectives, activities, and assessments.

Today, I want to share with you a teaching strategy recommended by American education specialists. Research shows evidence that it works in many different subject areas, with many different age groups. This strategy is also easy to use outside of a classroom. Actually, all of you have learned before using this strategy.

Raise your hand if you know how to wash the dishes. Do you remember how you learned?

Let’s think about the girl in this picture. We’ll call her Pich ("Diamond").

At the beginning, Pich’s family wanted her to help wash the dishes. So their objective was, “Pich will be able to wash the dishes.” 

How do you think they taught her? Did she read a book about it? Did she memorize 10 steps for scrubbing a pot? Did she take a multiple-choice test about it? Probably not.

Here’s how I think she learned. There are 3 steps:

• First, she watched other people wash the dishes. 
• Then, other people worked with her to wash the dishes. Maybe they helped her put on the gloves, guided her hand while she scrubbed, and told her to move the bowl around under the water so the whole bowl would be rinsed off. 
• Then she did it on her own while they watched. 

Maybe she’s still not ready to wash dishes without them watching. Maybe they still check to see if she uses too little soap, or if she left a dirty spot on a spoon, or if she puts a glass where it could fall and break. That way they can correct her until she’s able to succeed all by herself at this objective of washing the dishes.

There is a name for this teaching strategy. It’s called, “I do, We Do, You Do.” I is the teacher. We is the teacher and students together. You is the students.

During “I do,” the teacher shows a skill or procedure or explains information, while the students watch. During “We do,” the teacher helps the students practice. During “You do,” students practice while the teacher watches and gives feedback. Notice that in “I do,” the students are passive, but in “We do” and “You do,” they are active. Being active helps them understand and remember it long-term.

Planning “I do, we do, you do” starts by thinking about the objective. What will be difficult for students about this objective? What do they need from the teacher? This helps us organize the first step: "I do." During “I do,” the teacher does or says something while the students watch. Maybe the teacher shows how to use a water pump. Maybe she reads a story or lesson. Maybe the teacher demonstrates a math problem, or shows an example of a project that students will do.

“I do” is important so that students will understand the objective. But if we stop at “I do,” the students will not do the objective, and we will not know if they are able to do it. They need to actively practice the objective. But probably they are not yet ready to do the objective by themselves. So next step is “We do.”

To plan “We do,” the teacher thinks about the support that students need so they can do the objective. Often, we need to break the objective into smaller steps so students can do a little bit at a time. Maybe for math, the teacher has students use blocks to practice addition, or asks a student to come to the board to solve a problem. Maybe for English, she asks students to unscramble some words on the board to make a question. Maybe for geography, she has the students read the textbook about Laos and list some important facts on the board.

The last step? “You do.” To plan “You do,” the teacher looks for ways to let the students practice the objective on their own. Maybe the students work in groups to create a poster about different provinces. Maybe the students do a worksheet. Maybe they practice reading out loud. While the students practice, the teacher observes and is ready to give feedback: either praise or gentle correction. If many students are making mistakes and not succeeding, maybe the teacher goes back to re-teach using “I do” or “We do” until the students are ready to try again by themselves. Homework is another part of “You do” because students are trying a skill when the teacher is not there to help or correct them right away.

The teacher uses “I do, we do, you do” so students will learn to do the objective correctly without any help. Sometimes the students will succeed after just one class. For other objectives like washing dishes or reading a book, maybe they have to practice “We do” for many days before they can move to “I do.” Maybe some students will be ready sooner than other students. But the teacher is always thinking about how much support students need so that they can move toward completing the objective independently.

"I do, we do, you do" is not only useful in a classroom, but also in real life. As a Christian, I found it fascinating to realize that even Jesus used this teaching method. First, he demonstrated love as he honored low-status people, healed suffering people, and washed the disciples' feet. Then he had the disciples join him in demonstrating love to others. Finally, just before he went to the cross, he commanded them to continue loving others the way he had loved: 

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." (John 13:34-35)

After “You do,” the goal is that students can do this without any help or feedback from the teacher. I think many of you already use this technique sometimes when you teach. But I hope that after today, you can identify these steps in your lessons and you can use these steps more often to help you plan effective lessons. Thank you!

