Story Time

 It’s been a very long time since I’ve done any blogging, but I have excellent excuses. Torn between teaching and studying, I haven’t had any extra time to devote to a blog. It just so happens, that one of my English classes required me to write a ‘creative nonfiction’ piece. I interviewed Grandma for one of her stories. As many know, Grandpa and Grandma have lived an adventurous life. On the skirts of civilization, they braved northern B.C. at its fiercest. Only 21 years old, Grandma, big and pregnant,  lived 40 miles away from the nearest doctor. Plus the doctor was only accessible by train, which had to be flagged down. I thought more than just my professor would enjoy the story. So, here it is.

     

Home Through the Blizzard

       Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. I rocked with the train as it slowly chugged its way through the screeching blizzard. Snow flurried by the windows, turning the landscape into a swirling white sheet. Had we passed our house? I couldn’t see or recognize any of the landmarks. “Oh God,” I prayed, resting my head against the train window, “Please let Rudy be there waiting.”

      David stirred in my arms, grunting slightly and then he snuggled close and fell back asleep. The doctor’s wife smiled at me, her bright eyes kind. “Let me hold him for a bit,” she offered. “You look so tired.” I smiled as I gently handed my sleeping boy into her arms.

       I was tired, but I couldn’t sleep. “Let Rudy be at the railroad tracks waiting for me,” was my heart’s cry.

       The doctor sat beside his wife, his head rested against the back of his seat and his eyes closed. Before we’d left tonight, he’d told me, “You can go home early, but if no one is there to pick you up, you cannot get off the train.”

       I prayed again, “Oh, if only Rudy got my message. Let him have gotten it, oh please dear God, let Rudy have gotten my message.” If he had gotten my message, I knew he’d be there despite the slicing winds and whistling snow.

        Crescent Spur, the place I called home on that snowy 19th of December, 1964, was a tiny settlement in British Columbia. Surrounded by forests and mountains, the most reliable source of transportation was train, although there wasn’t a station in Crescent Spur. If we needed a doctor or anything more than the basic necessities stocked by the tiny sawmill store, we’d stand by the railroad tracks to flag a train down to ride the 40 miles to McBride.

        In the last stages of their pregnancies, most of the women from Crescent Spur went to live with friends in McBride, so they would be close to the hospital when they went into labor. I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from Rudy for so long, so I stayed home. But I knew I should be prepared, just in case, so I bought a medical book, explaining how to deliver a baby if there was no doctor, and some sterilized string and scissors. Rudy was not ok with that.

        Eight days ago, I’d sent Barbara, my sister-in-law, running the two miles to the saw mill to fetch Rudy. I was going into labor, and we needed to catch the way freight into McBride. Rudy had dropped everything and arrived home panting and wild-eyed. Thankfully, we caught the train, although we wouldn’t have had to worry, since David took his own sweet time. We spent four long, uncomfortable days in the tiny McBride hospital waiting for David to arrive.

         Once David was born, a ridiculously proud Rudy caught a ride home to work. “I’ll be back in a week, Esther,” he said kissing me as he left.

         “Don’t forget the suitcase with the baby clothes,” I said, smiling up at him. “And give Jonathan a hug from me. Do you think him and Barbara have been all right? Four days is a long time for them to stay there by themselves.”

         “Don’t worry, they’re fine. I’ll be with them soon.” With that, he left.

         Minutes soon began to drag like days. I tried to sleep and rest, but I missed Jonathan. He was just a toddler, an adorable little boy with dark kinky hair, curled tightly. Barbara was a good girl, and I knew she’d take care of my boy, but I missed him so much. I longed to hold him in my lap and listen to his childish prattle. I knew he’d be so proud of David.

          Homesickness swallowed my contentment. An observant and kind nurse noticed my restless pining. She asked me about home and I eagerly told her about Jonathan. “He’s such a smart boy,” I bragged.

          She must’ve read my homesick eyes, because I overheard her talking to the doctor. “She’s homesick. You should send her home.”
The doctor came to see me. Now, this wasn’t the same doctor I had in the beginning. McBride was a very tiny town, and there weren’t any doctors in residence. The doctors came from a larger town 100 miles away called Prince George. They would come in shifts, work for two weeks, and then take the train back.

         “Would you like to go home early?” he asked.

         “Oh, yes, doctor!” I cried.

          “Would someone be able to pick you up?” he asked.

          “If I could make a phone call,” I said eagerly. “I know my husband would be there waiting for me.”

          “Ok,” the doctor said. “I’m going back to Prince George tonight. You can come on the midnight train with me. But,” he warned, “If there is no one waiting for you, then you’ll have to stay on the train.”

          I nodded and he left. “Can I have a phone?” I asked turning to the kind nurse. She pushed the hospital phone on a cart into my room and plugged it in. I called the only phone in Crescent Spur, the phone at the saw mill where Rudy worked. The secretary answered. “Can you take a message for Rudy?” I asked. “This is Esther.”

          “Of course, Esther,” she answered brightly.

          “Please tell him that I’m coming home tonight. Tell him to be at the railroad tracks to pick me up. It’ll be after midnight. Please tell him to be waiting for me tonight.” I repeated. She promised and we hung up.

