Down the Rabbit Hole

That scene from the original Alice in Wonderland has spent some some time running through my head lately.

I had a hard time this summer at camp. I went a little crazy. I wasn't in control. I couldn't talk about it. Instead of investing in my job, I walked about, unaware of basically everything.

While I was home for the last month I spent some time at PAA helping out and subbing. I was talking to a class full of seniors one day, and they asked me what I wanted to do after I graduate. I laughed, listed four options and told them but really I have no idea, I'm unplanned, unprepared. The teacher in the room said "That's not unprepared, that's options."

It's taken me a while, but I'm coming around. I'd still rather not be in a large group of people. I'd rather be at home in my bed. I'd rather be done with school. I'd rather be in Cambodia... But I have dreams, I have plans. I can get out of bed in the morning. I can smile and laugh. I can move forward.

I may be a little lost, and a little crazy, but I'm ready to move forward.

Lets do this, Walla Walla.

Sunset Lake!

There are a few places that I consider my home, and this summer I get to spend two months at one of my favorite places, Sunset Lake.

A year ago I left this place to go to Cambodia. It was hard to leave and the only place I ever truly missed while I was in Cambodia was Sunset Lake. And now it's here. I'm here!

This place is good for the soul.

There is that exhausted feeling that I know will come, that stressed out, over-worked, ahhhhh!!, feeling. But it's worth it. This job is worth it.

I can't wait for campers to get here. I can't wait for adventure and bonding, growth and joy.

It's like coming home, it's like a little piece of heaven.

It's a place where you belong.

The Cambodian version.

I could see the lights of the city as we made our final approach, and I tried to make out anything familiar, it was difficult in the dark, but I could feel the feeling of HOME start to sink in. As the wheels touched down in Portland, and the women next to me leaned over and said, "welcome home" I smiled and held back the tears that wanted to fall.

It had been a long 46 hours. I had done two "overnight" flights, but felt far from rested.

When I walked off the plane in Korea there was a Khmer family walking in front of me that didn't speak any English and they were confused as to where they were going. I asked in my limited Khmer if I could help, and we all got a good laugh about the white girl speaking Khmer in Korea. After we all got through customs and security they told me they were moving to live with their family in Seattle, and that they wanted to cook for me if I was ever in Seattle so I could practice my Khmer. I said my final "chee-im rip lea", and fell asleep at a gate where the next flight was headed to Phnom Penh an hour after my flight to LA, and wished I was on this flight instead.

On the flight to LA I made friends with the girl next to me. She was a few months older than me and had spent the last two years in China. We bonded over our mixed feelings about returning home after such an extended time. She voiced what I was feeling, fear of forgetting the people we had become.

Landing in Portland marked 46 hours of traveling, and as the stewardess pointed out as we took off from LA, "you look terrible". The plane was small, 50 people total and when I told where I had come from, the business men and women around me became interested in the unshowered, exhausted looking girl in seat 2A. They asked questions and told me how lucky I was to have been able to do that, how they wished they had done something like that when they were young, and I was reminded how blessed I am.

As we taxied in, I wondered what it would be like to be home. In Cambodia I had become someone that I liked, someone that I respected. Someone who worked hard, and tried to care for those around her. Someone who wasn't desperate for the approval of others. Someone who was just fine by herself. Someone who had a sense of purpose.

While walking through the airport I thought about a blog Katelyn Campbell had written a while back that talked about her student missionary self being different from her home self, this is true of me as well. It didn't happen overnight, but Cambodian Annie was different. And I liked her. With my return I don't want to lose her.

On the flight from LA I finished a book I had been reading called "Reading Lolita in Tehran". It's about a woman in Tehran, she was a teacher, and she refused to compromise who she was and what she believed to appease the government. In the end she and her husband moved to the US where they currently live. On one of the last pages she said something that resonated with me as home grew closer and Cambodia farther away:

"You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place, I told him, like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again."

My favorite red scarf smells like India, I've got a box full of notes from kids, scars on my legs from various accident, lonely planets stuffed with business cards and information from places I visited. I've been inspired, I've been renewed, I've been changed. I have stories of cows, motos, the sunrise, and the most wonderful children. And I hope in unpacking it all I will find I brought Cambodian Annie home with me as well.

Re-adjustment.

I don't know how to write about being home again. It's been nearly two weeks since I returned and I can't seem to find the words. I lay in bed at night unable to fall asleep because I am consumed with thoughts of what I left behind, my kids, the mission, a life of simplicity and happiness.

I came home to the same life I left behind, same car, same phone, same house, same friends. I was handed the same role I left and I don't feel like I fit the way I should. I spent my first weekend home in Walla Walla seeing people I love dearly, but I couldn't help but feeling a little out of place.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be in the US, to see my friends, to eat foods I haven't had, to sleep in my own bed. And I am so grateful for the wonderful support I was given in Cambodia, I have wonderful people in my life and I am BLESSED.

But coming back,

I was overwhelmed by everyone speaking English.

I was shocked by how nice carpet felt under my bare feet.

I was excited to drive a car.

I was overjoyed by a worship service in English.

I'm still not handling the cold well, but I'll get used to it.

I was sad when I had to say goodbye to my kids. And I remember my heart hurting when we were leaving Siem Reap and my favorite senior behind. I wasn't constantly in tears though. But my last night as I sat in the home of our wonderful neighbors drinking chai for the last time. We talked about Neha and I felt the saddness well up in me as Alia told me that while Neha loved the others, it was always me she wanted to see, it was always me she came upstairs for. Saying goodbye to the Khan family was the hardest part of leaving.

I still feel the loss of Neha, and I feel a sense of loss for Cambodia as well. It feels so far away. Like this dream I had. There are no right answers, no easy answers. There is just a feeling of longing and a looking forward to heaven like I've never experienced before.

I was blessed to live my Cambodian life. I am lucky enough now to be missing it. I had wonderful kids. The long-term missionaries are inspiring people. God's leading wasn't wrong, I was supposed to go to Cambodia. I was supposed to go as a broken individual, to be open to the healing, and the change that was offered. And now I look forward to camp in a few weeks, I can't wait to see what God has in store next.

"In Christ, there are no goodbyes

And in Christ, there is no end

So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have"

Identity.

On the first flight into Cambodia ten months ago, as I was filling out the immigration card I came to the part where they wanted to know my occupation. And I froze. Am I a student? Am I a teacher? I wasn't sure what to write. I wasn't sure who I was.

As the days and the months have gone by and I have grown into my roles here, I have become more sure about who I am, and what I want from this life.

Being an SM has pushed me to look closely at what and who are my priorities. At what I find important. Before I came here I was talking to a past SM who told me, go with a friend, you'll be glad you have someone. And while I can see value in that, coming not knowing anyone pushed me to rely on myself and my God more than I ever would have.

I don't need to find my value in other people.