Next, I did a brief sample lesson teaching the German names for red, yellow, and blue, and then participants explained how they saw each step of "I do, We do, You do" in my lesson. Then they worked in their table groups to design a lesson on subtraction using all three steps. It's hard to do those activities as an individual blog reader, but instead you can test yourself with these review questions, which I ran out of time for at our event:

Today in my entire lesson, my objective was to teach you about the three steps of a good lesson. Tell me again, what are they? “I do, we do, you do.” Great! But did I use all those steps when I taught you about this technique?

How did I use “I do” to teach you about this technique? 

What about "We do" and "You do?" 

When you're ready, read on for how I tried to include them all:

"I do" - I described an example of this technique to teach a child how to wash the dishes. I also demonstrated a lesson on colors.

“We do” - I had everyone participate in a lesson on colors, and then they identified the steps in my lesson.

“You do” - Everyone worked in table groups to plan a lesson using this technique. Then one table shared their ideas with the whole group and we gave feedback.

Record turnout - exciting to see these events growing!

*None of these photos are mine except the last two. 

Hierarchy

I knew before moving here that American culture generally values equality, while Cambodian culture values hierarchy. I also knew I didn't like the sound of hierarchy. But what does hierarchy mean in practice? After 7+ years here, I'm still learning what it is and how to find my place within it! In this post, I'll explore 6 ways that I've experienced it in Asia.

1. Titles of respect

My former principal at Logos School, who's Canadian, went by Dan. Just Dan. This wasn't that weird for the North Americans on staff, but it was unthinkable for our Cambodian colleagues, who insisted on calling him "Mr. Hein" since English doesn't use many titles. I was confused when I first arrived because Dan always referred to an older Khmer woman on staff as "Nakru (Teacher) Chantorn." She was one of the only Logos employees who was not a teacher: she ran the school office. But I learned that it was simply a term of respect reflecting her age, status, and longevity at our school.

It starts young. Parents make their younger children add "Bong" (Older Sibling) to the names of their older children. But it doesn't stop with kids. Anytime you ask about desirable traits in a spouse, respect for elders/superiors always comes up. And it's rare to call someone, even a non-relative, by their first name if they're more than a few months older: there are dozens of titles ranging from the basic "Bong" to some much more specific ones. This is deeper than just words; at a training last month, a Cambodian told my American colleague, "People here want to hear from you because they respect your white hair."

In fact, Khmer rarely uses the words "I" or "you." Rather, people define themselves in relation to the other speaker. So I could call myself "oun" (younger sibling) or "khmuy" (niece/nephew) when speaking to someone older, but "bong" or "ming" or something else when speaking to someone younger. I'm still bad at this, but I'm trying to reciprocate it more when I hear others use these terms with me.

2. Gestures and positions

The classic Cambodian gesture when saying hello or goodbye is the sampeah, palms pressed together while bowing slightly. But there's more than one way to sampeah, as this picture illustrates. The height of your hands literally reflects the other person's status, often in relation to yours. This gesture is linked with similar ones in Thai, Indian, and Indonesian culture, to name a few.

That's not the only time that height corresponds to status. Another American told me yesterday that she was recently sitting on the floor during a Khmer lesson, while her tutor sat in a chair. The tutor interrupted the lesson to say, "I'm sorry, I know you don't care, but this is too weird for me. I can't sit higher than you. You're older and my employer."

3. Standardized lesson plans

Even America's name is decentralized: United States. And every American has heard that any power not explicitly assigned to the central government belongs to the states. In cases like education, local government, school boards, and individuals all bear influence on a given student's education. Some people push for standardization to ensure equal quality for all students, but many others advocate differentiation to give a voice to local stakeholders closer to the situation of each school or classroom.

In Cambodia, there are no elective courses, just two tracks (math/science vs. humanities) that somewhat affect high schoolers' schedules and 12th grade exit exam. There are no school district calendars because the whole nation is on the same calendar, (At least in theory... I've heard that rural schools sometimes unofficially extend the holidays, telling students, "Eh, let's take another week.") And every teacher learns the exact same format for lesson plans, which includes a heading with the lesson title and subtitle, among other things, and allots 2 minutes at the beginning for taking attendance. These may not be used daily, but anytime they have to submit a lesson plan, it must follow this format exactly.

