Two thousand reasons

"For all your goodness I will keep on singing,
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find." - Matt Redman

Almost exactly two years ago, on March 11, 2011, I started a list.  My list was inspired by the concept in Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts, which I wouldn't read until the following December.  (In this post, I discussed a passage from it that really challenged my habits.)   It tells her story of moving from heartache to joy through chronicling a list of one thousand blessings in her life.  There's a lot more to the book, and it's influenced my life more than anything else I've read in the last few years, but just the idea was enough to get me going.  

Tonight, I reached two thousand.  My "gratitude journal" overwhelms my heart - a tangible record of reasons to smile, reasons I love Cambodia and Pennsylvania, the people around me, what I get to do, my life.  Sometimes I picked up my pen convinced I had nothing to add for that day, then slowly recalled example after example of moments that had made me giggle or perk up or appreciate someone.  Like Voskamp, my joy in the day-to-day has increased as I've practiced writing it down.  It's what I've wanted to do all along, what I've had in my blog heading for over five years: learning to notice the (extra)ordinary.

In celebration of two thousand reasons to praise the Giver of all good things, I present to you, not all two thousand, but twenty to represent them.  I'll include all the 100's.

100. Being humbled from my self-centeredness to realize how faithfully other Logos teachers are serving God.
200. Homesickness quickly dissipating once I arrived back in Phnom Penh from the US.
300. Running into my favorite street vendor, whom I hadn't seen in over a year.  Her personality is as sweet as her snacks!
400. Teaching a very energetic and opinionated 5-year-old by herself in Sunday School.
500. Laughing really hard during a spontaneous birthday dinner for a friend, ignoring the piles of work and the fact that final exams started the next morning.
600. Two lunch table crowds merging, breaking down high school cliques, at least for the day.
700. A student's hilarious Khmenglish (Khmer-English) accent imitation.  "Ho-nay?  You wanna buy some wat-ta?  Cheap pri' fo' you!  It so hot to-DAY!"
800. Shorts with my name on them - I stumbled across the type of athletic shorts I'd been hoping to buy, and they even had the Chelsea soccer team name and logo
900. A very productive day in the middle of a relaxing break.
1000. Psalm 20 saying all I wanted to say to some dear friends who were leaving Cambodia due to difficult circumstances.  "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God."
1100. The awesome relationships my parents have formed in their community through hosting an Austrian exchange student for a year.
1200. A meeting at my church that moved from hostile accusations about a tough situation to mutual sorrow over all that had gone on.
1300. French and German movies on my flight back to Cambodia.
1400. A student who recognizes the hold that worrying has on her life, and who wants to join the battle against it.
1500. My sister Julia made several significant sacrifices to be with me by visiting Cambodia and by scheduling her wedding around me.
1600. During free time on a service trip, a bunch of students spontaneously gathered to sign worship songs.
1700. The sweet, intelligent, 11-year-old language lover I met at a relocation village.  (Her slum was demolished and the government moved her community to the edge of the city.)
1800. The hotel where my relatives stayed during Julia's wedding let my family eat their excellent buffet breakfast for free.  Cooper merriment ensued.
1900. Jumping rope with the landlord's 9-year-old daughter and 16-year-old niece.  The rope was homemade, composed of hundreds of rubber bands linked together.
2000. A student's emotional intelligence and heart for her classmates, expecially those who are often left out.

To be continued...one gift at a time.

Bible Camp 2013

This year's Bible/Adventure Camp was fantastic!  Grades 9 and 10 spent a whole school week at a camp near the Thai border, participating in low and high ropes activities and teacher-led devotion sessions.  (The older students go to a different camp for a week of service activities - thankfully this year they had more fun and it felt less like a "labor camp" than last year.)  This year's theme was "Freedom Generation," referring to the freedom that Christ gives us.  

Like last time I went (back in 2010), it was quite fun and a great chance to bond with students.  (See the photo montage for evidence.)  But what made it even better was the spiritual intensity: we didn't just laugh hard, we sang hard, cried hard, and prayed hard.  

Students in my small group were really honest and sincere in discussions, eager to overcome differences and past grievances to unite together in God's love.  One says he talked with God for the first time in years.  He said it like he couldn't believe it had happened, like he was shaken by how powerful the experience was.  I'm praying that we'll keeping growing in these great ways now that we're back!

