Miraculous

The further I get into this school year, the more these two thoughts float around in my head:

1. This is sooo much easier than last year!
2. I am at my limit: I can't handle any more than this.

Which leads to the question, how did I do it last year? I have NO idea. How did I juggle 5 separate courses, culture shock, heat, power outages, brand-new age groups, brand-new learners' needs, and the list goes on? How did I handle my numerous commitments outside of class? I pulled that off for a YEAR? Because at the moment, with 4 courses (2 repeated from last year), I am on the verge of exhaustion.

Last year, I would constantly be tempted to give into panic attacks. "I know I was okay the LAST time, but look at this crisis now! I can't make it! Any day now, I'm going to break and everything will fall apart." Time and again, God showed me that He was faithful to renew my energy. Eventually, I started expecting Him to come through, just as he always had.

But somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that the panic was the crazy part. "I must just be a worrier - it's illogical to stress about this." I'm now realizing that from a logical standpoint, worry WAS the logical response. Any sane person would know it's not possible to do what I did last year, or what so many other Logos teachers have done. Yet we did. As my roommate put it, "Students know that we love them. But they have no idea how long ago our love ran out and only God's love was left to pour through us." My new proof for God's existence: come to Logos and see for yourself!

Same with my students. This year I've been astounded to see so many of them thriving in school and to learn more about their families' struggles. How can you possibly be working and growing the way you are? This one's mom is on drugs, that one's dad recently passed away, this one's brother was murdered, that one faces all kinds of abuse, and these ones live by themselves. How are you still breathing, let alone discussing utopian societies and Greek tragedy and college applications?

I always knew God's grace is real here, but I'm catching a glimpse of just how big it is. And I'm glad that He has me at my limit already; it will highlight His power and faithfulness once again this year. I need the constant reminders that it's not my strength that determines what I accomplish; it's only Him.

I’m baaaaack!

Miscellaneous observations since returning to Phnom Penh two weeks ago:

-Returning is so much nicer than arriving for the first time! I've loved reuniting with staff and students and rediscovering quirks and fun things from last year.

-It's rainy season, so there's a storm every afternoon. The heat is SO MUCH more livable as a result. Rain is fun! Except when you're driving a moto and it's up to your knees. Thankfully, that was my housemate, not me.

-To prevent flooding in the classrooms, they poured concrete strips for the cracks under the classroom doors. (Our school is California-style, with open-air hallways.) Mine and my neighbor's already broke when people accidentally kicked them...not hard, either. Note to self: move new books off the floor!

-Students have so much more energy and motivation when they're not melting in heat waves.

-In some contexts (ex. restaurants and grocery stores), Cambodia's customer service is phenomenal. In others (ex. Internet installation), it leaves something to be desired.

-Cambodia is awfully far from Pennsylvania. This is sad.

-Teaching wears you OUT!

-Life in Cambodia sometimes feels extraordinarily hard. And I'm not always sure why.

-Little things quickly become big things if you let them, maybe more so here than at home. If I let myself become minorly stressed or annoyed, it can turn into a crisis in no time flat. I know too many missionaries who have struggled with bitterness and burnout. I need to guard my thoughts and not give into anxiety and frustration.

-Helpful people (and they are many) keep me sane. They're like a direct injection of God's grace.

-Something I failed to notice last year: using a moto to tow a wheelbarrow. No trailer hitch or bungee cord needed, just have your passengers hold the wheelbarrow handles. Brilliant.

-When it's in season (ex. right now), dragonfruit is fantastically delicious.

-Speaking Khmer is so much more fun when you've learned a lot more words recently. I want to keep up both the studying and the speaking this year, in contrast with last year.

-God is so faithful, even when we can't see it right away!

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Safety

For months now, I've been anticipating the Motorcycle Safety course that ended last night.

Every time I mention this to people, they crack up. Those who know me from America laugh at the "motorcycle" part. Those who know me from Cambodia laugh at the "safety course" part. "Shouldn't you just pay attention? There's not much you can learn - just expect everyone to suddenly dart in and out of your path all the time."

Regardless, it seemed like a reasonable way to learn. It's more complete and safer than learning from friends on the streets of Phnom Penh or even Doylestown. It assuages my parents' concerns for me. And in PA, it's free.