This standardization made for an interesting conversation with my co-speaker, Rumny, when we planned our talk on Khmer vs. US lesson plans for earlier this month. I told her there was no such thing as a "US lesson plan" per se, but lots of different tips and templates that various American teachers used. Rumny was baffled. "You mean everyone just makes up their own design?" In response, I googled "American lesson plan template" to make sure I wasn't missing something. I found only 3 results, none of which was relevant.

4. Flash card placement

Many countries have centralized education systems: France and Austria come to mind. But in Southeast Asia, teachers' deference to authorities can be extra pronounced. I recently heard a talk by an American teacher trainer, Tom, working in a country neighboring Cambodia. Tom described once giving a seminar on teaching English using flash cards, where at the end a local teacher raised her hand.

"You told us to hold the flash cards over our heads, but we learned in teachers' college to hold them to the right of our faces. Which one should we do?"

"Great question," Tom responded. "We have some authorities in the room - let's ask them." The school principal, district education leader, and provincial education leader proceeded to debate among themselves for 30 minutes regarding the optimal position. Three levels of government wanted to weigh in about where to hold the flash cards – no wonder change is slow! Finally they stuck to the official stance: next to the teacher's face.

Meanwhile, Tom - like all the teacher participants, sitting at the students' desks and listening - could see the problem. In the crowded classroom, many students had an obstructed view of the teacher's face and could only see the flash card if it was over her head! Tom pointed out to me and the other conference participants that as the highest authority in their classrooms, it could appear shameful for teachers to raise a flashcard over their heads. However, when teachers had students hold flashcards during their lessons, Tom noticed that the students all knew what to do. They raised them high above their heads without hesitation! I don't know if Cambodian teachers have a "proper" placement for flash cards, but it wouldn't surprise me.

5. Patron-client relationships

This is a complex issue that I can't fully address here. But patron-client relationships are a bond that goes deeper than just a cut-and-dried transaction. They could be between:

• employer and employee
• government official and residents
• a wealthy person and their poorer relatives

There's a set of obligations that each must fulfill: the patron protects the client, while the client shows respect and loyalty to the patron, a bit like parents care for their kids, who must obey their rules. Cambodians who see themselves as clients will be careful not to challenge or contradict their patron, and might hope to receive a job, medical care, or a scholarship for their child through the patron. Connections are essential here for getting things done! Anyone perceived to have power or money is fair game as a potential patron, which means foreigners need to tread carefully and be aware of cultural dynamics and expectations. 

Patron-client relationships aren't inherently good or bad; it's how people use them. As you can imagine, it can spiral into oppression or unhealthy dependency, but it can also be a mutually caring relationship. As Cambodian culture modernizes and many people leave the countryside for the city, the web of patron-client relationships is becoming more interwoven and more fluid than it used to be.

6. Prayer

This point ties in with #1, titles of respect. Khmer doesn't conjugate verbs according to person or tense (I go, she goes, we went, they will go) but it does have levels of formality to its verbs, which I suppose is a bit similar. Royalty/divinity, monks, elders, equals, and children/animals all have completely separate words for actions like eating. (The fact that royalty and divinity are lumped into the same category, while children and animals are together in a different category, also tells you something.) The respect attached to titles and verbs made it really fun for Bible translators, since Hebrew and Greek aren't organized by hierarchy in this way.

When Christians pray, they always use royal/divine language, just like Buddhists would use for Buddha. So not only the titles and verbs, but also the body parts, are completely unrelated to the words used to describe ordinary people. Jesus (Preah Yesu) doesn't have regular hands (dai), he has divine hands (preah hoah). He doesn't speak (niyay), he has a divine word (mien preah bantoul). This makes prayer a mouthful and scary for me to do out loud in front of a group. But it also reminds me of God's glory and power. He is not like us. He is far greater.

Last week, in an online meeting, I listened to a French teammate pray aloud. I was struck by how French prayer uses the familiar tu form for "you," just as English used to use "thou," which now sounds old and stodgy but used to be the familiar form you'd use with close friends and family. His prayer made God sound so near and tender.

My teammate's prayer was a great reminder for me that both are true. God is the pinnacle of every hierarchy - and He's the humble servant who was born in a manger and washed the disciples' feet. He reigns over all the universe - with the compassionate presence of a mother. At Christ's feet every knee will bow - the feet that were pierced in the most humiliating of executions. He commanded Christians to honor our human authorities - and He befriended the lepers, the prostitutes, those with no power or status.