Here are some student quotations about the spiritual side of their experience:

“[Before camp] I was pumped up and ready to be with friends.  I was most excited for jumping off trees, and for new challenges.  Then devotions came around, and I enjoyed it.  As the week went on, I was able to focus more on God.  Through the activities we were doing, I was able to see how God works.  There were some days that I was looking forward more to devotions than the activities.  This was probably the most exciting thing about the camp was getting to know God more.”

“I got to know the people in my group because of all the time we spent together.  It was uncomfortable at first, but after a bit of fooling around, I was able to be friends with them…After meeting all the people in my group, I learned that my impressions were wrong.  After spending time in small group, I saw that they had similar problems just like me.  It’s comforting to know that I’m not alone and that I’m not the only one struggling.”

“My first two days of camp weren’t that great, actually...  On Tuesday evening I took a walk in the forest, just exploring the trails and submerging myself in the beauty of God’s creations.  I was thinking about how I felt [left out] with my group, and miraculously, I felt this calm settle over me, and it was as if God Himself were holding me, telling me that He is there in the midst of my loneliness, and He will always be there by my side.  Everything went uphill after that.  I learned of God’s faithfulness, and my favorite time, hands down, was worship.  Camp was only five days, but it gave me a wilder passion to worship and pray.  It also has already been impacting me.  I feel more sure of His love now, and I strive to love others.  In a way, it’s easier to love now.”

“I know myself better through Bible camp.  I know that I am a doubtful person, slow to believe things.  I really doubted God and the ropes.  I didn’t have much trust or confidence.  I had a fear that I was going to fall.  I learned that God always supports me even if I doubt him.  He is always near me when I need him.  I just need to notice him more.  I have to stop doubting him and put more trust in him.”

"Something that I learned about all of us as we came together was that even with all the diversity, we still have a common bond and passion: to love, to find unity, and to follow God.  And our common motives are what brings us together in unity.  I think God has really opened my eyes through this experience.  It really helped me to be more open and to step out of my comfort zone and talk to people I’m not close to yet.  Bible camp also gave me the belief that I *can* do things that I set out for, and I can achieve the goals I have.  The experience was amazing, and I’m really thankful for it.”

Psalm 104 in photos

I was admiring the photos on this website  and realized how much they reminded me of lines from Psalm 104.  I didn't include all the text from the psalm, and the photos are more impressive when they're bigger, as on the original site.  But these photos made Psalm 104 hit home in a new way for me.  Our God is crazy-creative!  

Cambodian T-shirt slogans

It is a truth universally acknowledged in Asia, that the point of text on a T-shirt is to look cool, not to convey meaning.  Graphic tees are far more commonly written in English, or sometimes other Roman alphabet languages, than in the local language.  The text might be borrowed from something, like a poem or a dictionary definition or a children's book or an advertisement, or it might be completely made up.  

Sometimes the spelling and grammar are accurate; in other cases they'll switch letters with others that look similar, like "housecleaning services" might become "hoasedeaning scrvices."  I've seen this in other areas, too: motos labeled "Kuwusuki" instead of "Kawasaki," or flip-flops bearing the insignia of "Dolce and Gabbna." 

I have students at Logos who sound like native English speakers, who read classic English-language novels for fun, and yet who have never bothered to read the words on their T-shirts.  I can't fathom this because I'm kind of ADD that way: if there are words around me, I *have* to read them, especially if they seem interesting.  So I'll often read a student's T-shirt, chuckle, and say, "Wow, your T-shirt is so funny/poetic/confusing!" only to find that they have no idea what it says.  One slender girl came in wearing one that said "I'm in shape.  Round *is* a shape."  She told me, "Yeah, NOW I know what it means..."  And they certainly don't spot double entendres.

I < 3 drugs
Note the 3D elements to this shirt: rhinestone teeth and a leopard-print bow.

For the average Khmer person, it's a bit more extreme than my students.  Not only do they not care what the T-shirt says, they also lack the English skills to read and comprehend it if they wanted to.  However, their shirts provide me with an endless supply of amusement while driving.  They're so common that I can't even usually remember them by the time I reach my destination.  While I wish I could photograph each one for your enjoyment, you'll have to settle for the text of some that I've managed to write down.  