In my roles here I have grown. My vision for my life and of myself has changed. I'm sure I'm in the right major, I'm sure I serve the right God.

On one of the last days of school during a break time, there was some sort of a game started between one of the 8th grade boys and I where we tried to get more ids cards from other students than the other one. At the end of it I had about 20 around my neck and when I walked up to the high school level some boys looked at me funny, I laughed and said, I don't know who I am!

But here at the end of ten months, I've never been more sure.

I am a teacher, a student, a baji, a friend, a daughter, and most importantly, I am a child of God.

By entering through faith into what God has always wanted to do for us- set us right with him, make us fit for him- we have it all together with God because of our Master Jesus. And that's not all: We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. And we find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand- out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.

Romans 5:1-2

Moving forward.

Yesterday I walked home from school. It was hot and my bag was heavy but I needed to walk.

I needed time to think, time to pray. It had been one of those days where if I had a car I would have gotten in it and just driven until I became guilty about the amount gas I was using. But alas, I have no car, only a bike with a flat tire, and my legs.

I'm not sure when it went wrong, I was agitated during first period when the computer teacher was more interested in working on his own computer rather than give my kids something constructive to do.

I was frustrated during second period when a chunk of my kids didn't have their review papers.

I was annoyed during third period when I had to move classrooms because a teacher needed to use the TV in my classroom.

I was irked during fourth period when my kids whined about how much they had to know for their morality final.

Its easy to let these things go. A joke with Teacher Rithy about how much he is going to miss me. Chiya trapping me in a corner and calling me lok-crew, which is boy teacher in Khmer. Doing vice-principal Sopheak's job of copying for children because he is too lazy to get up. Sopheak asking me Chhnang ot?! 800 times. And pretty soon, I'm laughing, moving past frustrations.

After school I had a conversation with a student whom I adore that made my heart hurt. During which he said, I laugh, but I don't feel like laughing. I joke because that is what I should be doing.

When I came to Cambodia I was going through some stuff. In the beginning I wondered if I had come for the right reasons. In the beginning I laughed even when I didn't feel it, I joked, I got involved. I found happiness.

But after that conversation with the student, I was left wondering is this happiness I have real and deep or is it just covering my brokenness? That conversation brought up feelings I haven't felt, and thoughts I haven't thought in a while. I know I'm invested, in love, but has it filled me or nearly covered the cracks?

With these questions I did the only thing that seemed reasonable, I walked home. Because sometimes that is the only there is to do, just keep moving forward.

"I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them and the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday you will, without even noticing live your way into the answer."

Rainer Maria Rilk

Reminders of Life.

There is so much I would like to write about. So many important moments full of all the things life should be about. But trying to express these stories, seems to cause them to lose their meaning, their fullness.

So instead of stories, I'm just going to put some pictures from the last few days here.

Because pictures are worth a thousand words, right?

It won't be long now.

After school today I rode my bike to The Shop. I sit in my usual place and order my usual thing.

They know me here. This place is comfort, habit.

The behavior of the people around me suggest it is late afternoon. No one is in a hurry, everyone has accomplished their tasks for the day.

Two ladies sit and drink tea while they read their books.

A couple in the next room cuddle on the couch.

A mother and her two daughters who I recognize vaguely, sit across the room.

And then there is the man. Now, if you've ever been to Asia, Cambodia in particular you may know the type that I am talking about. They are in search of something, they wear their Asian pants and sit with their notebooks open, drinking whatever it is people who are searching drink, taking it all in, thinking thoughts, trying to experience.

They wander the streets in awe of the trash, the heat, the difference in lifestyle. And then they sit in places like The Shop and write about it.

I don't know what they hope to find. Enlightenment, hope, change, love.

All wonderful and valid things to search for. But sometimes it seems so forced, so strained.

I feel a little remorse for judging this man, pushing him into this stereotype and I turn the light on myself. I've been here ten months almost. I came in search of something, I used to walk around in awe of my surroundings, I used to sit in this place and write and write, I wanted to take it all in.

And as I sit here at the end of the day, and nearly the end of the year, have I accomplished everything I wanted? Have I learned everything I needed? Have I really experienced everything I could? Have I been pushed far enough? Have I loved deep enough? Worked hard enough?

Have I grown?

Three more weeks.

Three more weeks.

"And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn't it?" Donald Miller

Silence.

It's a little after one pm. My kids just stormed out and as I sit at my desk I take in the silence. Its a new thing.

After five periods of crazy, silence is odd.

And I smile, because I wouldn't trade my five periods of crazy for anything.

Neha.

March 19th 2011 is not a day that will be easily forgotten in the hearts and minds of those of us in Cambodia. On Sabbath March 19, 2011 around 3:30 in the afternoon there was an accident.

A horrible accident. An accident that took the life of Neha Khan.

If you've ever heard me talk about the Khans then you are aware of the importance they play in my life here. We moved into our apartment eight months ago which is located directly above their house. Coming down the stairs from our house you land in their front door way.

Alia and Akrom, are from Pakistan, they have lived in Cambodia for about ten years now. He is the mission treasurer and she is one of the secretaries. They have two children, Avak who is eight and Neha who is four. Avak and Neha call Olga and I, Baji, which means older sister in Urdu, it's one of my favorite things I've ever been called.

Sumara used to live with them as well, she is Alia's sister. But when they went back to Pakistan in December for furlough Sumara stayed in Pakistan. While they were gone we missed them. What was usually an open door with Neha in the doorway, Baji Annie! Where are you going?! Had become an empty house. We counted down the days until they were coming back, and when they showed up about a week after we expected them we ran down stairs to pass out hugs and share our excitement at their return.

Neha who had turned four shortly before they left had grown so tall! Just couldn't believe it! She spoke Urdu to us for a few days while she readjusted and we laughed and reminded her, Neha, we speak English, you have to speak English! Pretty soon she came around.

Neha spent time most afternoons in our house. Coming up to show us something, or wanting help with her math papers, and we always knew when she took a shower because she would come up and shout, Baji Annie! I tooks a shower! Smell my hair!!

She was teaching us Urdu. Or trying at least. A few weeks before she died I asked her, Neha, how do you say beautiful in Urdu? She replied, sa-at na! No, Neha, thats Khmer. She then had to ask Avak. coup-soud-ra! And, what are you doing? Key-ah-car-day? And her favorite, pagal! Crazy!

There was traditions as well. After vespers on Sabbath she would come grab my hand and pull me outside. Baji Annie! We need to FLY! Which meant her jumping off benches and me catching her.

There was the one time we decided to go to Sorya and get ice cream with Avak, Neha, and Sumara. Neha was on my back when we left and I didn't realize until half way that Neha didn't have shoes on. It's ok! She exclaimed. You can carry me!!

I got a box of My Little Pony Fruit Snacks in the mail a while back. Neha came in when I was eating them and so I shared. She wanted more, but I said no, we have to wait until tomorrow. And she made me PINKIE PROMISE that I wouldn't eat them without her. The next day she came up and we sat on the floor, one for me, one for you.