From a logical standpoint, I agreed 100% that I should take it. Emotionally, though, I despised the idea. I'm a very reluctant and hesitant learner when it comes to many mechanical and kinesthetic skills. I hated learning to drive, learning stick shift, probably even learning to ride a bike back in the day. I always want to KNOW it, but LEARNING is painful.

The first time we mounted the bikes, I was terrified. I didn't know the locations of *any* of the parts they quizzed us on: engine kill switch, choke, even ignition. The instructions were frighteningly quick and involved doing things with all those just-learned parts. But not following them meant certain humiliation and possible physical danger. Each new drill that night brought panic: I'd figured out the last one, but could I do this one?

Eventually, I calmed down and realized most of the exercises were within my ability, even if it took me more practices than others to get the hang of them. (Although there was one that I never really mastered, which appeared on the final exam.) But I think that sense of terror was good for me as a teacher.

School was easy for me. I'm comfortable in a classroom, taking tests, writing papers, even giving presentations. I forget how it feels for others. There are students in my classes who feel that same sense of dread and despair every time I assign something. Many have only attended an English-speaking school for a year or two. Maybe they read slowly, or struggle to interpret literature, or always have to search for words. Regardless, school can be a scary place.

This class has helped increase my empathy for them. Just before the final exam, I was certain I would fail. There were specific skills that I consistently missed during the practices. But my instructors kept patiently encouraging me, as they had throughout the class. I slowly brought my thoughts under control and prayed for focus and the grace of God. And, to my astonishment, I got the skills right and passed the exam! I'm hoping to be a safe motorcyclist this year, but also to be an empathetic encourager for students convinced they'll crash and burn.

Growing into my name

"You look like a Chelsea." I always hear that and I never know what it means. Now, with Facebook, I can type in "Chelsea" and see thousands of profile pictures. Many of them look like sorority girls, like they go straight from the tanning salon to the beer pong tournament. That's wonderful! I've always hoped to look like them! Or maybe they mean the upscale neighborhoods in London and New York, the beverage, the hairstyle, or the boots worn by stormtroopers in Star Wars. Either way, I'm not quite sure how to take it.

It's how I got my name, though. My parents were considering the name Annelise if I was a girl, but somehow, "when we saw you, you just looked like a Chelsea." I felt somewhat like a Chelsea growing up, picturing her as someone steady rather than flighty, practical and not given to much girliness. (Although I was far too spacey to fully deserve my image of the name!) At the same time, I hated its meaning: "Port of Ships." Other girls got cool name plates with meanings like "Beloved" or "Harmonious" or "Joyful." Theirs came with amazing Bible promises tailored to their names. The lucky ones even had Bible characters or famous heroines who shared their names, whose character traits and qualities they could aspire to. My name, by contrast, wasn't available on most of those monogrammed souvenirs. "Port of Ships" smelled like fish, looked grey and dingy, and sounded like a steamboat. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

I've often wished for a more multi-cultural name. Most people named Chelsea are white Americans within ten years of my age. But if it's not a common girls' name to most people besides my peers, at least people are still familiar with it. Older adults ask if I'm named after Chelsea Clinton. When I played with little kids from the inner city, they said, "Of course - you're Chelsea like in 'That's so Raven' on Disney!"

When I studied in Europe, part of me hoped to go by my middle name, Elise. I may well have done it, except that people knew me already as Chelsea in both France and Germany. Anyhow, it worked out: I just had to tell people I was "Chelsea like the football club in England." (Works for Korean youth, too!) It's not the easiest to pronounce, but most people do OK with it, no matter their language background.

So I'm growing to accept it. More than that, I was recently challenged to appreciate it more. The subject came up at Bible study this spring, and someone mentioned the phrase "a port in a storm": a haven for people going through a rough time. Am I that kind of person? I want to be, and I think it's a trait I've been working to develop. Some of my most fulfilling moments have been listening to people experiencing difficulties and encouraging them. Maybe I finally have an identity in my name, just like the Ruths and Lydias and Hannahs I used to envy with their built-in role models. Maybe my name is finally meaningful, just as much as all those names with a cute plaque describing their significance. Maybe I'm starting to become a Chelsea.