           The nurse brought a prescription. “You’ll need this medicine and formula,” she said.

          “There isn’t a drugstore in Crescent Spur,” I said, wondering if I would have to stay in McBride if I couldn’t get the necessary drugs.

           “Don’t worry,” the nurse soothed. “Call this drugstore here in McBride and tell them what you need. They’ll bring it to you in the hospital.”

           When I called the drug store, I told them “I don’t have money. I can’t pay.”

           “Don’t worry,” the pharmacist said. “Just send a check. I’ll put the bill in the bag.” He brought a bag with the medicine, formula, and bill to the hospital.

           I needed baby clothes and money for a ticket yet. I had a friend in McBride, Rachel Carpenter, and I called her. “Rachel,” I said. “I need baby clothes and money for the train. I’m going home tonight. Could I borrow some from you?” Rachel had recently had a baby herself, so she had lots of baby clothes. She was eager to help me out.

           I felt like everything was falling in place. Rachel had lent me clothes for David and $1.60 for the ticket, the pharmacist had brought me a bill for my medicine, and the secretary had promised she’d give Rudy the message. That’s when it began to storm. Already, there were mounds of snow heaped along the railroad tracks, and the wind promised more. The train would be crawling through drifts and between six-foot berms of snow. “Maybe she shouldn’t go,” a nurse said. “The train could get delayed. Something could happen to the tracks. It’s not safe.”

           However, 1 am found me sitting on the train, praying desperately that Rudy had gotten my message. The train’s brakes began to squeal, and it came to a sluggish halt. The doctor, after going forward and talking to the conductor, came to me. I’d already risen and gathered little David into my arms. “He’s there,” the doctor said.

            “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much,” I cried. Relief and joy flooded my heart, and I could’ve kissed each of the passengers on the train. Gently and securely wrapping David against the biting wind, I stepped out of the train. With either skill or luck, the conductor had stopped the train directly beside the well-shoveled path way to the tracks. Rudy, more snowman than anything else, waited with a gas lantern in his hand.

            Rudy had driven the van onto the shoveled path, so I wouldn’t have to walk so far in the shrieking snow. Once David and I were seated and he was in the driver’s seat, Rudy grinned at me. “It’s good to have you back,” he said, starting the van. “I didn’t want that train to miss seeing me, so I stood on the tracks and waved my lantern.”

            “I was worried you hadn’t gotten my message,” I said, returning his grin. “The doctor said I’d have to go all the way to Prince George if you weren’t waiting.”

            Rudy scoffed, “Of course I’d be here waiting.”

           “I knew you would if you’d gotten the message. But I was worried you hadn’t,” I said.

            “Well, the wind would’ve told me then,” Rudy said parking as close to the door as he could. “You shouldn’t have worried, Esther.” There’s no arguing with Rudy; he always thinks he’s right.

             I walked through the door. Barbara was up, and she took my coat. The house felt cozy warm despite the howling storm. Before going to bed, I went and looked down at sleeping Jonathan. I gently touched his dark hair and sighed; my heart full to the brim. “It’s good to be home,” I said softly.

Pyramid Lake Adventure

Adventure always happens when Ashley and I do something. I should’ve considered myself forewarned. I mean, she was partially the cause of the most miserable night of my life… but that’s another story. I had a weekend off, though, so I must go into the mountains. Ashley and I -it didn’t work for anyone else- both got off work Thursday afternoon. Thursday, June 21, was the longest day of the year. Since it would be light so long, we decided to go up Thursday night.

Summer solstice camping expectations were pretty high. I could see myself sipping my after-supper-tea, the smoke swirling gently over the peaceful lake, and the late evening sun suffusing the mountain peaks in a gentle golden glow.

But, Reality would have none of it. Reality check #1. The car overheated on our way up the mountain.

#2. The first few rain drops patter on the windshield as we pull into the parking spot.

#3. It begins to pour. So far we are dry, despite the weeping heavens. This is when I look back at Ashley, and ask, “Should we wait for it to stop?” She gave me a mad grin of pure joy and content, “No, let’s keep going.”

#4. The trail turns into a raging river. Damp shoes aren’t that bad are they?

#5. Uh-oh! Snow!

#6. Where’s the trail? More importantly, where’s the lake? The lake moved at this point.

#7. This isn’t the lake; it’s a swamp! My shoes are now sloshy, and my pants dripping. Ashley is smugly dry in her super rain gear and waterproof shoes (these were points of pride for her and jealousy for me all weekend.)

I was about ready to sleep in the swamp, but lucky for me, Ashley was convinced we could find the elusive lake… and thankfully we did. The rain stopped and we set up a cozy camp with a crackling fire (it took a whole box of matches because everything was wet, but finally, with much coaxing and bribing, it caught).

Friday morning burst blue and golden upon us. From Pyramid Lake we hiked up to Pyramid Peak. The view was breathtaking and the sun warm, and we wanted to stay up there all day, but rain clouds began to build and we weren’t about to scramble down the rocks during the rain.

We detoured over to Trout Lake on our way to camp. The rain caught us between Trout Lake and Pyramid Lake. We hid under insufficiently limbed trees during the fiercest bursts, but finally decided to brave the blasts to get back to camp.