When we would come up the stairs she would always be in the door to greet us, Baji Annie! Where are you going?! Do you like my dress?! Am I looking nice? And if I was going somewhere close, like Fay's she would want to come and we would hold hands and she would tell me stories. We would always tell her, Neha, you're going to be so beautiful when you grow up! And she would just smile.

The last Thursday and Friday she was in our house stand out in my mind.

On Thursday evening she came up so I could smell her hair, and then she wanted to do trust falls off the couch. I asked her, what language do you like to speak, Urdu, English or Khmer? She answered, Urdu. But after she thought for a second she said, English. Why Neha? Because my dad says its good to speak English.

Alia came up to find her and after we talked for a few minutes she said, ok Neha, say bye! Neha asked to kiss her mom and then she said byee!!! And we all laughed, Neha, who are you saying bye to? And she threw her head back and just laaaughed.

On Friday she came up with some math papers, counting and coloring and asked for help. And then she crawled onto my lap to say hi to my sister on skype. And while Olga was in the shower she was singing and Neha asked, Baji Olga, what are you doing? I'm singing, Neha. And Neha replied, I don't like it. Before she left she kissed my face as was custom. I tried to hand her the papers she brought, but she said, no I'll come tomorrow.

The last time I saw Neha was Sabbath after lunch. It was alumni weekend and all the activities were at school, when normally they would have been at church. All of the husbands from the mission, including Akrom, were in Thailand, minus Tim. Olga, Phil and I had gone to school to catch the end of lunch and see what the afternoon was going to be all about. Neha ran and jumped on me and we took this picture:

I kissed her face and she ran off to play with others. Ever the social butterfly.

At 5:20pm we walked down the stairs from the apartment to go to vespers and the mission parking lot was full of people, and outside of Sharon's house was full of people. We stopped to ask, and we were told, Neha is dead. What?! And thats when we heard the crying coming from Sharon's house. The next six hours were a blur of crying and shock that I don't feel ready to type out. But as more details came out we learned the Neha had been crushed by a truck after her and Alia were knocked from their moto outside of school. Avak wasn't with them as Alia was just going to run home and change clothes and get some water.

Akrom arrived at the mission at 8:30 and came into Fay's house where I was with Avak and the other mission kids, the kids where taken out and Akrom told Avak. There are not words for how absolutely hearbreaking this was.

When the ambulance finally came at 10:30pm and they carried Neha's body wrapped in a blanket out of the house, I just couldn't believe it.

Sunday it started to sink it. We woke up to sounds of crying from the house below ours and a lot of voices. I rode my bike away from the mission to get some space and found myself at school. Kim Sreng had held Neha in the back of the truck on the way to the mission after the accident and I wanted to make sure he was ok. We sat and I cried as he told me the story of holding her and listening to Alia's cries of anguish. Soon the dorm girls came over wrapping themselves around me telling me about their last experiences with her, or what had happened after the accident, and they cried with me.

The Sunday previous Olga and I had gone for a long bike ride and when we came back Neha came up and we tried to teach her how to jump rope. And we told her, we can try again next week. But instead of jump roping with Neha, we sat in Fay's house just to be near people that we loved.

On Monday there was school, and after school there was to be a memorial service. Monday was hard. After crying during staff worship I had to go straight into six hours of teaching. My kids knew what happened because it had been announced and they were easy on me. When I was done teaching I cut out early to come home and try and help, or at least sit and breathe for a minute. The memorial service was at 3:30 and by ten after three the church was packed. By 3:30 it was more than over flowing. We sang Jesus Loves Me during the service, Neha's favorite song. Two Sabbaths before, the mission kids had led vespers and Neha's part was to sing Jesus Loves Me, but all of a sudden she got shy and so we all helped her. Singing Jesus Loves Me at her funeral was rough.

Pastor Dean told of Neha's way of sitting with people in church and I identified with this because the two weeks prior shortly after children's story she had appeared at my side with pens and paper ready to sit on my lap and be terrible at whispering.

There was never any doubt if she loved you.

She was honest.

She was beautiful.

She loved Jesus.

I had walked down the stairs a few weeks back, as the family was sitting around the table and Neha was praying, I paused to listen as she prayed for what seemed like every person she had ever know.

For now there is an empty house below us, reminding us of the loss of this little girl every time we come or go. When the Khans come back from Pakistan this time it will be different, there will be no little girl to love, no hair to smell, no face to kiss.

I know that I will someday soon I'll hear her call out, Baji Annie! Someday soon we will do trust falls, and stand and pretend to fly in the wind, we'll climb on the roof to look at the street, we'll sing songs, and dance in the rain.

But for now I guess I'll just have to wait. That day cannot come soon enough.

Month Eight.

As we head into month eight we're starting to realize, we're stuck in a rut!

I haven't written in a while. I'm at the point were this is life.

It's not up, it's not down. There are no more phases.

I'm sure there are more things to learn and discover, but we're too broke to experience any of it.

My days are long. Starting before dawn with running through the neighborhood with every other person in Cambodia, because it is the only time that it is cool enough outside.

Then it is school school and more school. There are SMs I read about that don't work so much and they have free time to do all theses things. I don't know what that is like.

After school there is grading and more working and students that need help and want to hang out and soccer games to watch and food to scrounge up. There isn't a lot of variation.

The same jokes get made, the same students cause trouble.

Some days it feels like the only adventure that is had is trying to cross the road.

There are both downsides and upsides to this.

I like routine, I like knowing my schedule, knowing what I need to do.

I like feeling at home, comfortable, in a world that is not naturally mine.

I get e-mails sometimes saying, you're in Cambodia! Thats so cool! Such an adventure.

Oh yeah, huh?

Missions aren't always exciting, the exciting part comes in seeing Jesus by your side every step of the way.

That is probably the best upside I can think of.

And All Will See, How Great.

I have always been skeptical of the modern day demon-possessed-person story.

I think it has something to do with the culture I come from. It's not really talked about in church, I've not personally known anyone to really have experiences like that.

Of course many of the miracles Jesus performed had to do with demon possession, but in modern day America it doesn't fit so much.

In Cambodia it's a different story. The Laos boys are from tribes in Laos and they have told us stories about their tribes. Stories that just blow me away! For example, when babies die they bury them upside down or else the spirits will come back and cry. They've told us about hearing the dead babies cry, and a man that turned into a tiger.

A few weeks ago we were at Ann's house for lunch. After clean up had finished we were sitting around talking and Braden Pewitt was telling us about people in Mondolokiri province where they are serving. He and his family live with the Pnong tribes people, and they have some AMAZING stories.

Braden told us about Chief God and struggles they have had rewriting the Bible so Pnong people could relate and understand.

The following story is from their blog on the AFM website. It's long, I know. Just read it.