Leavin' on a jet plane...

or rather four of them...(what kind of flight has 3 layovers, anyway?)...but I know I'll be back in August. As I write, I'm in a hostel in Hong Kong, in the middle of my 17-hour layover after a 3-hour flight from Phnom Penh. It's been a whirlwind of activities leading up to today, as the end of a school year always is: banquet, finals, awards night, goodbye lunch for departing teachers, moving my stuff to the house where I'll live next year. So despite the inconvenience, my 46-hour travel time actually provides some needed quiet time to reflect and prepare for re-entry.

I've heard that most missions agencies don't let people go home during their first two years. In some ways, I wholeheartedly agree. Going "home" for the summer, every summer, is a little too reminiscent of college and a little too far from considering a place your new home. I wish that I had time to relax in Phnom Penh, that I didn't associate it with ALWAYS having work to do and teaching on my mind. So I know that by spending the summer in the US, I'm missing out on some really valuable experiences. I know, too, that reverse culture shock is often more intense than culture shock, and that this summer won't always be easy.

Overall, though, I'm delighted about my summer plans. I've been looking forward to baked goods, berries, not being stared at, forests, and other wondrous features of my former life. And while I'm glad to be returning to Cambodia soon, a few recent events have convinced me I'm ready for a break:

1. My hairdryer melted! Concrete evidence of the intensity of hot season. I was given one that a former teacher had left, and hadn't used it all year because it's too hot to wear my hair down. When I started packing, I picked it up and found it covered in a sticky residue. I realized that my room is so hot, the plastic on my hairdryer was actually melting.

2. My neighbors invited me to watch porn! OK, maybe I'm exaggerating, but everyone on screen was nude and I didn't feel inclined to watch it with my 60-something landlord. I walked in to pay rent and sat down to chat for a minute. Then they gestured for me to turn around: "Look, Chelsea, it's in English!" I told them, "I don't think I know that movie."

3. My bed broke! I only bought it this semester, when Michaela moved into my old room. But this week, I kept hearing things cracking ominously, and finally realized that several of the beams holding up my slats had fallen out.

4. Ants infested my underwear! Why only that shelf, out of all my clothes? Why yesterday, when I've been using that detergent all year? Why underwear, for crying out loud? Nothing a little Raid can't solve, but still aggravating when I was trying to pack.

I'm already getting nostalgic about this year and missing people from Logos. I know I'll be glad to come back in 2 months. But in the meantime, I think I'm finally ready to be stateside!

Cambodia: a skyscraper over a pit

On Friday, my friend Sheryl was telling me how disillusioned her Khmer tutor has become. A few years ago, he arrived in the city from his province, brilliant and accepted into a university, with lofty ambitions. Today, he feels hopeless, saying that he and his friends – like thousands of others from the province – are now well-educated but have no chance against the spoiled rich kids competing for their jobs. These smart kids from the province are left scrambling to survive, just like the average Cambodian: hoping for a few dollars a day from driving a moto, or working in a factory, or selling vegetables.

Many people on top are just as incompetent as they are corrupt. A generation earlier, his father had to read orders to an illiterate Khmer Rouge general; today, nothing has changed. These rich kids who get the good jobs are usually very poorly educated, having bought their grades all throughout school, and ill-equipped for their positions. Once in power, they freely exploit it to seek their own selfish gain. It makes no difference, though – they will always be hired over someone poorer, with fewer connections.

Sheryl is concerned that her tutor will become a freedom fighter if the occasion arises in the next ten years. While a small Cambodian middle class is developing in some ways, in other ways the gap between rich and poor is widening, and unemployment is an epidemic. Marie Ens, working here for decades, describes Cambodia as “a skyscraper built over a pit:” its glitzy new neighborhoods and showy business districts are so steeped in corruption that they are doomed to collapse. In several ways, conditions are parallel to life just before the Khmer Rouge. At that time, it was disillusioned intellectuals who rallied the peasants and gathered an army to overthrow the rich and powerful. Khmer Rouge leaders Pol Pot and his comrades, while attending university in France, learned about Communism and saw more hope in it than in the rigidly hierarchical status quo. But the only way in which they really achieved equality for all is that millions of rich and poor alike perished under their regime.