Since the day had begun so gloriously beautiful, we hadn’t expected rain and were a little afraid our gear and sleeping bags would’ve gotten wet. They weren’t, but to keep things dry during the continued patter, we cinched the tarp down tight. Before long, we were seated under our tarp, eating supper, watching the flames dance and the rain pour down. We were way too smug for our own good. “This is just so cozy,” Ashley gushed. That’s when the storm hit.

Wind whipped across the lake, thunder reverberated down the ridges, hail pelted our tarp (which was showing scary amounts of wear and tear), and rain gushed out of the sky. We managed to rearrange the tarp a bit to protect from the extra wind lashed rain. The holes were stopped with duct tape and band aids.

I only had a limited amount of dry clothes, so I was stuck in my sleeping bag, with the tarp a mere 18 inches above my head from 4 p.m. until we woke up the next morning. Although I became bored with the never-changing pattern of raindrops above me and worried a little about the ancient tarp shredding, I slept extremely well.

A friend in the valley told me the next day, “I’ve never seen it rain so hard in my life.” And we not only survived this storm huddled under a tarp, but slept warm and dry. What’s not to be smug about?

Returning Home

Siem Reap, Cambodia
Thursday, May 31, 2018

This is a farewell… or so I’d planned it.

One week ago, with buzzing brain, pounding heart, and jittering legs I peered out of the airplane window watching Siem Reap slowly approach. I whirled through customs and didn’t stop waltzing for several days.

My first full day I spent out in the village. The excitement of meeting old friends mirrored on their faces. Khmer words tumbled off my tongue haphazardly. Sticky heat and dusty roads welcomed my homesick heart.

I came to spend time with people. So contentment radiates deep in my heart when I just sit talking, or hold the children, now a year larger.

Slowly and surely, Cambodia has rewoven its entrancing charm around my heart. I feel the knot tighten, not loosen.

How will I say goodbye?

***

I wrote the above during my recent visit to Siem Reap, Cambodia. It was glorious but short. I felt torn when friends asked, “When are you coming back?” or “What? You only came to visit?” I slipped into old habits and ways without trying. Everything felt just so normal… so right. And my life in America was so faraway and unreal.

So, what did I do over there? Not much really. I spent time with people. I was able to meet a few of my old English students. Much to my great surprise, they were very shy. They didn’t remember English, or so they told me, but Ya did remember enough to ask, “Jody, do you have boyfriend?” The one of two questions all my Khmer friends asked.

The boys took me on a very eventful moto trip. Always before we went during dry season when the fields are red and ugly, but with rainy season in full swing the rice fields were vibrantly green. The trip was very eventful because a moto broke down not too long after we started. While the mechanically minded tinkered with the engine, carburetor, and whatever else you tinker with to get a moto going, we more frivolous minded carved trees, avoided the ants, and threw rocks at chosen targets. The boys were able to push start it and drive the 4 Km to the next town. The mechanic didn’t have the necessary parts, so while we waited for Allen to come rescue us, we piled onto the two remaining motos and drove to a lake for lunch and relaxation.

Good-byes came too soon. I hadn’t expected the farewells to be so difficult. At first, the thought of coming home upset me horribly, and I feared another adjustment period. During transit I had a dreamy feeling of living in two very different worlds, but once landed and driving home the previous two weeks had an unreal tinge. Now, I feel more settled in this life here than ever. Instead of upsetting and confusing me, my recent visit has brought an unexpected (but welcome) peace and contentment.

It’s good to be home.

Home

Home. What a comforting and frustrating word. I know it’s been a year since I last wrote. I had ended my last blog with thoughts about home, and I had wanted to continue that theme. I tried. But no matter what I wrote, it was either ‘fake’ or I’d burst into tears and be unable to finish it.

Despite the unsettled feelings, I had an amazing year. I didn’t feel grounded, though, until I began teaching school. Something about having that purpose teaching brings to life, along with the old relationships becoming strengthened, caused tiny roots to grow.

They asked if I’d teach another year. As soon as I said, “Yes,” I questioned my answer. I looked down the road of life and saw it stretched straight before me with no curve or end in sight. “I’ll be here, teaching, forever!” or so I felt.

Am I ready to stay put?

Home. The word has lost some of its salty flavor. That mythical place will always be just out of my sight -around the next corner or in the next country. But for now, I’m content to rest in this ‘wayside inn’ before journeying on.

 

 

How’s the adjusting going?

“So are you adjusted yet?”

I laugh at the now familiar question. I shake my head and say, “No.”

I love this part of being back!

“How’s the adjusting going?”

I frown and shrug. “I don’t know how to answer that question,” I tell them with a laugh. “I have no idea how I’m adjusting.”

How am I adjusting? Am I even adjusting? I know a few of my ‘Khmer’ ways of thinking and doing things have lessened, or stopped. I’m no longer wearing boots and coats everywhere I go. I’ve learned that it’s ok to be slightly chilly.

I do know that my driving has adjusted back somewhat. My first weekend home I horrified my little sister driving through Portland traffic. It began when I merged, slowly, before she thought I should’ve. “You can’t do that!” she cried as I eased my way in front of a car.

“Why not?” I asked surprised. “There’s room and we’re creeping along.”