By Braden Pewitt, Feb 1, 2011

"She’s a crazy woman! She’s been screaming day and night since she arrived,” the Pnong woman told me.

I glanced across the hospital room at the young woman writhing on the bed. Her screams were unsettling to say the least. “Ahhhhh! Help me!” She kept pointing around the room. Then she would fall back on the bed and moan words that seemed to be part of a tragic story only she could understand. I watched her roll over and vomit into a bedpan. Then she sat up and started crying, pointing, and yelling again.

I had come to the hospital to check on another patient, but I could hardly hear his weak voice over the woman’s wails and moans. I placed my hands on the elderly Pnong man and prayed for him, but all the while I was also silently praying for the ranting woman. The sick man and his wife nodded their heads in appreciation as I ended my prayer. They were relatives of our friends in Boan Village and had heard many strange stories of Chief God, and they had specifically asked for me to come. They wanted to invite Chief God to be present. But the longer I spoke with them, the louder the woman across the room seemed to get.

She is being harassed by demons, I thought as I glanced her way. What should I do? The Pnong couple watched me as I took out my phone and looked up a number. My mind was whirling. I can call Jane, the American nurse. She is a Christian and will come and pray for this woman. But then I put the phone back in my pocket.

“She’s been like this for days,” the Pnong woman told me. “She has lost her mind. She goes on like this all through the night. Her husband can do nothing. See their little boy is sitting with her now. Poor child! He is helpless.” I continued praying silently, begging God to show me what to do. I could call Sabay, the Global Mission Pioneer, I thought. He could come and pray for this woman. I need help. I need someone else here for support. This is scary.

I once again pulled out my phone and looked through the numbers. My mind didn’t seem to work right with all the noise pounding my head. I’ve got to do something. I’m scared. What should I do? I shook my head in dismay and said out loud, “I feel sorry for the woman and her husband and child.” Then I put the phone back in my pocket and put my arm around the Pnong man’s shoulders. “I’m going to leave now, but I want you to know that you can talk with Chief God anytime.” He nodded his head in appreciation and thanked me with a warm handshake. Then I stood to my feet and faced the situation in front of me. Oh my God, please take over. Please be near.

The woman’s young husband had just returned from a shower and was still drying his hair with a towel when I reached his side. He had an open, innocent face. I stooped down and put my arm on his shoulder. The woman had been yelling in Khmer, so I addressed him in the same language. “How long has she been like this?” I asked over her wailing.

“She had seizures several years ago,” he replied, “but then she was normal. Now she’s been doing this for a week, night and day. We brought her down in a truck two days ago, but the doctor’s haven’t been able to do anything.” His uncertain smile revealed a dark fear and helplessness that clung to him.

I looked him straight in the eyes before speaking. “Sometimes these things can’t be cured with medicine. Sometimes spirits of evil come, and the only thing we can do is talk with Master God. He is the only One who can help. Would you mind if I prayed for your wife?”

He smiled and stood to his feet. I stood with him and we both looked down on the woman who was now waving her arms and crying loudly. He looked back at me with searching eyes. “Please pray for her. She needs help.”

I sat down beside the woman on the bed, placing my hand on her shoulder. She continued flailing both arms and squirming as if in terrible pain, all the while wailing and crying. I started praying, but my prayer was soon drowned out by her voice, which grew louder and louder. Her husband reached out and tried to restrain her, but she squirmed all the more and yelled louder. I kept praying, but no one could hear a thing. Suddenly, she reached down and grabbed the bed pan, nearly filled with urine and vomit. Still lying on her back, she raised it up above us. I tensed, knowing it was about to come down all over us. Her husband quickly grabbed it and placed it safely on the floor. “This man is going to pray for you,” he told her.

I realized he didn’t even know I had been praying, so I began again, trying my best to be heard over her loud cries. “Our Father, I ask You now to be with this woman who is sick. We don’t know what to do for her. She seems to be in a lot of pain. At this time, I ask You to give her rest. I ask...” Suddenly the woman became calm, and her cries died away. I continued praying as her arms settled at her sides, and she stared blankly at the ceiling. “I ask You, Master God, to chase away any evil spirits that may be bothering her. Chase them away and allow her to rest. Oh Master God, we thank You for being here with her right now and for helping her husband, too.” At this, the man grunted in agreement, and his hands loosened on his wife’s arms. “In the name of Jesus we pray, Amen.” I left my hand on the now calm woman and looked up into the young man’s eyes. “Master God is helping your wife,” I explained with an excited smile. “He is allowing her to rest now. We can thank Him!” The young man was speechless with confusion and amazement. “You can pray to Master God anytime. He will hear you, for He loves people so very much.”

Looking up at me, the husband said, “I don’t know how to pray.”

I smiled again. “You just talk and tell Him anything you want, and He will hear you.”

I dismissed myself and went to check on another patient, but I could hardly hold back the tears of joy and thankfulness that were about to spill out. My God, my God! I prayed silently as I walked down the hospital sidewalk, “You have revealed Yourself in a powerful way. Thank You for this miracle.” Never in my life had I seen a miracle of this kind. I had grown up with stories of Jesus and Peter and Paul, but I had never actually seen it happen in front of me. I was overcome with joy that I had stood in the very presence of God as He used His own great power to release a woman bound by forces of darkness. I had seen a real miracle! God was here! God was here!

After a short visit in another hospital room, I walked back the way I had come, basking in God’s Glory. He was so near. All I could do was praise Him over and over again and wipe the tears that trickled down my cheek.

The young husband came out to me as I neared the room. His smile was radiant. “She’s sleeping! She’s sleeping!” He proclaimed. “Look at her. She’s sleeping! Thank God! Thank God!” I stood next to him with my arm around him, looking down at his peaceful wife. I squeezed him and repeated his words, “Thank God, Thank God!”

He then turned to me and asked, “What is this God’s name? Is it Jesus? What do I call Him?”

“You can call Him Jesus,” I said. “You can also call Him Father, or Biggest God, or Master God.”

His face lit up. He clung to the last name. “I’ll call Him Master God!”

I smiled, “That’s a great thing to call Him. There are many other gods that don’t have as much power who often hurt us or make us sick. But we can always turn to Master God, for He loves us so much and longs to help us. And He has the power to drive away all spirits of evil who wish to harm us. Master God is such a wonderful God!”

The young man stood there beaming and nodding his head. Then he said, “I would like you to have our phone number. We’re going home today. We live in the northern district of this province. We would love for you to come and visit us in our home.” I suddenly remembered Sabay went north twice a month to encourage a small group of believers there. Turning again to the young man, I said, “Before you leave, let me introduce you to someone.” I immediately took out my phone and dialed Sabay.

