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.