God doesn't pick sides in the fight between hierarchical and egalitarian cultures. He fulfills them both perfectly and transcends them. At their best and most beautiful, both echo His glory and goodness.

A New Year's prayer, one year later

Yesterday, I stood and worshiped in the same church where I'd stood and worshiped 364 days ago on New Year's Eve. We sang, "Blessed be your name in the land that is plentiful... and blessed be your name when I'm found in the desert place..." and I remembered this Sunday last year. 

That day, I sat with my teammates, Carole and Victor. Before the first song, they whispered to me the news they'd just learned: their entire ministry, a Cambodian teacher training program, had to stop immediately following an unexpected new government decree. ("Private institutions may not train teachers.") It wasn't aimed at the school where they taught, or even at foreigners/Christians/nonprofits in general, but they were still collateral damage. And I thought to myself, What in the world does the coming year hold? 

I thought I knew what I came back to Cambodia to do. Suddenly I hadn't a clue. 

Earlier that day, I'd written this prayer:

Throughout 2018, would You please produce in me...

• More concern about how well I'm loving others, and less concern about how well they're loving me
• More reliance on the Holy Spirit who indwells me, and less reliance on my to-do list
• More stable joy, and less pursuit of fleeting happiness
• More awe of Your image in others, and less comparison of myself to them
• More time in the Good Book, and less time on Facebook
• More generous hospitality, and less fear of man
• More fervent intercession, and less fruitless worry
• More diligence in language practice, and less arrogance about the undeserved gift You've given me
• More liberty, and less license or legalism
• More godliness with contentment (which is great gain), and less striving for meaningless gain
• More wholehearted worship, and less adulterous idolatry
• More words of encouragement, and fewer words of advice

Jesus, you promise that whatever I ask in Your Name according to Your will, the Father will give me. When I bear much fruit, I'm revealed as Your disciple, and the Father is glorified (John 15:8). That's what You want for my life, and that's what I want too. 

It felt like too many things, but I wasn't sure which ones to take out, so I just left them all in. I taped the prayer above my bed. I wish I could say I'd read it and prayed through it weekly, or that I'd had a concrete action plan to help me form new habits. But I did occasionally revisit it, and it always reoriented me toward truth.

And you know what? These are some of the key areas I've been growing in this year. This prayer trickled into a lot of other prayers on my balcony and on my moto, in my kitchen and in the classroom. One means of growth came within hours, as I digested the whispered news from Carole and Victor. Others came through new friendships that went from surface-y to glimpses of someone's inner heart. Others came through friends and loved ones carrying much heavier burdens than mine, where I was powerless to do anything but cry out to God with them. Still others came through seemingly unchanging situations that changed me over time.

For some points on the list, I think, "Oof! Did I grow at all?" For others, I'm not where I used to be, but I'm still so far from where I could be. It's OK. I can celebrate my progress even while longing for more. On December 31, 2018, I'm not who I was on December 31, 2017. I can see God's faithfulness so clearly in the way He's provided opportunities and challenges to abandon my plans and embrace His, to scoff at my broken cisterns (like self-importance and people-pleasing) and take deep gulps of His springs of living water (Jeremiah 2:13). 

Pastor Daren preached last New Year's Eve, and I wrote down one of his comments. "One of the greatest temptations that will face us in 2018 is discontentment - an affront to God's goodness and sovereignty." Hmm, maybe that was the key to understanding my vanishing ministry plans and a couple other situations that I was less than thrilled about. Maybe the battle was less about finding the right thing to do, and more about embracing a right heart attitude. Inspired by that comment, I went home and started singing the Oh Hellos' "Exeunt," addressing it to self-pity and grumbling.

Now, I am not the fool I was when I was younger

Crocodile eyes, I have seen how you hunger

Fluttering your lashes, like ashes and embers

Warm and bright as fire devouring timber

No, I cannot trust what you say when you're grieving

So, my love, I'm sorry, but still: I am leaving

Even when you hunt me with ire, relentless

Batter down my door when you find me defenseless

I will not abide all your raging and reaving

I have set my mind and my will: I am leaving

I wouldn't say I've left grumbling behind yet. But as a language nerd, I like that the song ends with the present continuous tense: I am leaving. It's ongoing.