How Come You Are Never On TV?

Loud Beats Saved My Life.

Happy Day...Today a great pressure from work almost overwhelms me.

My body is my temple, but sometimes it needs some paint.

Shut up and kiss me already.

Pray for fashion.  (Does this mean, pray for fashion to change?  Or maybe, pray to become more fashionable?)

Don’t make me hit you with my flip-flop!

Hip-hop’s not dead.  It lives on in the south.

Save the Forests Lesbians Jesus Orphans Whales.  So many causes…so little time.

I’m busy.  You’re ugly.  Have a nice day. (Seen on a salesperson) 

FAYE TALK TO ME

Facebook (written large across the back of a fancy blouse)

NAKED (on an innocent-looking teenage girl)

Mickey Mouse Is My Hero

Growing together…becoming delicious.  (picture of Mario Brothers-style mushrooms)

SEATTLE 

Do I look like I used to be in a grongo band?

Don’t let the little GIANT escape.  (picture of a cube cracking with speech bubbles that say “Crack” coming out from it)

Never leave you (picture of a UFO spacecraft)

STELLA’S big project is over now.  (picture of a pink deer with purple polka dots)

These tend to be the simpler, more logical ones.  Others are impossibly convoluted, with strings of random words.  Here's one that my cousin Benjamin saw in Yemen: 

marginalized unforgoten mustangs dirty kansas south live to die the questions haonting style HOW LONG DO SOME REMAIN potassium beridand ferrari nostofayti. 

I would love to meet the designers who pick the text for each T-shirt.  Even after 3 years here, T-shirt slogans remain for me a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

A broken system

I'll try to write something light-hearted soon, but I read a blog today by my co-worker and friend Chris DeRemer, and wanted to share it.   The articles at the end are also quite insightful, if you're interested in further reading.

Click here for reflections on a historic event this week: President Obama visited Cambodia, the first sitting US president in history to do so.

The death of a King

King-Father Norodom Sihanouk passed away last month at age 89.  He was a shrewd politician who  "was king, then prince, then king again of Cambodia, amending his royal role according to the needs of the hour and his own volatile will."  He holds the world record for serving the greatest variety of political offices.  He was once the victim of a US-backed coup against him.  He abdicated (for the second time!) in 2004 due to poor health, naming his son Prince Norodom Sihamoni as his successor in a controversial decision.

Appointed by the French as a puppet at age 18 in 1941, he managed to lead his country to independence in the '50s, while undermining Cambodia's Democratic party in order to make Cambodia a "quasi-dictatorship and one-party state."  He then sided with the Khmer Rouge in hopes of "protecting" his country from Vietnam's growing menace.  The Khmer Rouge spared his life, but five of his children perished under their regime.  After the civil war ended in the early '90s, he helped Hun Sen become prime minister by less-than-democratic means; twenty years later, Hun Sen remains the prime minister.  He had a close relationship with former North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Il.  An eccentric, artistic, and charming man, King-Father Sihanouk's complex legacy includes numerous films, songs, and writings.  

It was the second-to-last day of Pchum Benh, a dark two-week Cambodian Buddhist holiday praying for the spirits of dead ancestors and offering food, money, and incense for them at various pagodas.  Logos had a 6-day school holiday for Pchum Benh, and my sister, Julia, came to visit (more on that later).  We were returning from Angkor Wat when we noticed that many houses had flags at half mast.  We didn't know why until we arrived back in Phnom Penh.  

The next day, my friend Sovannary filled us in further.  His body was on its way back from China, where he had spent the last few years in and out of the hospital.  "For the next three months, Cambodians are supposed to wear white and black" - traditional mourning colors.  Thousands of people were lining up along Russian Boulevard, one of the main streets in town, to wait for his processional from the airport to the Royal Palace.  Sure enough, out the window of our restaurant, we could see dozens of people on foot in white shirts and black pants or skirts, with black ribbons pinned to their shirts, pouring down Kim Jong-Il Avenue (Phnom Penh streets are mostly named after Sihanouk's relatives or Communist countries and leaders) toward Russian.  "Don't try to go downtown," she warned us.  "Traffic will be insane!"