Sabay is a young Khmer man in his twenties. He and his wife have left friends and family to share the Gospel message in the hill country of Cambodia. We consider them fellow missionaries. He soon joined us in the hospital room. Onlookers filled him in on the story as he sat down on the bed beside us. He placed his hands on the woman and looked tenderly at the husband. He seemed to connect with the young couple immediately. “I would like to explain that neither Braden nor I have any power to help your wife,” he began in much better Khmer than I could ever dream of using. “But God Most High, Master God, is helping your wife. He loves people so much and has great power to help. I would like to talk with Him again.” Then Sabay prayed a beautiful prayer asking God to continue helping the woman and her family. The crowd of onlookers grew as he continued praying.

I could tell that Sabay was deeply moved by the palpable presence of God. It was as if in that moment the Lord spoke to me and said, “Braden, I’m doing this for Sabay as well. And I’m doing this for you.” I suddenly realized God was at work in every heart watching. I thought of the Pnong couple across the room witnessing this great miracle. “God,” I whispered. “Please continue to work! We are listening. We are open for You. Reveal Yourself!”

As Sabay made arrangements to visit the family in a few days, I realized my presence was no longer needed. I hugged the young man one last time and assured him I would keep praying. He was nearly dancing with joy. A few hours later, Sabay helped them into a truck headed north. “By then the woman was completely normal,” he told me later. “They were praising God.”

When I told Johanna the story, I suddenly choked up. “The woman kept looking around the room and pointing,” I tried to explain through my welling emotion. “But she didn’t seem to be pointing at any one person. She never looked at me directly. She kept pointed at something to my left. But there was no one there. She kept crying out, ‘Teacher! Oh Teacher! Please help me! Please help me, Teacher!’ It was Him sitting next to me she saw. It was Him she was calling to. He was sitting next to me.” Then the tears came in a torrent.

May my God always remain next to me! Oh, how I long for the day when I can see Him, too!

It's different when you're close. When you know people. When you can see God clearly working.

How great is our God.

If you want to read more of their stories go here, http://www.afmonline.org/missionaries/news.php?type=FTM&id=23

A blog about sneezing.

I remember sitting in the SM class spring quarter last year talking about cultural things. We were asked about cultural things that were odd about Americans. I remember thinking thats silly, we don't do anything strange.

Oh boy. Did I have some lessons to learn.

For example. Sneezing. When someone sneezes, you say what? Bless you. Thats right.

Not in Cambodia. Which, I mean, it's totally a strange to do to begin with. Why do we do that? Why wouldn't the person who sneezed just say excuse me? That seems much more reasonable.

But yet, when you're in a culture that doesn't do it, you miss it. It's comfort.

So in my classroom, when ever anyone sneezes I say, bless you! I never said, this is what you should do. I just did it, because thats what I know.

Then one day a few weeks back in the middle of class while writing on the board, I sneezed. I continued writing as if nothing as happened and then I hear from behind me, bless you.

I froze. WHAT?! Noreak. This kid... This kid is a character. But he was so proud of himself. And I was proud. I spent the rest of the period smiling.

They noticed how happy it made me.

Now they say bless you. They say it when I'm standing there, and they say it when they don't know I'm listening.

The other day Vatanak sneezed and I saw him out of the corner of my eye look at me expectantly. And when I didn't say anything, he fake sneezed. And when I still didn't say anything. He said loudly, Bless meeeeeeee!

This week we were reading the Beatitudes. I gave them a Khmer copy and an English copy and we were talking about it in class, blessed are those, blessed are those. Pro-tiem-poh. Pro-tiem-poh.

I asked, who can bless you?

Students: God?

Teacher: Can people bless you?

They wavered... And I knew the question that was coming. --What about when we sneeze? You bless me then... And you're not Jesus...?

So we wrote one more Beatitude. You're blessed when you sneeze. Because it's polite.

"You are blessed when you're content with just who you are- no more, no less. Thats the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought."

Verse 6.

Habits.

Fridays are not my favorite day.

My kids know it.

One of their spelling words this week was -rage -

On sentence writing day I read a sentence that said, On Friday Teacher Annie have rage a lot because students don't listen.

Borey was so proud of himself for that sentence. I had to laugh, because usually by fourth period on Fridays I am beyond grumpy.

It's kind of like Saturday nights at camp. Except, instead of just controlling the chaos, I have to get the chaos to study and make up work from the week, and take two tests.

During the last period of the day on Fridays a spelling test and a memory verse test take place.

This weeks memory verse was Jeremiah 29:11, on Monday they complained it was too long and they would never remember it. This verse has the word -DECLARES- so I made that the focal point, how do we declare something? Well, by emphatically shouting it of course. So every time we practiced, we SHOUTED, we DECLARED! And when they I heard them practicing outside of class time, they were DECLARING it!

Only two people got less than 50%. This is a miracle.

Then it was time for the spelling test. Spell ten words and explain five!

1. edge

2. huge -Noreak, turn around!-

3. January -Joshua! Stop talking!-

4. Juice ....35 more minutes...

5. jar -Boreach raises his hand.- Yes, Boreach?- How do you spell juice?- j-u-i-c--WAIT. WHAT?!

You see, when the number one question in your classroom is, How do you spell...? It becomes a habit, a reflex.

And these habit things are hard to break.

Growing is a verb.

It's only Monday and I'm exhausted.

Our quarter tests were due today during morning worship. I didn't get them finished until the end of school had passed.

Sharon gave us homework today. We have course outlines due tomorrow in case of evaluation in two weeks.

Kim Sreng is down subbing for grade two this week, and I miss him.

I have lost BOTH of my good red pens and couldn't find any of the low quality ones. Which means I didn't do any grading today.

I sent Joshua out of the room today before I lost my cool. That boy! I just don't understand!

We're back down to no money until the end of this week.

I look at these "grown ups" that surround me and I wonder how they got to be like that.

They of course can act out child like joy without the strings of inhibitions.

Like when Kim Sreng shouts Annie! Thida is hitting me! And then smacks himself with a ruler.

Or Gary saying things in Sabbath School, Andrew, go around with the offering box, and if they don't give, ask!

Or when Rithy scolds me for wrong shoes when he also wears wrong shoes.

Or my mommy who still loves me even though I forget to e-mail back and I'm not very good at being on skype.

Or Mark darting across the table during Dutch Blitz while squeals escape him.

Or Fay coming into morning worship, good morning! Why is everyone so quiet?! Lets get this day started!

These people and many others that I admire and respect I would describe with words like responsible, patient, wise, giving, hardworking and kind.

Characteristics that I know I am often lacking.

I am pushed to be more this year. I don't just sit in a classroom, I CREATE the classroom. I'm good at energy, at laughter, at joy, at races after lunch, at spelling every word that is thrown at my by my kids, at acting out Shakespeare all by myself, at using synonyms until everyone understands, at making grammar a little less boring, at singing at the top of my lungs, at being ALIVE!

So I guess tomorrow I'll use those things I have been given, and maybe someday the rest will come into view.

When we talk about verbs ending in 'ing' in my classroom I ask, why does this verb have an ing?