A little later she gasped as I changed lanes. “Seriously Jeana! Relax!” I told her. “We had plenty of room. I’m more used to traffic than you.”  I did panic a little when I forgot a few minor rules (“Can I do a U-turn if there’s no sign prohibiting it? Quick! I need to know!”) but for the most part, I think things went surprisingly well.

How I missed wild flowers in Cambodia

The other evening I was driving home. I needed to turn left off the main road onto our back road. A car, turning left, sat in the middle of the wide road. There was room on both sides of the car, so I turned before it. While cruising down the hill I realized that was a totally Khmer move to make. I think my driving has mostly returned to my pre-Cambodian skills, but once in a while I’ll surprise myself.

Another issue that is taking time in ‘adjusting’ is the cost of everything. I run the cash register at a bakery. My first day there I kept wanting to apologize to people for how much their purchases ran up to. I still inwardly cringe at people paying so much for a donut (we’re not over-priced; it’s just so different from Cambodia). But these people not only spend the money once, but return repeatedly to spend it again and again.

Another quirk that is not even close to adjusting is how I hand money back to customers. In Cambodia you hand money with both hands. I find myself repeatedly leaning way over so I can use both hands to place a customer’s money in their hands. I know it’s not considered impolite in America to hand money with one hand… but I just can hardly bring myself to do it.

My church in Siem Reap. Just the right size.

But how am I adjusting in other matters? How am I fitting back into the church? The answer is simple… I’m not. I went to our local church once and was so incredibly overwhelmed at the amount of people, that I fled as soon as possible. I know it sounds funny, but I didn’t realize I knew so many people in one place! I’ve had many excuses to go visit my brother an hour away over the weekends. His church is more my size.

Of course I miss Cambodia. I miss the people, culture, food, and yes I even miss the language. I came back expecting I’d be coming ‘home’. That was a mistake. ‘Home’ is where you belong. I belong here just as much as I did in Siem Reap. I’m no closer to home here than I was thousands of miles away.

Departure and Arrival

Monday, May 1. Here I am sitting in Shanghai, Pudong International airport. The byes have been said and the tears dried. Every time I leave home for a mission somewhere, I get a frightened feeling and I ask myself, “Jody, what on earth were you thinking?” I was surprised when I asked myself in the Siem Reap airport, “Jody, why did you think you should go?”

Anyways, my last month was… well, it was full of good moments, sad moments, and moments when I tried to freeze time. I’d like to try to give you a glimpse of this hectic last month. =)

April 3-7 was my last week of teaching. I never want to teach a week like that again. Not that my students were bad… they were angelic! They attended every class very faithfully, but a depressed heaviness seemed to hang over each class and this only increased as the week went on. By Friday, I couldn’t wait to be finished with teaching!! It was hard to say bye and to let them go after investing so much time and effort, but at the same time it felt good to turn them over to Chandra.

The Khmer schools took off two weeks for Khmer New Year, and so we did too. Siem Reap slowly began to fill until it was packed full of beeping motos and honking cars. It was a relief to watch the city slowly empty again. I spent this week trying to prepare for my departure and Veasna’s wedding.

The week after Khmer New Year was busy with helping with wedding plans and company arriving. My friend Veasna, a young Khmer Christian, was marrying Jon, a young American. They’d been working on paper work and visa junk for around a year and she had finally received her visa. Once she got the visa, they could start planning their wedding, and that took place three weeks later.

  Although it was such short notice, it was a lovely wedding. I enjoyed the mix of Khmer and American. The Ceremony, the most important part in American weddings, is private in Cambodia. They wanted a public Christian Ceremony, so she had bridesmaids and the whole nine miles. Since I was sitting up front I missed out on most of the show, but I guess the Khmer children were playing ‘quietly’ in the aisle and monkeying around during the ceremony. A few of the Khmer people said they really liked the vows.

In a Khmer wedding, once the couple is married, they have a big party and invite all of their friends. The bride and groom stand at the door greeting each visitor and the bride will change her dress every so often. The richer she is, the more dresses she’ll have. The music is loud, you can hardly hear each other yelling across the table, and beer flows freely. So… we do our receptions a little differently. Jon and Veasna’s was a mix of the two.

The bridal party did have a table set aside for them, but Jon and Veasna were up and about. Veasna was so happy and excited and she buzzed merrily from group to group talking with people. It was a lovely wedding. So relaxed and calm. And did I say the best part? The best part was that the restaurant we did it at, not only cooked and served the food, but also did all of the clean up!!!

After the wedding I had one week left. I tried to spend it finishing everything up, packing, and saying bye. And I can’t tell you how happy I am that the byes are done. I HATE long drawn out farewells.

I just can’t wait for this journey to be over with!!!

Wednesday, May 4. I’m home. It was amazing to see my family again. My Kamoy (nieces and nephews) nearly squeezed me to death. Baby Emma, who is no longer a baby, was very confused. She kept looking at me, and then at Jeana trying to figure out why there were two Jeanas at Papa’s house. Towards the end of Monday evening she had warmed up to me enough to give me a hug and kiss.