What we saw: the crowd waiting.

But we'd been planning to see Toul Sleng, the genocide museum, and we didn't have much else to do that afternoon.  So we decided to brave the crowds and see all there was to see.  We started out in a tuk-tuk, but soon abandoned it when it got stuck in a huge traffic jam.  The driver couldn't even turn around - we felt bad.  We continued on foot to Russian, where we felt rather conspicuous crossing...no traffic was allowed on it, but there were hundreds of white-shirted people watching us while waiting to see Sihanouk.  We waited too for a bit, but it was already 45 minutes after the processional was supposed to pass through, so we eventually caught another tuk-tuk and continued to the museum.  

What we missed: the processional came through about thirty minutes later.

Afterwards,  I wanted to show Julia one of Phnom Penh's biggest landmarks, the Independence Monument, which is near the Royal Palace.  It was a few hours later.  Would the area still be crowded?  Sure enough, our latest tuk-tuk driver refused to go too close, and we continued on foot by the Monument and all the way up to the Palace.  For about half a mile near the palace, we felt as though we were swimming upstream through the hundreds of white-shirted Cambodians pouring out from the palace, where ceremonies must have just ended.  

What we saw:
not this particular guy, but hundreds of these shirts for sale near the Monument.

What we saw: next to the monument, they'd put up the King's portrait.

What we missed:
the height of the hubbub when the King's body arrived at the Royal Palace.

What we saw: people lingering outside the Palace.

Though much of the crowd had dispersed when we arrived, it was still a memorable sight.  Groups of young people - maybe Scouts of some type - were picking up the thousands of water bottles strewn across the streets and sidewalks, handing them off to recycling collectors, who must have made a killing that day.  (They get a cent or two per bottle.)  People were still burning incense, peering in through the gates toward his casket, and just sitting on the lawn and chatting.  We were two of the only Westerners around, wearing the wrong colors, and yet I felt as if no one noticed us.  For once, they were all too absorbed in the goings-on to pay attention to the outsiders.

Many of my Cambodian friends wore white and black, or at least avoided bright colors, for the first several days that followed.  A few of my students likewise pinned ribbons to their uniforms.  I don't see many people mourning now, but I do still see his portrait swathed in white and black fabric outside many businesses and even schools, often with yellow flowers.  One of the teachers at my school even attended a service at his church for the king.  

A Logos teacher, Matthew, with others who attended the church service 

I asked my 9th grade English students to read articles about him and respond in a written reflection.  One girl cited a Cambodian proverb to explain her country's attitude toward the king.  "Love your crooked neighbor with your crooked heart."  Cambodians know their King had shortcomings, but their outpouring of affection and gratitude toward him this month has been heartfelt.

Knowing our names

Americans are kind of obsessed with knowing people’s names.  I found that out in the book on French culture that I read before studying in Montpellier.  Here’s a sample scenario:

An American and a French person are sitting next to each other on a train.

American: “Hi, I’m ________________!  What’s your name?  Are you enjoying this train ride? 

(...10 minutes of superficial conversation...)

American: “Oh no, I forget what you said your name was!  I’m so sorry!”

French: repeats name, inwardly thinking, I will never see you again.  Why would I try to remember your name?  And why are you making me repeat mine?

French people, and I think perhaps many other Europeans, will pay attention to the names of people only if they expect to get to know them soon.  Otherwise, they’re often fine with having a half-hour conversation with a fellow conference attendee/ backpacker/ friend of a friend without calling the other person anything but “you.”  If the relationship later becomes important, they can learn the other person’s name at that time.

On the other hand, it seems that for Americans, learning someone’s name is a gesture of respect.  If you know someone’s name, you can be more personal.  It’s a way to acknowledge, “Even if I don’t know you well, you are not anonymous.”  And so, even if only for a little while, we tend to make the effort to learn the names of the people we’re addressing.  First names, that is.  Maybe because our culture is so individualistic, last names don’t tend to matter until much later.  

(Interestingly, in class the other day, my Korean student told me, “Korean culture is more logical.   We put the year first, then the month, then the day, just like we put the family name before the individual’s name.”  That seems to fit Korean culture, where the community and family are more significant in determining a person’s identity than his or her individual traits.)