They respond, Because we're doing it RIGHT NOW!!

"In a word, what I'm saying is, GROW UP. You're kingdom subjects. Now live like it!! Live out your God created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you."

Matthew 5:48

St. Valentine.

In case you have been wondering, Valentine's day originated from Catholic martyrs in the early Christian church. A holiday based on Christians being killed.

Lovely.

All the Valentine days in the past few years have gone by unnoticed, or as subtle reminders of, oh hey look at all the happy couples. Lets watch movies with Jen.

Last year Valentines day was spent in Quincy with people who I classified at favorites. I don't want to go into details, just know it resembled more the original holiday than all that lovey dovey stuff... But I digress.

This year I am in Cambodia. This year boys and all that business is the last thing on my mind.

Today at school Fay gave us goody bags, students threw flowers and candy in my direction. Threw is not an exaggeration, I was definitely hit in the head with a lollipop.

Standing on the second floor walkway Mara and Aliza yelled up, Teacher AnNIE [NIE is where the kids put emphasis in my name] We love YOU!

Sovantha hugged me and said, remember that I love you!

Some of my kids saw a picture of Deanna and I on my computer and asked, why your sister more beautiful than you? And then laughed at themselves for being so clever.

After school Olga, Phil, Travis and I went to The Shop to eat ice cream and play Dutch Blitz.

And when I rolled back into the mission there were three of my favorite kids waiting for me. Joshua, Jonah and Thida. Their parents were in a meeting and instead of staying in the dorm where they live, they came to our house.

We played games, I helped Joshua and Thida study for the map quiz I'm giving tomorrow, we went down and peaked in the windows at the top of the church.

And then as fast as they came, they were gone again.

As today ends, I am left feeling complete. I am not missing a piece because I am not dating, I am not incomplete.

I am made complete by a Savior who loves me enough to have brought me to Cambodia, and by children who call me Teacher.

I don't need a fancy night on the town. I'm satisfied right where I am.

"I'm just as happy with little as with much. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, whatever I am I can make it though anything in the One who makes me who I am."

Philippians 4:14-16

A Small Story of a Big God.

Our church isn't very well advertised. I'm told it used to be. And unless you know where you're going in the city, it's impossible to find anything. Street signs mean less than stop signs around here.

Last Sabbath there was a new white face in the congregation.

There isn't many of us, so news people stick out. He stuck around for the potluck that followed, and we came to hear this story; he is from Germany doing some work here for a few weeks, I'm not sure what. He had been looking for an Adventist church in the city, but because of reasons already stated, his search came up empty.

Then on Friday he was sitting in a restaurant, Lim and Augusta, one of the families that live on the mission were at the same restaurant. Lim was reading a copy of Adventist World. The man, whose name escapes me at the moment, saw Lim reading it and approached him. A conversation ensued that ended with him at church with us.

It's good to know that even when the church isn't so well advertised with signs and posters, God is using us.

It makes me wonder though, is my reading material the only thing setting me apart?

Listful.

A few lists to take the place of stories.

I love,

1. Senior boys that make me laugh a lot.

2. The cooler weather.

3. Jonah's laugh.

4. Boreach falling in holes.

5. Having a blender.

6. Having enough money to buy food.

7. My slightly broken bicycle.

8. The weird, off brand ibuprofen that makes me a little numb.

9. Italian men that introduce themselves to me.

10. Joshua.

11. Vice-Principal Sopheak's sense of humor.

12. Stories.

13. My Little Pony Fruit Snacks.

14. Speaking Khmer.

15. Going to bed at 8:30 and getting up at 5:30.

16. E-mails.

17. Watching movies while grading.

18. Not wearing shoes.

19. Kim Sreng.

I do not love,

1. Mail that never comes.

2. Lack of money.

3. The lack of food that results from the lack of money.

4. Being treated like a foreigner.

5. Children that won't try.

6. Long lasting power outages.

7. Putting my life in danger just to cross the street.

I miss,

1. My people.

2. Driving.

3. Dutch Bros.

4. Not summer.

5. History classes.

6. Blending in.

7. Different colors of eyes.

8. New music.

9. Having a camera.

I don't miss,

1. Being a stressed out student.

2. Boy drama.

3. Snow.

4. Having a cell phone.

I am proud of myself for,

1. Still being on the same bottles of shampoo and conditioner I left America with.

2. Not been seriously injured in WEEKS.

3. Being caught up in grading.

4. Learning more names!

5. My kids have started saying "bless you"

I am,

1. Alive.

2. Blessed.

P.S. Go see thingsweforget.blogspot.com. It's good.

That ONE.

Today was Joshua's birthday. If we have ever spoken then you know how in love I am with this kid.

I celebrated today with a migraine. A bad one. I ended up going home. Because I couldn't see straight, form coherent sentences, and there might have been some throwing up involved.

I was sad to miss the day at school with him. He smiled that smile that kills me and told me to go home.

In my journal, on August 13. Less than two weeks after arriving in Cambodia I wrote, Currently my favorite it Joshua. He reminds me of an old man with his smiley eyes and kindness. I'm only 13 days in though. What do I know about favorites.

As it turns out, favorites are for life.

A few weeks back in church I was sitting with Henry. We had just gotten back the night before and I had only seen Joshua for a second on Friday. As I spot him across the room he is looking around searchingly, when we make eye contact, he smiles that smile, throws up a wave and sits back in his seat.

At school when the lunch bell rings, Joshua usually waits for me while I get everyone out and lock the door and we walk together. Then he takes my tray after lunch. This week though, I said, Joshua take mine too! And he said, No! I can't! I asked why not, and after a minute the story came out, he had ended up carrying Phil's, Olga's, Thida's, mine and his, and ended up dropping it all and Kim Sereng said he couldn't take anymore. He was frustrated about not being stronger, which made me laugh.

Don't get me wrong. He is terrible in class.

He doesn't want to do anything, he talks, he gets out of his seat. He gets to run a lot.

This week he stopped writing the U in his name and when I pointed it out he said, I know, I am Josha!

The other day I asked, who knows what statues means?

Joshua responded with a shrug, I know what dog and cats means...

I think every SM that works with kids has that ONE.

That one that makes days a little better, even if they make them a little harder.

Joshua is mine.

When Joshua started this year he was one of the lowest with English. And now he is one of the good ones. I think there is something to be said for loving the crap out of kids.

When I work with some of the more frustrating kids one on one, I try and remind myself, ok pretend he/she is Joshua, would you be losing patience this quickly?

When I read blogs from SM friends, past and present and they talk about their ONE kid. I FEEL it with them. Because I KNOW the same things. I know the smiles, the jokes, the love.

It scares me a little to be in so deep.

Not just with Joshua.

In four months I won't have this anymore. I have dreams about leaving sometimes, and I'm always broken hearted.

But I think the brokenness means life happened. It means I am really alive.