So… what are some things that surprised me on my reentry? I was expecting the smooth roads, nice vehicles, and carpet, so that didn’t faze me. But the roads are not only smooth but empty!! I can cruise down the road without fear of sending a moto flying into the ditch. There is no lukewarm water here. It’s all either sizzling hot or frigidly cold. Hot water straight from the tap is awesome, but the water is really too cold. It hurts my teeth when I brush them.

It’s so quiet around here. So quiet that I can hear the silence. I know it’s always been like this, but now I’m noticing it. The air is fresh and invigorating. And did I mention the cold? I wear boots into town and then see my spring-starved friends wearing sandals. I shiver a little extra just thinking about how cold that must be! I was one of them once, wearing sandals in 60*F weather, but now I’m the other kind, shivering despite my coat, scarf, leggings, and boots.

I’ve been asked, “Is it good to be home?” And I can honestly answer that with a, “Yes.” It’s so good to see friends and family, to go walk in the fresh pine woods, and to pick wild flowers (when you can find them! They’re mostly still frozen). I haven’t felt the pain yet, but I know it will come. I know that I’ll miss my friends, students, green mangos with chili, radiant sunsets, driving moto, and so much more. And yet, even though I know I will wish myself back in the land of the hot sun, it is good to be home.

Dreading the End

“We want to play hangman,” a few students tell me. “Fast.”

Two of the boys need to leave for computer classes at 2:30. It’s now 2:18 and we don’t have time to go into the lesson, so I agree to quickly do a hangman with them. They’re smart students, so instead of giving them 11 chances I only give them 7, and could’ve given them much less.

I like to do sentences for hangman vs. words and often use new grammar and vocab to create these sentences. Today though, I have something I need to tell the students and decide to put the information in a sentence for hangman.

The six boys I will miss the most. L-R Ya, Iy, Nate, Mongol, Kimlean, Titi

“e” is the first letter guessed, quickly followed by ‘i’ and ‘l’. Before long they have most of the sentence figured out –I will stop teaching. They aren’t too pleased with it, but they’re even less pleased when they figure out the first two words –Next Friday.

This wasn’t the first time they found out that I was leaving. I’d told them back in February that I was going. I hadn’t wanted to, but I owed it to these students to be the one to tell them. My announcement is met with cries of wonder.

“Stop teach? Why? You leave in May.”

“Yes,” I struggle to explain it all to them. “We stop for Khmer New Year.”

“Oh,” they’re relieved. “You will teach after.”

I shake my head. “Luke or Chandra will teach you.”

“Do you go to America to play?” one asks again.

“No, I go to live. I will teach in America for one year.”

“Jody, why?”

I’ve just betrayed them… or so say their eyes glimmering with unshed tears. I shrug and sigh and say, “My family wants me to go back.”

“I don’t like your family,” says Ya.

Iy cries, “Family come here and teach me.”

It’s times like these that I wonder why I thought teaching English such a good idea. It’s just led to more pieces of my heart being scattered afield.

My students and friends do not understand why I would want to go home. “Don’t you like Cambodia?” they wonder.

“Yes, I like Cambodia very much.”

“Why don’t you come back?”

“Maybe I will, but I don’t know.” My far future, as usual, is open to anything.

So how and why did I even come to Cambodia eighteen months ago? It really started eight years ago when I first visited Asia. I fell in love with the Asian people and culture, and hoped to return some day. As the years slipped by, I wondered if that would ever happen.

Then Five years ago I heard about a mission in Bangladesh, where they teach English for three months during the winter. I saw this as a chance to fulfill my dream not only to return to Asia, but also to teach English. I returned to Bangladesh the following year, but wanted to do something more long-term, so when Allen suggested my name to the board for teaching English, I was ecstatic.

It hasn’t all been easy, but I can say my time here has been amazing. I’ve learned so much and thoroughly enjoyed the interaction with my students. We’ve come a long way together, and I’m sad that I won’t be around to see them continue on in life.

This summer I plan on camping and hiking whenever I’m not busy working. This following school year, I’ll be teaching at a tiny school in Washington, where my older brother lives. I’m excited about the new doors that God is opening in my life.

When I talk to friends and family from home, May seems so far away. But when talking to my students or friends here, I feel a little panicky about how fast my departure date is approaching. It hurts to leave everything I have put my time and energy into this past year and a half. I wonder too if I’ll ever be able to come back and see my friends again. Life is so uncertain. At the same time, I’m excited about spending a year in my home area.

My heart has pieces scattered across the globe, and no matter where I go, I will be missing a piece or two.

 

Entry Level and Progress

Ponna

I recently started teaching an entry level class in the morning.

“How are you?” I ask a newer student.

She stares at me blankly while her classmate elbows her whispering fiercely, “I am fine. I am fine.”

“I am fine,” she shyly answers, her voice barely above a whisper.

I find myself becoming attached to this class. We’re hardly parked at school before an entourage of small boys come swarming out, opening up my door. Eager hands snatch my backpack and triumphantly carry it to the table for me.