For 2019, I don't have a new list. I think I'll keep going with this one. But in reflecting yesterday, I was reminded of a post by special needs mom and gifted writer Kara Dedert that I read last year shortly after writing this prayer, a post I liked so much that I saved it to revisit now:

I don't have a list of resolutions for the new year to better myself or my life. I've tried that, maybe made a few small changes, but the real change comes from someone else - Jesus. So I want my focus to be all wrapped up in Him. 

I want my feet to walk on purposely thru dark nights when faith seems pointless. 
My hands to reach out to those around me, carrying each other along the way and inviting others to walk the way of the cross with us. 
My eyes quick to see the weight of glory that is coming. 
Whether I'm enjoying art, writing or music - may it whisper His name. 
When investing in friendships - may it lead to eternal bonds in Christ. 
When I read, fellowship, pray and worship - may it be water to a living faith that is growing in Christ. 
When I clean my home and spend oodles of time with my kids - may it be the setting where Christ is rooted in their hearts and His grace trumps my very imperfect mothering. 
When I care for Calvin's needs and feel angry and helpless when he suffers, may I remember Christ became broken to overcome ours and is making all things new. 

I'm broken and very flawed, but walking the way of the cross heals me and breathes life into every aspect of my life. My plan is to keep breathing in that life in 2018.

A few sentences are specific to her life, and I can tailor them to fit mine. But she's named my top goal for 2019: to breathe Christ's life into every arena of my own life. 

Loving Cambodia 101

Here's a guest post from my mom, Jan Cooper, about her recent visit. My love of writing is from her... enjoy this glimpse of Cambodia through her eyes!

I visited Chelsea this month, my second time to Cambodia. A fun and adventuresome travel companion from Davisville Church came with me, Holly Ferguson. We spent time both in Phnom Penh and up north with Chelsea's amazing, lovely fellow World Teamers. There we helped lead a two day children's ministries training with children's volunteers who work in the local villages. Then Chelsea and I traveled down south to the shore for a mini vacation. My trip gave me only 8 days in country, but it was a rich and varied time, memorable on many levels.

A typical response when I tell someone that my daughter has moved to Cambodia is, "She must really love it there." After spending seven of the last 9 years in country, she likely would agree that she does truly love this small country on the other side of our planet. But as in any relationship, love doesn't come easy. Love implodes if it's not selfless and sacrificial. Love must patiently learn to accept flaws. Cambodia is not an easy place to live, an intuitive place to love. And for this American, at least, it's not always easy to be lovable when living there.

Because, for all my "I used to live in Europe," and "I speak German," I'm still very much an American. I want to fix things, tackle problems. Going through the streets, I want to organize a Cambodian version of "Don't be a litterbug", the campaign that cleaned up the US in my childhood. I want to tell everyone to stop wearing hooded sweatshirts and jeans in the sweltering heat, that it's okay if the sun turns their skin a shade darker, it's really okay. I want to tell them how beautiful they are, such lovely, amazing children they have, so ready to wave and call out, "helloIloveyouwhat's your name" when we pass. I want to round up the parade of stray dogs off the city streets and their trash diet and give them a happy life on a farm. I'd like to make everyone wear a life jacket on the rickety ferry boat. I'd like to pull aside the clever and intelligent but underemployed tuk-tuk driver who taught himself English. I'd like to reach out to the young woman at the market stall with a life work of selling scarves. I'd like to hand them a pathway to a skilled trade that challenges their minds, an education. I'd like to provide running water for the villages. I'd like to stop the rolling truckloads with thousands of garment workers, all young women, and provide the hope of a different life for them. And, less nobly, I'd like to provide each bathroom a clean working toilet with a real seat and a roll of toilet paper. Oh, yes, and I'd like to send the lizards and toads and snails and super-sized insects to a safe place anywhere outside my four walls.

But I can't. I can't even find my own way through the ever-expanding city. Without a translator by my side, I can communicate exactly nothing. And even if I could say these things in fluent Khmer, it would have only a negative effect to focus on the unchangeable. I'd like to think I'm more able to flex culturally, and am disappointed to find the small luxuries built into my daily routines have clouded my lens. Being there showed me how short it is to the end of my rope, how the smells and heat and poverty around me overcome my appreciation for the world's peoples.

But yet there was so much to love:

     The endless varieties of flowers and fruits. Tasting and enjoying passion fruit and dragonfruit and jackfruit and the variety of mangoes. Even bananas tasted richer, creamier. 

