DAEHANMINGUK CALLED. IT WANTED ITS #1 OEGUKIN BACK.

We are back in Korea again because I really couldn't hack it in Cambodia! I know we still have work to do there but I think God is giving us a bit of a breather for now.  Ly's vision is to set up a Christ-centered version of RISC for other deportees, to help them get on their feet in every way possible, but especially spiritually. So that is definitely in the hat for future endeavors.

I finally posted Ly's testimony to youtube and even while I was completing the tedious task of captioning it, replaying lines over and over again, Ly's testimony never dimmed. I cried every time he cried because, well...God's light and power never dim. His truth remains forever! Can I get an Amen?

I don't assume anyone will ever read this besides my mother, but...if anyone in Philly happens to remember a big black man named Nate who worked security at Wannamaker's Department Store around 1993, please let me know! He has no idea what a huge impact he had on Ly's life and Ly can't remember his last name or the name of the church. It would be such a blessing to be able to reconnect with him.

Well, here is his testimony. I cannot say enough how proud I am of my precious, loving husband. He is my undeserved blessing.

I Miss Korea 1

I'm under no illusions that there will be less than 500 of these posts, so I may as well number them to differentiate.

My heart aches for Korea. I cannot see pictures of Lake Park today or talk to my friend Min Jung, or even look at Hangeul without having to hold back the tears.

Today will be my very first day to tutor a Korean boy named Haram. I am excited, and yet sad. Here I am starting this new life in Cambodia but once again, my heartstrings are being pulled by Korea/Korean/Koreans.

I miss Jaewon and San: Jaewon for his total confidence that occasionally turned boastful, San for his long, drawn-out stories about building working robots from pencils and string. (That kid will revolutionize something one day!) I miss Dong Yun and Kathleen playing together and Linda messaging me to meet her at 라페 베네. I miss the buses and taxis and Seoul Union and pretty much everything but the food. I miss the Fall weather and I wish I were putting on a flannel, jeans, and boots and grabbing a drink from Starbucks and walking all around Ilsan right at this moment. 

Korea is my true love but Cambodia is my arranged marriage. There's just no getting out of it. And Korea will never be right until my "parents" agree to it. 

I've heard that sometimes members of AA tell themselves, "I'll drink tomorrow" every single day, just to get to the next day. So for now I will tell myself every single day, "I'll leave for Korea tomorrow."

Unofficial Flagler Alumni Asia Chapter

So, in 2009, when I had signed a contract at 외대어학원 in Paju, Korea and was still in Dallas awaiting my visa, my boss Linda told me that she had hired another teacher who graduated from my same college. I didn't believe her, because A) Flagler is really small and what are the odds? and B)  our entire interview consisted of her telling me how pretty I was and how pretty SHE was, so as much as I wanted to put my faith in her, I had my doubts. 

As it turns out, there WAS another Flagler graduate at Oe Dae (pronounced "way day"), and therefore I spent the next 6 years in no doubt of my beauty (nor Linda's). This girl's name was Heather Mitchell, and we have managed to keep this friendship of ours strong over 6 years and several continent changes.

    LINDA AND HEATHER: THERE WAS A LOT OF LOVE THERE AT THE END.

Heather was there for me when I first started dating Ly in Cambodia (and warned me of her concern that Asian men don't age well and to consider that before taking the plunge into marriage), and I was there for her when the Korean doctors diagnosed her with Hep A and basically accused her of visiting Southeast Asia because there's NO WAY Korean seafood could have made her sick! (I still love Korean ethnocentrism). I could write a whole blog post about Heather (and probably will one day), but let me move on to the other members of the Asia Chapter.

Several months into our stint at Oe Dae, we had ANOTHER Flagler alum join us at our humble little school. Her name was Kaleen Nora. She actually graduated the same year as me and we had mutual friends, and yet somehow had to end up in the middle of nowhere-Korea to meet each other.

             GYPSIES FOR HALLOWEEN. IF THERE'S ONE THING KALEEN AND I DO WELL TOGETHER, IT'S FLAUNT OUR BIG- BONEDEDNESS.

So then there were 3 Flagler graduates in one place. And then another 2008 grad, Jessica Griner (this girl's friendship literally helped me graduate), came to visit from China. 

                  AND THE UNOFFICIAL FLAGLER ALUMNI ASIA CHAPTER WAS BORN!

Fast-forward 6 years and I'm now in Cambodia, Heather is in Saudi Arabia, Kaleen is in America, and Jessica has remained faithful to China. Since Heather's school was out for Eid and Jessica's school was out for some sort of national holiday (I can't be bothered to look it up), they just so happened to have overlapping visits to Cambodia. Unfortunately, Kaleen didn't have a holiday to bring her to this neck of the woods, so she couldn't make the mixer. But here we are, cruising along the Tonle Sap and soaking up the Kingdom of Wonder:

I have to say, I think we've aged well.  Here's to the next mixer, gals.  Let's get planning!