Although we have a large language barrier, I enjoy interacting with these students. I have

Leena

five boys. Sna, the little boy who loves to carry my bag, is hyperactive and excitable, but not the most excellent of students. He’s too busy telling the others how to do it to fully understand how himself. Monarea is a bright boy. He knows a lot, compared to the rest of the class, but he feels a little like he already knows it all. Noich is very smart. Luke said he learned everything about letter sounds from just sitting in class (minimum participation. Earlier Luke had a few students who weren’t really his students, but just sat and listened). Sokdom and Dara don’t say a whole lot. Sokdom knows some and Dara knows much less.

I have seven girls. Leseang is almost too young to be in class. She doesn’t know how to read Khmer yet, so I don’t have super high expectations on teaching her to read English. Her sister goes to Michael’s class, so I agreed to teach her. Leena and Ponna are both bright, but a little impatient. Raddet doesn’t attend so well, but she knew NOTHING when I started teaching her two weeks ago, and she’s caught on fairly fast. Sara is an attention starved child. She can be a handful. When she comes I almost hold my breath waiting for something to happen. Sayda is rather quiet and not very regular. Navwee is an adorable girl who quietly slips into class and studiously works. After class I’ll sometimes talk with her, and her shy smile transforms her face.

Put it all together, I think I’m becoming too attached. I don’t have much longer here, and I find twelve new strings tying my heart down. It’s going to be difficult to leave.

Teaching an entry level class is a whole new challenge for me. It reinforced the realization of how far my afternoon class really came, because when I first started teaching them, some of them weren’t much ahead of these youngsters. It reminds me of my first day teaching my afternoon class…

I stood in front of the students and stared back at the 20 pairs of curious eyes. They all looked the same. “My name is Jody,” I said slowly. “What is your name?” I walked by each student getting them to spell their names for me. By the end of the first class I was overwhelmed. Half the students hardly knew the ABC’s while the other half could read simple words and were ready to move on.

Pom

Frustrated, I tried to steer a middle course, which was way too fast for the students who didn’t know, but much too slow for the ones who did. I lost a few good students and many of the bad ones, but a few stuck it out. As the weeks slowly progressed I began to bond with these boys. Although I felt like I failed at teaching them English, we at least began to have fun.

Months slowly melted into each other, and now here I am over a year later with basically the same class (a few girls now attend too, which the boys at first resented). The difference is astounding really. They don’t speak near perfect English, but… looking back I can hardly believe these are the same students!

The other day there was a party going on at school, so only five of my usual ten came. They

Kimlean, Iy, and Mongol

cried, “Today no learn.”

“Today we will learn a little,” I smile at their excitement. I couldn’t blame them for wanting to take off to watch the activity.

“Tomorrow maybe not come,” Ya says.

When I ask why, he doesn’t know the English for it, but I know it’s the party going on at the school. “Will you come tomorrow?” I ask.

Soklat says, “I come.”

Iy, Mongol, and Ya

“Mongol, will you come?” I ask.

“Yes, I come,” Mongol says and Kimlean echoes his reply.

“Maybe I come. Maybe no come,” Ya says.

“Kanya?” I ask the other girl. “Will you come?”

Kanya grins. The others laugh. “Kanya lazy. She no come,” they say.

After we study a bit I ask what game they want to play. Soklat says, “Class Michael play bingo for candy.”

“I don’t have candy,” I grin.

Ya leaps up. “Soklat give me money. I drive moto Luke. Go buy candy.”

“No,” Soklat cries. “Ya give money. I drive moto Luke. Go buy candy.”

We decide to play with flash cards. I describe the picture and they have to say what it is. For example: it is an apple. I may say, “It is a fruit. It is a circle. Sometimes it is red and sometimes it is green.” My heart swells as they carefully listen. I want to get them to the point where they’re the ones describing the card, but they’re just not there yet.

I wish I could remember what I was telling them… but I love the confused, concentrated looks on their faces.

I still struggle sometimes teaching these students. Some don’t understand what’s going on, while others can become bored, but I can’t help being extremely proud of them. They’ve come so far, and it’s going to be hard to leave them. I will miss this class. Not just because I have fun with them now, but also because of all the struggles we went through earlier.

 

 

Chilean Adventures, Part 2

A few spare snowflakes were swirling down when we finally pulled into our campsite. The first site struck us as ideal, with a stray sun ray piercing the clouds and lush green grass carpeting the ground, it made a striking contrast to the other dreary campsites. We piled out of Dora (we named Ted’s van Dora the Explorer, because we were pretty sure we took it on roads no van was supposed to travel) and began setting up camp as rapidly as possible. A fire was high priority since were all freezing and starving.

That was a cold night. We huddled around the fire while smoke swirled into our eyes. Thankfully our tent was tiny and cramped, because the shared body heat kept us toasty warm. Next morning dawned bright and cold. Dad and Jared braved the biting wind to fish.

Around noon, we piled back into Dora to drive an hour back up the road to a hike. The trail made a nice sauntering loop. Although it was steep at times, we didn’t find the hike too difficult. The three main attractions were the ‘Piedra Clavada'(riveted stone), ‘Cueva de los Manos'(cave of the hands), and ‘Valle Lunar'(moon valley). It started out gentle with the path winding its way through prickly grass and shrubby thorns until we were walking between towering rocks. Where else than Chile do you have to shoo horses and cows off the path? We lost the trail once, but could guess the general direction.