     The beautiful shoreline rising into green mountainsides. The flat landscape of so much of the countryside like a child's drawing dotted with palm trees and triangle mountains. 

     The crazy patchwork of traffic patterns, where people weave in and out in an unrushed manner and no one seems bothered by road rage. 

     The soups and stews and heaps of steaming rice and fruit smoothies with the richest of flavors.

     The easy way people sit on the floor together.

     Hearing my daughter speak Khmer, seeing her joy and warmth in the interactions with the neighborhood shopkeeper, the tuk tuk drivers and market sellers, the worker at the butterfly garden. Feeling her love for this place cracking open my heart, too. Loving what she loves.

     The welcome that we got from the bevy of high school girls at the Plas Prai dorm in Preah Vihear. Chelsea bonded with them throughout last summer as she was finishing language training. These are all girls from subsistence rice farming families who would not have been able to finish high school in their village, and could not afford to move to a city to do so. They were the cream of the crop of a group of applicants, and knew they were privileged to stay in the dorm, six to a room on thin mattresses, so they could finish high school.

     The families from Davisville Church who followed the call to Cambodia 15 years ago. Spending time in the Gabriels’ home, enjoying home-cooked meals and hearing about SAM, the school of applied mission, which is training the rural pastors and leaders in that area. Meeting up with the Hartsfields, whose focus is shifting to the growing task of leading World Team staff for all of Asia.

     The children's ministries training in the open air facility, with all the distractions of chickens and children and loud speakers on trucks and water deliveries, yet culminating after months of preparation by the staff in Preah Vihear and me. Seeing it come to pass, resonate, spark change.

     Watching the lessons we taught, now put to work in the villages. A new creativity, fresh ideas to try out, which seemed to be enjoyed by the leaders and participants.

But as I watched, it struck me: would our American kids come and sit on pig feed bags in the dirt and the heat, sing songs at the top of their lungs, and play and take part and listen together? We require so much more in comfort and climate control and technology and glitz. I'm not sure how much our kids stateside could focus on the basic truths without the bells and whistles.

What would a Cambodian think of how we do church, how we live our lives? What would they find hard to love here in America? What would they want to change, but find us intractable?

God love us, God love us all.

Visits are my favorite

What's harder:

A. moving to the other side of the world at age 22, or 

B. letting your daughter move to the other side of the world at age 22 with your blessing?

I'm pretty sure it's B. But that's what my parents did. 

When I first heard about Logos School and its vacant position for an English teacher, I called my mom and basically said, "This is crazy, right? Talk me out of this." Instead, she told me, "What's the harm in applying?" (I knew my dad would agree since he used to tell me, "Do some things that surprise you.") She and my dad were committed to missions even before I was born, so they supported me through my jitters and second thoughts, and hugged me tight at the airport. She later told me, "I felt like you were falling off a cliff and disappearing. If anything happened to you there, how would I even know?" 

Mom and I are kindred spirits. I think my being away has been harder for her than for my dad, though I'm close with him too. But she's never questioned my commitment to being overseas. Instead, she's savored connecting with me over e-mail and Skype, and during my time stateside. She learned the names of countless people she'd never met, read up on the societal issues here, tracked with the ins and outs of my weeks and months, noted how I've adapted to life here. She prays for me every day. She's done an amazing job at long-distance mothering.

Best of all, she came to visit - once with my dad in 2012, and again this month. (My dad couldn't make it this time due to his job, but I'm hoping he'll come again soon!) There's no better way to bridge the gap between my two homes and communities than face-to-face interaction. 

We packed a lot into her nine days here. It reminded me how much has changed for us both since her last trip. Her friend Holly and a Khmer-American girl named Sam came along, both connections through the church my parents joined in 2012, right after their last visit. And of the dozens of people I introduced my mom to here, there was only one repeat from last time: my former roommate, Michaela.

L to R: Holly, my neighbor Panny, Panny's mom, my mom, me

The day after they arrived, we headed north to Preah Vihear, where I did my homestay this summer. Both my mom and I loved the chance for her to connect with my friends there. And it was extra special for Holly, who's been sponsoring Avaty, one of the dorm girls at Plas Prai. (Avaty was completely surprised by her visit, and told Holly, "Sorry I didn't recognize you - in your photos I didn't realize how tall you were!")