XOXO

Night Terrors

Kathleen began having night terrors months ago. I can't recall specifically when they started because the last two years have basically been one long, sleepless daze and I only vaguely recall a lull between colicky infancy and toddler terrors. But I do know they increased in intensity once we got to Cambodia because the first time she had them here, Ly and I thought we were going to have to take her to the hospital. Panicked would be a good description of my state of being in those endless moments.  Once it subsided and I determined it was not the onset of dengue or malaria or some other frightening malady, I was convinced that it was a night terror. From that day forward, she had them regularly--even during naptimes.

When Kathleen is in the middle of a terror, she screams and cries and thrashes like someone is attacking her. If you talk to her or touch her or try to comfort her in any way, it makes it worse. My initial instinct was that this was a spiritual attack because it literally looks like an invisible being is attacking and there's even a kind of density surrounding her. But as I read about terrors on the internet, I sort of embraced the idea that it was just an overactive brain stimulation caused by lack of sleep or too much stimulation before bedtime, or the myriad of other potential reasons the researchers/doctors/whomever "they" are believe the triggers to be.

But on the night of Ly's and my 3rd wedding anniversary, just two weeks ago, when her terror lasted over an hour and she almost busted her head on the concrete floor from thrashing to get away from whatever was after her, I reverted to my instincts. I started reading people's comments about their own children's terrors (it is SO INCREDIBLY COMMON, that it's easy to just assume it's something your kid will grow out of, not to mention that in one conversation amongst a group of moms here in Cambodia, I learned of 5 of their children having them).

I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube that parents had filmed of their kids and I really didn't see many that equaled the intensity of Kathleen's. Most of them just seemed like bad nightmares from which the kids weren't waking. But one of the videos did show a child suffering from a more intense version of this and a female commenter stated that it was a "demonic attack." She went on to say that she also suffered from these attacks as a child and that the researchers are wrong in saying that the kid won't remember them when they wake up. Of course the other commenters were mad at that person because if you're not attuned to the spiritual world, it's a coarse and unhelpful thing to say. But the comment stuck with me and days later I googled "night terrors spiritual attack" and I came upon this blogpost:  http://beyondthephysical.blogspot.com/2014/03/spiritual-warfare-101-victory-over.html

I'm guessing a lot of people will think this woman is a kook, but I'm not trying to be in the habit of letting Satan deceive me into thinking he doesn't want to destroy my precious family, especially when we're here in Cambodia telling people about Jesus. So when she said the following line, God convicted me:

"Satan does not want husbands and wives to know who they are in Jesus Christ and what spiritual power they have as one flesh."

Ly is faithful in his prayers and I always believe for him the Scripture of James 5:16, "The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results." But Satan constantly tells me that I am NOT a righteous person, so I've been listening to him and not believing this Scripture for myself. But in the moment that I read the above quotation, I knew what a disservice I've been doing my husband and my daughter. Ly and I are one flesh; Jesus's shed blood has given us a protection and power that I was not calling upon. I was half-heartedly, helplessly, breathing little unbelieving prayers for God to stop Kathleen's night terrors but I wasn't praying over our home and announcing in the name of Jesus Christ that Satan was not welcome here!

So I began praying fervently, and in the middle of the night, when Kathleen made even the slightest slumbery peep, I prayed against Satan. It reminded me of when I was little and I'd be scared to sleep in my bed alone and Mama told me that anytime I was scared, I should say, "Get behind me, Satan!" And he would have to go away and I would feel better. And it ALWAYS worked!  So here I am at 34 years old, praying this prayer for my baby-doll-pumpkin-pie-moon-face. She is not of the age to do it for herself, so I have to do it for her! And I am confident in the power that I have in God.

My vigilant prayers began 5 days ago and Kathleen has not a had a night terror or nap terror or any kind of terror (besides just the terror of being 2) since. I know that Ly was already praying, but I wasn't holding up my end. PRAISE GOD for his spiritual protection!! I hope I don't get comfortable and forget His mighty power because Heaven knows we need all the protection we can get in Cambodia!

In a sense, I am glad to be in a spiritually heavy country because it's waking me up to things I could easily ignore or explain away with human thinking if I were in America.  I know that Satan has us in his grip when we go along in our "developed nation" oblivion, not recognizing how he is concertedly trying to take us down and diminish our hope in Christ. So I am going to hold tight to one of my favorite Scriptures and remember His promises:

"Awake, O sleeper,
Rise from the dead
And Christ will give you light."  --Ephesians 5:14

Mu Sochua

A few days ago, my friend Charlotte and I were perusing plants at the local greenery shop and we bumped into Mu Sochua, a member of Parliament and well-known Cambodian activist for the National Rescue Party. Charlotte became well-acquainted with her when she photographed her on her campaign trail.

It was no George W. Bush sighting, but I did have a moment of awe. The woman is beautiful and stately and carries herself in a way that commands respect. She will go down in the history books as one of Cambodia's strongest proponents of women's rights. And yet, here she was, at the local plant shop, just casually walking amongst the loquats and elephant ears, and stopping to talk with Charlotte about Charlotte's impending trip to Mount Everest.