Probably the coolest part of the hike was the ‘Cueva do los manos’. We’ve all heard of caves far away where drawings made by ancient Indians are still visible. I actually got to visit one!! The cave was small and many of the markings were difficult to discern, but it’s amazing that drawings that old still exist. I couldn’t help wishing the towering rocks surrounding us could speak! What stories they could tell.

Our last point of interest was the ‘Valle Lunar'(Moon Valley) which wasn’t a valley at all, but many white rock formations perched high on a ridge. The stones were extremely grippy, making clambering on them a cinch.

We were very thankful we’d hiked the loop the direction we had, because the rest of the way was a steep descent down a sandy trail. We, even Jared the die-hard fisherman, were glad we’d gone. Dad claimed it was some of the most beautiful scenery he’d ever seen.

Back at camp, Dad cooked pork chops for supper. Once the food was ready, mom said, “Before we pray, let’s sing a song.”

Dad broke into a grin and after we’d sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to him, he said, “I wondered if you’d remember.”

“I remembered yesterday and the day before,” Mom said.

We’re not normally savages, but we forgot plates.

“I woke up this morning,” Dad continued, determined to get as much enjoyment out of our forgetfulness as possible. “And I wondered if anyone would remember. I kept waiting for someone to remember it was my birthday.” He chuckled gleefully. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning to remind you.” He still hasn’t let us forget that we forgot his birthday, and I don’t think he ever will.

The following morning we packed up and headed out. After a frustrating delay at the Argentina border (there’s nicer roads in Argentina, but we couldn’t get through because we didn’t have the correct paper work for the van) we headed back home over the bumpy road full of ‘dangerous descents’.

Dad, Mom, and Jeana had to start work at the bakery again. Although that cut back on what all we could do, I enjoyed seeing this side of their life. I saw a new side to Dad. I’d never considered Dad a baker, although he’s a master at grilling, but there he was mixing up cinnamon rolls and bread with the best of them. He kept an eye on the size and quality of the food, while Mom made sure everything was kept sparkling clean. Dad would fuss, “These cinnamon rolls didn’t rise enough.” And Mom would pick up a glass dish, “See these water spots? It needs washed again.”

I often woke up early to help mom bake scones, cookies, and brownies. During the day I helped Jared with school work. One day Jeana, Jared, and I went fishing on Jeff’s lake when Jeana had off. We’d heard horror stories about the lake and the impossibly strong wind pushing hapless boaters to the other side. We wisely decided to stay within easy distance of the shore, much to Jared’s disgust. We didn’t catch anything other than a clam, but we had fun. I nearly caught a fish, but he slipped the hook. No matter how frantically we fished after that, we couldn’t even drum up a nibble.

All too soon I was standing in line in the small Balmaceda airport wishing I could either begin the past thirteen days over, or just fast forward two days when I would be back in Siem Reap. Although the flying time on my return trip was longer, I had way shorter layovers. At every airport I just had time to charge through customs and onto the waiting plane… or so it seemed.

I flew from Miami to Santiago with a two-hour layover. That just wasn’t very long to go through customs and back through security, and I determined to be super-fast. I thought I was too as I breezed my way past people, but once through security I looked at my phone. It read, ‘6:40.’ My plane left at 6:45. I broke into a trot and arrived at my gate at 6:45. I looked around. The area was empty. Not a soul. I nearly broke into tears, but soon realized my phone was still on Santiago time and that I was two hours early! I really must’ve breezed through customs even faster than I thought.

I had another short layover in Chicago. One hour. I don’t like flying through Chicago; it always seems like something goes wrong. As luck would have it, our plane arrived late and I had less than 45 minutes to find my gate before departure. But as God would have it, my departing gate was beside my arrival gate.

I met an entertaining Chinese lady in Shanghai. She saw me writing in my tablet and said, “What are you writing?” Her accent was so thick that I at first thought she was speaking Chinese. She peered at my open page, “Oh,” she laughed loudly. “It’s English! I thought you were writing German. You look German.” I’d always assumed Germans were tall and blonde, and I couldn’t get much further from that.

She sat down beside me and talked my ear off. For a while I found it entertaining. Her broad, good-humored face beamed with merriment as we, or more accurately she, discussed politics, salaries, cost of living, relatives, and love. She found out I have four siblings. “Whaat? Five children? So many, so many!” I then couldn’t resist telling her that my uncle has nine children. “How many wives does he have?” she asked in astonishment.

“One,” I replied.

“One wife? So many children. She is so strong. So strong,” then she threw her head back and laughed loudly. “Nine children?! I can’t believe it!”

Although I enjoyed our conversation, I was extremely thankful I had an excuse to escape her clutches. I think she would’ve talked all night if she had had the chance.

Words cannot express how good it felt to step into the Cambodian night and begin peeling off layers of clothes. I’d been cold for so long it was incredibly pleasant to be on the warm side again.

Although I spent an excessive amount of time going and coming, (over 100 hours total) it was totally worth it! Would I do it again? Not right now… maybe in a few months… or with someone. A companion would’ve helped the weary hours slip by.

I also learned that worrying is less than useless. Every little detail of catching planes, boarding passes, customs, and gates was taken care of with time to spare. Truly, we serve a God who delights in even the insignificant details of life.