Thim, Holly, Avaty 

Sam is volunteering for a while in Phnom Penh,
but joined us in Preah Vihear first

Mom and Holly led a 2-day seminar on children's ministries, which is Mom's job back in PA. So I got to see her in her element, just like she got to see me in mine. I helped translate the handouts and some of the sessions, but thankfully my teammate Joel and a couple of Cambodians were much better equipped than I was to do most of the work. Joel didn't just translate word for word - he took the concepts and made them make sense to the audience, with appropriate examples and jokes along the way. Life goals for me!

Mom worked hard to base the seminar on input from my teammates and their Khmer partners who work in PV. Their top advice: Teach a little, use it a lot. So we used it all! 

Reenacting the disciples and Jesus in a storm: those sitting are in the boat, while those standing are the boat and the waves

We reflected on our childhoods and how adults made us feel... 
   we played the games... 

      we dissected a Bible passage on Zaccheus meeting Jesus... 

         we created discussion questions...

            we planned a lesson... 

               and we taught it to real kids at the end. 

Actually, I shouldn't say "we" taught it: the seminar participants did all the work themselves, with us leaders/organizers as resources during planning. In my group, one girl volunteered to narrate the story of Zaccheus, but she had a nasty headache and couldn't join us. The group felt insecure about their ability to tell it without her on short notice. But another girl ended up retelling it entirely from memory, and did a fantastic job! I was impressed with my whole group's stage presence. They were enthusiastic, caring, asked good questions, kept the kids engaged, and implemented new games and review strategies. 

  

In another group, they made up an original song about Zaccheus. My mom had briefly mentioned that as one possibility, but I didn't expect anyone to try it. In September, I participated in seminars with about 250 Cambodian teachers where they were asked to create a song to review any concept, from colors to chemical reactions. They'd really struggled to be original and not just perform an existing song, even with 10 minutes to work in groups on that specific task. But this group added fun new lyrics and actions to an existing melody ("Father Abraham") to create a memorable lesson. Look at their rapt audience!

After the seminar, Sam returned to Phnom Penh, and Holly stayed on with my teammates (her longtime friends). She loved her adventures, from rice farming, to meeting Avaty's family, to snapping the remarkable photo below: a tokay lizard eating a centipede! I'm glad I don't see either one in Phnom Penh. Lizards in general are great about eating bugs, so I don't mind all the small ones at my house. By contrast, a centipede bit my friend and it burned for a week. No thanks. 

Meanwhile, Mom and I headed south to the beautiful town of Kep, nestled between jungle hills and coastline. 

Our bungalow

We took a day trip to Rabbit Island. It was great, but a leisurely morning walk around it featured a bit more adventure near the end than we'd bargained for. We tried to pass a mangrove forest at high tide, when the shore was underwater. Mangroves are fun to look at, but not to wrestle a path through. However, swarms of sea lice attacking our legs in the water made us decide the mangrove route was worth it for a while. When we despaired of mangroves and tried the water again, the sea lice were gone, but the mud was deep and strong. The very first step sucked Mom in so far that her purse took a dip and her sandal took over ten minutes to find. Next time, we'll plan ahead... or maybe just lounge on the main beach. (Yes, the walk was my idea, and yes, a Cambodian tried to warn me that we should turn around instead of doing a complete loop. My mom should get a medal for not once saying "I told you so.")

Mangroves

At the butterfly garden

Being together in a new context allowed me to reflect on the similarities and differences between Mom and me. She's jumpier than I am: even when I warned her, she still shrieked at the large snail that wanted to share our bathroom. She's more confident in front of a crowd, better at jet lag, and a less adventurous eater. But like me, she was so eager to soak up nature, to relate to people, and to learn and use a bit of Khmer. She had great questions for everyone she met, and the conversations were so much richer because of all that she's invested into understanding my life for the seven years I've been here. We're already looking forward to her next trip.

Mom's done a lot to bridge our worlds, and this visit reminded me how very grateful I am for her.

Ten thousand reasons

It takes me about one minute a day.

One minute, nearly every day, I jot down a few lines in my "gift list." 

No big deal... except that it's changed my life.

As of last month, I have recorded ten thousand reasons that I'm grateful.