A Khmer colleague says that Cambodians don’t like to learn from their mistakes; they tend to be fatalistic rather than closely analyzing cause and effect relationships. So it’s not surprising that Cambodians have largely refused to address the repercussions of this genocide. Most older people don’t ever discuss it or tell their stories, and the government schools twist history to blame the Vietnamese for Khmer Rouge atrocities. Unlike Germans, who almost obsess about the Nazis and bend over backward to avoid any semblance of repeating history, the Khmer often ignore their painful legacy. So Sheryl feels that Cambodia is ripe for another revolution. The only way to avoid it is, she theorizes, if the cultural mentality very gradually shifts. So far, there’s no evidence that it has been, but God’s grace is mighty.

Being here has shown me how little I know about the future: not only for myself, but for my friends and my host country. If a revolution were to break out, my Khmer students would likely be in grave danger: they’re a minority religion, have foreign connections, and are well-educated. Any one of those would have gotten them killed under Pol Pot’s regime. I don’t want to be pessimistic or fearful, but nor do I want to pretend that the status quo is permanent. I just finished teaching 1984 in British Literature, and the most poignant discussion we had was on a Christian’s response to torture. Part of my job as a teacher is to equip my students for the future. All I know how to do is to keep pointing them toward the truth and pray that God will strengthen them to walk by faith, wherever He asks them to go. And I can rejoice that regardless of the short-term, ultimately their future IS secure and glorious: with Him forever!

They’re so grown-up!

At graduation...

And last night's banquet

The seniors graduated yesterday, all eleven of them. It’s only Logos’ third graduating class. For me, it was amazing to see how personal a graduation ceremony could be. My graduations from high school and college had 630 and maybe 4000 students graduating, respectively. At this one, as each student walked, their baby pictures flashed across the screen as their homeroom teachers read statements each had written about Logos and future plans. I taught all but three this year, and I’ve had real conversations with every one of them, one-on-one, outside of class. I genuinely felt happy for each of them and deeply interested in their future after Logos. I’m going to miss them! (Well, except that they still have class Tuesday...I don't understand graduating before school is over.)

I was reminded several times of their past before Logos. The one American and four Koreans all had several cute baby pictures, whereas several Khmer (Cambodian) students only showed one faded photo before age ten or so. One Khmer student is from a wealthy family; the others are on scholarship, and only one of them lives with her birth parents. In her speech, the salutatorian talked about being invited as a young girl into the home of a foreign woman, Bonnie. She accepted the invitation but was afraid because she’d been warned about sexual abuse by foreigners. But instead of abusing her, that woman offered her a scholarship to Logos, changing her entire life. Today, this girl has flawless English, great critical thinking skills, and a vision for serving the people of Cambodia as a lawyer fighting corruption. (And she just might have the courage to do so!) This student now lives with Bonnie, escaping a hostile and often-abusive family, and says she’s amazed at how God’s been transforming her life after years and years in which she was closed off to the Gospel. Incredible, the result of Bonnie (who still works at Logos) seeing a young girl suffering and helping her access an education.

I’m praying for their future after Logos, and I’d love it if you would too. Some will be attending college in America or Thailand; others are working or interning locally next year; one has no idea of his plans. I’d love to see all of them receive a quality higher education, which currently seems out of reach to one girl in particular. But I’m reminded that just making it into, or even through, college isn’t a guarantee of future success. Especially not in Cambodia, where nepotism and wealth determine opportunity far more than knowledge or skills. Besides, Cambodia’s future is so uncertain. (More on that in the next blog entry.) It makes me wonder what will happen with these Cambodian Logos grads as they leave their safe haven and enter the “real world,” a world far harsher than I’ve ever known. Will their Western connections and English skills be enough to land them jobs long-term? Will they be able to support their parents and relatives, as they are often expected to do? And how come I got a job, no problem, right after graduation? I am so obscenely privileged. I know it’s God’s grace, but I want to live a life worthy of His calling, and such an enormous blessing sure does carry a heavy responsibility!

Here’s what I know but need constant reminders of: My God is faithful. Just as He has provided for me all this time, He has provided for my students and will continue to. Maybe not in the way I would like, but in a way that meets my students’ every need and glorifies His name. My students have been tested so much already in trusting God’s faithfulness, and have found Him reliable in situations far harder than I’ve ever faced. I am convinced that God’s power and love will be on display as they learn to walk with Him outside the close-knit warmth of the Logos community. Pray for them to have endurance and faith!