Chilean Adventures, Part 1

Things did not turn out as planned, but  when do they ever? I had intended on visiting some friends in Bangladesh, but those plans fell through. With two weeks of vacation coming up, I made a new plan: fly from Cambodia to Chile to see my family. Nobody was more surprised than myself when I actually bought the tickets.

It’s a long ways from Asia to S. America. I couldn’t find anything close to direct. I flew through China, then the U.S., and finally down to Santiago. My trip began eventful enough.

I stepped up to the desk and handed the man my passport and printed itinerary. “Wow!” he commented. “You have a long ways to go.”

I agreed heartily.

“Do you have a China visa?”

“No, but I’m just flying through. I don’t need one,” I said frowning.

“But you fly from Guangzhou to Shanghai and that is a domestic flight. You need a China Visa.”

“But I’m just flying through,” I said weakly.

He looked at the computer, “It should be fine, because you’ll be in China less than 24 hours.” He printed off my first two boarding passes and told me, “You’ll have to get the other boarding passes in Shanghai.” He handed me my passport and itinerary with the boarding passes. “Do not lose your itinerary. You need it as proof that you’re not staying in Shanghai, but are flying through.”

This rattled me a bit. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck in China. But I decided not to worry about it and to let God take care of the details. When I landed in Guangzhou I deliberately walked into the wrong line because I didn’t know whereto go or what to do. The lady said, “You’re flying to Shanghai. This line is for international transfer only.”

“Yes, I know,” I replied. “But I continue on from Shanghai to the U.S.”

She looked at my itinerary a bit, printed off an official looking document with a stamp, told me not to lose this, and then directed me to the correct line. I left the line, but hesitated a little, still unsure of where to go. A lady behind me said, “Yes, this way,” in clear, if slow, English. “Do you know Guangzhou airport?”

I shook my head, “No, I’ve never used this airport before.”

“I did once, so I can show you. It’s confusing if you don’t know it.”

The relief that washed over me was immense. “Thank you Jesus,” I breathed. Once through customs -they gave us a 24 hour visa- she led me way across the airport to an obscure desk where Southern China Airlines offers free hotels for layovers longer than eight hours. I think God sent this Japanese angel to help me.

The rest of my long trip went well. My last flight from Santiago to Balmaceda seemed to take forever. I declare we crept through the air, but at long last we landed and there my family stood, waiting to give me a hug!!

Coyhaique Chile, nestled in the Andes Mountains, is breathtakingly beautiful (I now understand mom’s obsession with frequent stops to snap a picture). The mountains stand tall and proud, water leaps and falls down their rugged sides, rivers wind their way through the valleys, and a multitude of lakes dot the land. It’s also cold, at least I thought so. I believe it rained every day I was there. It wasn’t a warm tropical rain, but a bone chilling torrent with freezing winds.

It felt like I’d stepped back in time despite the modern conveniences. The houses are small and weather-beaten. Many people walk or ride horse instead of drive a car. Life halts for the afternoon siestas. Everything seems to run at a slower pace.

The people are warm and friendly. A light hug and kiss to the cheek is used in lieu of the Western handshake. I struggled to understand their sloppy Spanish. I struggled even more with replying in Spanish. Either I’d stare blankly trying to remember the Spanish word or Khmer would slip out. I mean seriously, how difficult is it to remember to say ‘Gracias’ instead of ‘Akon’? Apparently very.

Thankfully my family had vacation during my first week. We planned a camping trip, and since it rained non-stop in Coyhaique, we decided to head further south, away from the rain. Jeff told us about a beautiful camping place they found beside Lake Jeinimeni. It’ll be drier and warmer,” he promised.

So we packed warm clothes, a tent, sleeping bags, and an immense amount of food for a three-day/two-night excursion. I borrowed extensively from my warmer clothed relatives (I didn’t even have a decent pair of shoes, since I never wear them here in Cambodia). We drove through rugged mountains and wound our way around a breath-takingly-blue lake. The scenery made up for the pot holes, steep grades, and Sharp corners. I couldn’t believe that this dilapidated road was a main road through southern Chile. Dad kept telling us that in forty years it will be paved. We will be able to drive our grandchildren on a nice paved road and tell them stories about, “When I was young…”

We had an interesting detour during our drive south. Jared suddenly became extremely car sick, so we pulled the car into a short driveway leading to a deserted house. Jeana and I also climbed out of the van to stretch our legs. We walked up  into the yard. Next thing we knew a man approached us through the drizzle.

“Como estas?”he called. He then asked what we were doing. We tell him that we thought the house was deserted. “Are you Christians?” He asked next.

“Yes,” we answer.

Beaming he greeted us enthusiastically and excitedly invites us inside for coffee and cookies. Inside two other men seated us on a couch and draped a giant blanket across our laps. They rushed around lighting a fire and making us comfortable, but they were not too busy for talking. I won’t go into detail for fear of drawing this out tortuously long, but these two men live along the road and preach to tourists who stop in. Jews are their especial burden. They tried to convince us to stay around for some fishing and pizza, but we wanted to get to our campsite before dark, so we declined. Although it added a few hours onto our journey, we enjoyed the experience.

This blog is going to be way too long, so I’ll continue next week.