It started in Spring 2011, almost two years into my time in Cambodia. A friend recommended Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts. She explained the premise or "dare" of the book: by writing down three things a day that you're thankful for, in one year your list will reach 1000. I scoffed, "Who needs a whole book to explain that?" But I liked the idea, so I started writing things down, with no idea whether I'd stick it out all year. (I later read the book and liked it better than I'd expected... it obviously had a lot more content. But you don't have to like Voskamp to try the list.)

My list contained the gamut of good things. Cold refreshing smoothies, cooperative traffic lights, and comfy shoes. Acts of kindness, great role models, and sweet moments with loved ones. Biblical truths, unexpected opportunities, and evidence of growth in myself or those around me. One of the early items, after Japan's tragic tsunami, was Cambodia's safety from natural disasters. Every now and then, I'd repeat an item if it was just that good - there are a lot of variations on "chocolate," "mangoes," and "naps." 

I didn't realize how much I needed this list. In the first few months, I was often overwhelmed, exhausted, and anxious. "Nothing to add from today," I'd mumble to myself some nights. But as I stopped and reflected, there was always something. In fact, there were always some things. 

Inevitably on those "nothing" days, until I sat down with my journal, still-ungraded essays or a flopped lesson or concern for a hurting friend had pushed out of my mind a colleague's patience with me. Or the sunset that I'd seen driving home from work. Or the satisfaction of a clean room or a tasty lunch. Sometimes they spilled onto the page long after I'd reached three. The discipline of recording them helped me notice the beauty in Phnom Penh, the freedom in singleness, the joy in serving, the perks of a life that didn't always go my way. I started feeling the truth of Psalm 103:5 - "He fills my life with good things..." Not just other people's lives. God was filling my life, day by day, with evidence of His goodness.

One year later, I had zoomed past 1000 with no intention of stopping. And I'm so glad, because summer and fall 2012 contained some of the most difficult events of my life. But I felt more resilient than before the list. I started thinking at various moments, "This would be a good thing to write down for today." Voskamp describes it as a "treasure hunt." Looking for the gifts heightened my awareness that grief and fear were not the whole story, that help and hope were close at hand. It's not just in my head, either... recent findings in neuroscience back me up that gratitude makes us healthier and a whopping 25% happier.

The list came with me to America during summer breaks and when I moved back, a familiar friend in a sea of change. But despite its obvious benefit to me, it still took me years to get in the habit of writing daily. After too many times of racking my brain... Okay, now what happened last Thursday? ... I finally started keeping the journal under my pillow so I'd remember it every night. Now, it's a great way to close my day. 

I like this way of tracking time. Without a traditional diary, this is my only way to date memories. It's an excellent tool against self-pity. Recently, flipping through, I thought, Wow, ___ was already going on by #9185? That was almost a thousand gifts ago! What started out as "woe is me, I've endured this for a while," instantly turned to, "Look how God has cared for me ever since." In other cases, it's a lasting reminder of whole blissful days or remarkable answers to prayer, which my faulty memory rarely recalls unprompted. It's hard to read it without smiling.

Sometimes I write things down without actually having the gift notebook along. That was the case in Preah Vihear this summer, where I brought minimal luggage. I just wrote items down in a different notebook, without numbering them. When I returned to Phnom Penh, I recopied two months of gifts into my main notebook. Knowing I was close to ten thousand, I'd been wondering what I'd write for that one. I was trying to resist the temptation to make it something flashy, because that's not what this is about, but also hoping it wouldn't be something totally trivial like "I finally changed my oil." But no! Without tweaking the order, this ended up being #10,000: "Your promises are true: You are strong, You love me, and You answer prayer." I was in awe. Aren't those the truths that I'd seen over and over through even the smallest details of this list? 

Today I watched the Bible Project video on the book of Ecclesiastes. "'Meaningless! Meaningless!' says the Teacher. 'Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.'" Apparently hevel, the Hebrew word often translated as "meaningless" (used 38 times to describe aspects of life), is actually closer to "vapor" or "smoke," in the sense of being fleeting and mysterious. Our lives are short, confusing, and often out of our control. But Ecclesiastes also celebrates "the gift of God" - enjoying simple good things in life like friendship, family, a good meal, or a sunny day. "You can't control these things, they're certainly not guaranteed to us, but that's their beauty. When I come to adopt a posture of total trust in God, it frees me to enjoy my life as I actually experience it, not as I think it ought to be." 

One minute a day isn't much. But in my quest to celebrate God's daily presence and provision as I actually experience it, it's been surprisingly powerful.