Someone told me once, they would rather skip the loving part if it means avoiding the hurt the accompanies.

But I think I would choose the pain over the choice of staying safe.

If my heart ends up broken, it's only because I've been giving pieces away.

"My dear children, let's not just talk about love, let's practice real love. This is the only way we'll know we're living truly, living in God's reality."

1 John 3:18-19

Wait, I Paid For what?!

For the past two weeks there has been an extra volunteer in our midst. Kim is on summer holiday from Avondale and has stopped in Phnom Penh after a two week tour through Asia.

She has been in my classroom helping and doing some teaching. Which has been delightful, because I've had time to do things like, grade.

On Sunday Olga, Kim, and I decided to go get massages. Because Kim isn't here for too much longer and we wanted to do something out of the ordinary. They just opened a new massage place down the road that looks a little more classy than your average Cambodian massage place. This seems like a good idea! Olga and I were talking about going anyway since her birthday was recently.

When we walked in there was a little excitement about the three white girls, and the employees stood around and stared at us until we chose what we wanted. Olga and I chose head and shoulder massages while Kim opted for an oil massage.

They took us to a room with three mats, we changed into the massage clothes and waited.

The girls came into the massage room one by one, greeting us respectfully before taking their places.

It started out nice enough. The girls kept chattering while they massaged which is annoying, and I caught enough words to know they were talking about us. One of them said something about me and I corrected her. They stopped talking about us after that.

The girls massaging Olga and I started out on our legs, which was not what we asked for, but we didn't say anything. It started out a little rough. Alright, I thought, your just sensitive and prone to bruising. It'll be fine.

It wasn't fine.

As the massage continued I felt myself become tense. I have never been beat up before, but I'm pretty sure it feels something like this massage. As I became tense I was yelling at myself in my head, she's going to notice!!! Loosen up!!! AHH! I CAN'T! SHE IS HURTING ME!!!!!

I looked over at Olga once or twice and knew she was having the same issues.

We're polite folk, though. Each of us tried to tell the girls to soften up once. And when that didn't happen, we just prayed to survive.

The beating, sorry, massage, continued and I tried to not laugh out loud at how ridiculous this whole thing was. At once point I let out a giggle and the girl looked at me quizzically. I shrugged it off, Oh, sorry, it tickled.

TICKLED?! What is wrong with you?!

The crowning moment though came near the end. They had us sit up so they could massage our, I can't remember, I just remember pain. [One thing I should mention, these aren't trained professionals or anything, and some of the moves were not exactly what we would call... "safe"... anyway] My girl twisted my arms behind my back and swung me to one side, cracking my back, and then swung me to the other side getting everything she missed the first time. I was so impressed with the sound it made that I forgot to cry out in pain.

Then Olga came to the same move, the girl twisted her arms, but before she swung, Olga exclaimed, I'm scared!!!

The massage ended, we paid our five dollars said thank you and left feeling like we would probably need another massage to recover from this one.

This is Cambodia.

Learning to Walk.

Last week I lost my favorite red pen.

This qualified as a tragedy. Panicked I started cleaning my desk. Asia, you have stolen my sigg, my sunglasses, and given me nothing but bruises from stairs and motos! You can't have my pen too!!!

After my desk was clean I found my pen.

Granted I found it in a completely different room, but I found it nonetheless.

I've noticed some things lately.

I'm on the verge of panic less often these days.

When I first started teaching I felt like I was drowning. I felt like I could hardly stay on top of all the grading, the lesson plans, the kids names, it was a lot.

But here we are. Quarter three, week three. My lesson plans were finished on Sunday and they didn't take me all day. My grading for everything except today is done and entered in the computer. I know my kids names, I can even recognize their voices without looking.

Instead of knowing what is happening on The Office or on How I Met Your Mother, off the top of my head I can tell you what page each of the four groups is on in their reading books. I can tell you what period each of the classes have Khmer. I can tell you who is going to need more help, and who needs to sit in the front row.

I don't come to school early to GET organized for the day, I come to school to make sure everything IS organized for the day.

I still definitely have a lot to learn, the next step is probably following my lesson plans. I'm bad at listening. Even to myself.

But I don't feel panicked anymore. I'm not stumbling around in the dark. I'm not crawling.

I don't feel like posting near as many, "I don't know what I'm doing!!" updates on facebook.

I might run out of patience, but I won't run out of activities. I'm keeping up. I'm getting ahead.

I think this is, how you say, growth.

A Place Where You Belong.

I just want to preface this ridiculously long blog by saying, if you don't make it through the whole thing, this is what matters: 1. I love Cambodia. 2. I love Sunset Lake.

Everyone wants to spend a week in the jungle, right?

Maybe not. I didn't.

It was New Years Eve, and we had just gotten back from Bali and we had the weekend to unpack, do laundry and pack again. We were set

to leave Monday for a week in the jungle with the senior class on senior survival.

I didn't want to go. I was tired, of people, of activity. [Which, yes, please Annie, complain more about your life...]

But I didn't say anything, I just took as much time by myself as I could find on Sabbath and on Sunday, and showed up Monday morning like I was supposed to.

Every day during the week the seniors have music class in my room during seventh period. I had never paid much attention to them, I am always making my out while they are making their way in. They're loud, and take up a lot of space, and I wasn't super excited about a week with them.

After nearly ten hours on the bus over some of the bumpiest roads I have ever experienced we arrived at Jombok Hoas. It is an ADRA run camp with challenge course type activities. Every year the seniors, the SMs and Rithy spend a week there bonding and growing as a class.

When we arrived were given open air bungalows with mosquito nets, sarongs and buckets for showering, and a lecture about malaria.

After we ate dinner we sat down to have worship. As we sang songs the sun was setting between the trees and I smiled thinking about Sunset Lake, those first Sunday nights, everyone a little unsure, but willing to try, a bunch of kids I didn't know but would soon love, and I prayed the same would happen here.

Monday morning dawned and we were fed rice and vegetables, which would be the case for three meals a day for the entire week. These Cambodians and their rice, my goodness. It was chilly in the morning, I'm not really sure what the temperature was. My definition of temperature has changed since I've been in Cambodia. But it was cool enough for JEANS! It was magical. After worship we were divided into groups and went out for different activities and games with our groups until lunch.

We had some issues with Khmer. Three of the seniors are from Laos and don't speak Khmer. So when we were doing activities they were left out of discussions and actions because everyone was speaking Khmer. At first no one was translating. Which wasn't a big deal for us SMs, it was more for the Laos boys we wanted them speaking English. But as the week went on a few of the kids were really good about translating for us.

Part of the schedule every day was the after lunch we had two hours of free time. Two beautiful hours!! I wasted no time in grabbing my Bible and heading down a path to find a place to read. As I sat on the ground and took in the silence I thought about camp and T.O. time every day, and how my Bible, the woods, and the silence kept me sane.