Khmer culture, and many other Asian cultures, treat names much differently than US culture does.  You don’t have the right to just call somebody by his or her first name.  Instead, you need to use a title: Auntie, Younger (brother/sister), Grandfather, Niece.  To show respect, there’s also a lot more Mr./Mrs., even by adults to other adults they know.  It’s possible to use their name after the title, especially if you’re trying to distinguish between people: Auntie Thida vs. Auntie Voleak.  But often, the title alone suffices.  I’m torn on this practice.  It’s kind of fun referring to everyone as your relative, and it’s much easier than struggling to learn thousands of variations on names that may sound similar to my ears.  But I wonder, does it cheapen the titles of your *actual* relatives to refer to them the same way you refer to the guy who pumps your gas?

As a result, there are lots of people whose names I just don’t know, even if I chat with them regularly.  Every motodup or tuk-tuk driver is automatically “Bhou” (uncle), even if they’re around my age.  (“Bong,” or older brother, is reserved for your husband unless you follow it with a first name like Bong Kosal.)  The woman who cleans my classroom is just “Ming” (Auntie).  I chat weekly with the vendors who have sold me fruit, eggs, and vegetables the past few years, but I still only know them as Ming, Oun (younger), and Bong Srey (older sister). 

As an American, I feel bad about it, like I don’t value them enough to learn their names.  But it’s so common among Khmer people too.  My friend went to a wedding with a Khmer friend who knew all the other guests from church, but didn’t know most people’s names, despite several years of worshipping alongside them and building relationships with them.  This can make phone contact lists look interesting.  It can also make it tricky to talk about other people:

“Ming told me…”

“Ming who?”

“You know, Ming with three little kids, who sells watermelons at the Toul Kork market…”

The other complicating factor is that names aren’t necessarily a constant identifier from birth.  Nicknames here are so common – both to shorten names (Sokunthea => Kunthea, Vichika => Ka), and to replace names.  So I know a girl whose name is Socheata, but all her friends and family call her Noich (preceded by Bong/Oun, depending on their age relative to her).  Another girl, while in high school, lost the school identity card that she needed to attend public school.  Her friend was moving away, and gave her her old identity card.  In an instant, Srey Mao became known as My.  Now around age 30, with a husband and baby, everyone still knows her as My.  From my perspective, it’s a much more laid-back approach to people’s names.

Sometimes it can seem quite depressing through American eyes.  My friend Leanne works in a fishing village with kids who were out of school for a while.  The catch-up school they attend provides them with uniforms, but they have to be measured first to find their sizes.  By the time the uniforms arrive, there’s always some confusion about which uniform is meant for which child.  Why?  Because the children have forgotten the names they gave when they were measured, only a week or two earlier.  What’s it like not to know your own name?

Leanne says, in most of their homes, they’re just referred to as Oun (younger/child) over and over again.  They rarely hear their names, only "Hey, kid," and their family may not even remember the specific name (or names) chosen for that child.  They’re just one of hundreds of Ouns, running around the village.  It’s part of a bigger, darker issue in that community and other impoverished areas across Cambodia. Children’s rights are so little understood or valued that many parents have even sold one of their Ouns to a human trafficker.  An Oun for a flat-screen TV or a shiny new motorcycle.  Which Oun?  We’re not sure, but no worries, we’ve got more.  That’s why Leanne chose this particular village, to help parents and children understand the sacredness of human life: the dignity inherent in being human, in being image-bearers of the living God.

Which name determines your identity?  American culture values first names.  Korean culture values last names.  Khmer culture values relationship titles.  But the Bible values God’s name most.  He has many names that reflect the sparkling kaleidoscope of His attributes, and His name identifies those who belong to Him.  In Isaiah 43, God reminds us of His love for us and promises to be faithful and good in hard times.  He says,

“Do not be afraid, 

for I am with you;
    I will bring your children from the east
    and gather you from the west…
Bring my sons from afar
    and my daughters from the ends of the earth—
everyone who is called by my name,
    whom I created for my glory,
    whom I formed and made.” (verses 5-7)

His Name transcends cultures to identify us more thoroughly than any other name could.  It names us as: 
   His children, 
     created with purpose, 
       protected in troubles, 
         displaying His beauty, 
           loved and accepted.  

What better name could we have?