My typical enthusiasm for anyone slightly famous was probably subdued by the fact that I had just read an article in which Mu Sochua was asked if she still felt she "had to be careful about pushing a westernized idea of women's empowerment in Cambodia" and her condensed response was, "Even when I was going to 'free' Freedom Park, I rehearsed in my head what I would say so that the message would resonate and be understood, so that I am not thus a crazy, liberal American woman."

Part of me wanted to laugh when I read that (cue visual of hordes of Hobby Lobby protesters) and part of me felt like I needed to defend my mentally ill sister. She might be crazy, but she's still MY sister. 

I'm still trying to decide how I feel about that statement, but in honor of my desire to be gracious, I'll assume the best for now (and regarding graciousness, let's just pretend I didn't yell at those Vietnamese teenagers for cutting in front of me in line today at AEON).

Sigh.

Maybe, just maybe, one day I'll be stately and dignified like Mu Sochua.

How the Buddhist Funeral is Ruining My Life Today

An 80-something year old woman across the street died recently and the 7-day Buddhist funeral commenced. This apparently requires the family to erect a giant tent that blocks off the whole street, and set up tables and chairs reminiscent of a Western wedding reception. Hence the reason it took me 3 days to figure out that it was a funeral.

The Buddhist chiming and chants begin at dawn, which coincide nicely with the construction next door that also begins at 5:30 in the morning. I have thoroughly enjoyed the built-in alarms, because the roosters down the street just weren't doing the trick.

I was super relieved and happy to see the tent being dismantled over the weekend, and hopeful that normal life would resume come Monday. (hahahah, "normal." Insert bitter laugh). However, this morning, I groggily peered down from the balcony to, GASP, see poles being precariously attached once more, young guys swaying back and forth on a 2-story tall, rusted tent-skeleton of impending doom. I poured my dark-roast Sumatra coffee with 2 cubes of sugar and a dash of milk into my orange mug (this is the bright spot in this story: all hope is not lost when you have good coffee and an orange mug, made in Korea no less) and carefully walked downstairs to question my English-speaking landlord. She assured me that today would be the last day and that sometimes these funerals last 100 days. ONE-HUNDRED DAYS! Oh, the tediousness. Note to all Buddhist relatives: you will not be receiving this kind of funeral if I'm in charge of anything.

Suffice it to say that my frustration with the funeral tent being resurrected, but this time even more intrusively, has caused just the tiniest bit of culture shock to surface. I've been in culture-shock land before, in 2010, and it ended in me aggressively pushing a, likewise, aggressive tuk tuk driver, my co-worker crying, and my subsequent 60-day notice at work because I HAD TO GET OUT OF CAMBODIA or else possibly be sent to prison!

Back to today. I decided it was best to spend the rest of my day inside when, walking home from Jars of Clay, I found that I could not maneuver past the tent without walking directly into a tree, whose leaves were so heavy, I could not move them without them hitting Kathleen and awaking her. So.....I walked through the funeral tent.

I know it was tacky. I know it was disrespectful. (I should note that there were probably only 3 people sitting in there and the monks had yet to arrive). But this is what happens when I'm in culture-shock mode. I don't think, "Let me be humble like Jesus and crawl to the gate, sacrificing the happiness of my baby to show respect to the grieving." No, I think, "Why the hell are these people taking up the whole street with this stupid tent and can't they see I'm not even able to walk to the gate and that my husband can't park his moto inside and that we can't get our tuk tuk out because they are being so inconsiderate?!?!?"

This is my ongoing battle.  I know who I am and I struggle every day not to be this person. Cambodia makes my faults even more glaring. But it's when they come to the surface that I can really work on them and ask God to humble me. So....I'm glad I'm in Cambodia??? I don't know about that. But I hope God can break me and build me up to be a truly patient woman. Full of grace and forgiveness. And NOT full of frustrated assumptions.

I often think of this Shel Silverstein poem, "Ladies First," because I identify with this girl. It's not a good thing, but it does make me laugh. And I realize that if I don't change my ways, my selfishness might just get me kidnapped by a terrorist or run over by a tuk tuk driver (both probably more realistic consequences of my bad attitude than Pamela Purse's fate, but you never know):

Pamela Purse yelled, “Ladies first,”
Pushing in front of the ice cream line.
Pamela Purse yelled, “Ladies first,”
Grabbing the ketchup at dinnertime.

 Climbing on the morning bus
She’d shove right by all of us
And there’d be a tiff or a fight or a fuss
When Pamela Purse yelled, “Ladies first.”

Pamela Purse screamed, “Ladies first,”
When we went off on our jungle trip.
Pamela Purse said her thirst was worse
And guzzled our water, every sip.

 And when we got grabbed by that wild savage band,
Who tied us together and made us all stand
In a long line in front of the King of the land-
A cannibal known as Fry-‘Em-Up Dan,
Who sat on his throne in a bib so grand
With a lick of his lips and a fork in his hand,
As he tried to decide who’d be first in the pan-
From back of the line, in that shrill voice of hers,
Pamela Purse yelled, “Ladies first.”