The week continued and we did all kinds of things, swaying bridge, leap of faith, giant swing, repelling, rock climbing, etc. And with each activity I became a little more comfortable, found a few more things to laugh at, learned another name. And then Wednesday at lunch it happened, the moment inhibitions were lost. -I remember at camp during adventure camp, my girls were still trying to figure the whole camp thing out. We had corndogs at dinner, one went uneaten and I turned it into a microphone to interview them about their days, and they laughed. And that was it. They were open. - At lunch someone asked me if I was juhlohm [confused] and I threw my hands in the air and responded loudly juhlohm ahtay! No confused! And they laughed. Loud. And that was it.

That night we played a game, do you love your neighbor? There was switching places involved and I was bad at it. I screamed a lot. They laughed and exclaimed juhlohm ahtay!

The following day was our last full day. After lunch and our final glorious T.O. time we marched through the jungle to the grand finale, the zip line. On the walk out Visak said well you know, Bill Gates first rule, life's not fair. We all laughed, because how does he just know that?! From then on we came up with more rules based on experiences we were having.

Rule number one: Life's not fair.

Rule number two: Don't break the bus.

Rule number three: Mix together and then you will know.

Rule number four: Copy everything as fast as you can.

Rule number five: Don't go to the bathroom when the bus is leaving.

And they continued on through rule sixteen: Don't laugh at me.

While we sat and waited for our turn to climb the big tree Dee-mons[please excuse my phonetic spelling] asked us, what is the opposite of handsome? Feetsome! Let me just say, funniest joke ever. Ohhhh Teacher Travis! You look so feetsome!

They taught me a game where in order to play I needed to know English. I lost. They all laughed at me, ohhh Teacher, you don't know English!

I climbed the tree and sat on the platform with some of the boys waiting for my turn, the view was beautiful!!! We talked about what we want out of life, because thats what you do when you're about to jump from a tree.

One of the boys, Rachana found it hilarious that Annie and any sound the same. And he kept asking me, you want any? Yes yes! Rachana you want any? Oh yes. Let me tell you, some jokes don't get old.

We sang a lot of songs during the week, a lot of songs we sing at school. But during some down time one of the boys started playing on the guitar, I lay my life down at your feet, 'cause you're the only one I need... And I stopped taken back to camp, singing! So wonderful!

Some of the seniors aren't so young. In fact a chunk of them are older than me. And at one point I made a joke about how my job was to watch the kmee kmee! [children] and not climb trees, that yelled, what?! You're just as much kmee kmee as we are!!

Because of my age and the fact that I am not actually their teacher it was easier to become their friend. There were two times I used my authority, once to take away a cell phone, and once to get everyone to go to bed because it was 12:30 and they showed no signs of stopping.

But there is just something about a week in the forest that can make you fall in love...

Before I knew it, it was Friday morning and we were packing up. I thought about Sunday mornings at camp. And how no matter how happy I was to not have a cabin full of girls anymore, I was always sad to see them go.

We rode the bus home. Almost forgot Travis at a stop... I guess he didn't know rule number five... When we arrived back at the school we were greeted by the dorm kids, running and hugging us. Joshua is too cool for running and hugging, he stood back and waited for me to come to him and then he told me, I miss you. Oh my goodness, I'm just in love.

As I type this the 12th graders are sitting in my classroom. When they came in they were loud as usual, but I got to be loud with them. There is something good about being involved and included. Even if it's only for fifteen minutes a day. It's nice to talk to kids that speak English, it's nice to love a new set of people. It makes five months in not so, regular.

I remember at camp when I had to leave for Cambodia I was so sad. I wasn't ready, I needed more time! I was sure I wasn't going to find that kind of happiness anywhere else. And I haven't. But I have found happiness, a different kind, I have found people to love, reasons to laugh. I know when I leave here in four months it's going to be hard. So incredibly hard. But I know that waiting for me on the other side of Cambodia is Sunset Lake. Camp deserves a blog of it's own and maybe I will write one. I sometimes think that I'm not sure I can be this happy outside of Cambodia. But being in the jungle for a week was a nice reminder of how happy I was before I came here, and though leaving is going to be just awful, but I will be going back to another place I love.

Blessed does not even begin to cover what I am.

I Am White, Hear Me Rawr!

There are no shopping malls in Cambodia. Well there is Sorya, but it's not what you think.

It's all markets.

Russian Market, Central Market, Orrusey Market. And then of course the smaller local markets.

Phsar Monnang is the market just down the street from the mission where we buy all our fruits and vegetables.

Each of the larger markets offers different things as far as interaction with people.

Russian is very touristy and very big. Most of the sellers speak enough English to deal with the tourists. And as you walk by each stall you hear, miss you want?! You need?! I have cheap price for you! It's a confusing set up, closely packed, and so ridiculously hot.

Central is also very touristy. Though the set up is not nearly as confusing as Russian. There is a large central area and then the market is divided into arms that are themed around the same sort of items, clothes, electronics, etc. The sellers are often a little more disinterested than at Russian, sometimes calling out, sometimes not.

Orrusey Market is not touristy at all. At three stories tall, you won't find postcards, clever t-shirts or a lot of white people. The wet market is a little overwhelming, and no one speaks too much English.

I get stared at a lot, as do all the white people around here. Doesn't matter if I'm just walking down the street, heads turn. Comments are made sometimes in English, sometimes in Khmer. It's something you get used to.

The other week I was walking to the mission with Thida, one of the girls in my class. And like usual every person we passed watched me, some said hello, some walked with us for a few steps. When we got to the mission she asked, Teacher, why?! Why they talk and look?

I pointed at my skin.

A few weeks ago I was leaving Central and a moto driver said to himself and those around him, ohh sa-aht barrang, meaning beautiful foreigner and then he said to me, moto?!

Today, I was wandering through Orrusey. I needed a shirt and some toothpaste. As I walked down the aisles, I could feel eyes on me from every direction. At Orrusey there is not many with my skin color and so it's impossible to blend in. Not many sellers call out, but they all stare.

I stopped at a stall to look at some shirts. The sellar wasn't paying attention and someone called out to her. Barang! Foreigner! And as I looked at shirts, the seller looked at me, a neighbor seller was standing there watching me as well and said, sa-aht s'baik bpoa. Meaning, beautiful skin color.

I looked down at my arm, laughed and said, Ah-tay! Kynom joe-jet bpoa t'naot! No! I like brown!

In their surprise they stopped talking and just watched me.

On the next floor I passed some pants that grabbed my attention. A man standing there moves aside and points to them. I nod and say, la-ah na bpoa. Very nice color. He replies in Khmer, you too, you want? First pointing at me and then pointing at the pants.

The only thing I could do was laugh.

Everywhere we go, sreys-ah! Beautiful girl!

In Cambodia I turn heads. In Cambodia I don't wash my hair or wear matching colors very often. But people still stare, point, and talk.

Who would've guessed.