Love Whacked.

Today I was able to leave school feeling less like a train wreck and more accomplished than usual.

Originally all of the punching, slapping, pinching, and hitting that goes on between the students in Cambodia caught me off guard. I used to be hasty to attempt to save the day, jumping in between my students to be their hero, or in this case, their heroine. However, the students have always been just as quick to tell me to calm down and relax. “Cha, we do this because we love” they have repeated over and over to me. 

Okay, that makes a whole heck of a lot of sense kids….

As convincing as their cute little faces are…I still find myself somewhat appalled every time I witness my precious kids turn psycho and full out WWE style smack one another. Because I just still have not accustomed myself to their loving violence, in our classroom we have a “no hitting” policy.

The students are still getting used to showing their “affection” in other ways, and they still try to make sure to get their energy out at recess and not in our classroom.  Nonetheless, from time to time they do forget and today I had the most personal of encounters with this “love displaying” gesture.

Little Vanneth

Today is special. Today marks the day I received my first love punch. Vanneth, my youngest student averaging around 3 feet and 50 pounds, came FLYING down the hall directly for me with the most gigantic smile you can imagine. He was sprinting full pace with his arms outstretched beside him screaming at the top of his lungs “CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AMBERRRRR!!!.” Before I knew any different my left forearm was throbbing with pain. Only after the initial shock wore off did I realize what had just occurred.

Vanneth full out WWE style whacked me and the weird thing about it was that I somehow knew right away that it came out of love. He did not even stop to say sorry or even to see if my arm was okay...and  to be honest I was totally okay with it! I quickly found Alex and with excitement stated, “I think I get it now!!” She just shook her head.

 I so wish that I could even somewhat accurately get across how much joy my students bring me. They lessen my longing for home and make this whole experience so much more worth it. Today my arm may be sore, but truthfully I could not feel more honored.

-Amber

Weakness.

I am so weak.

It really is terrible..but also the truth;  how effortless the process of forgetting what surrounds me while I comfortably sit in my apartment here in Phnom Penh. Still, as soon as I step outside, outside of what is comfortable, I am quickly and bluntly reminded of where I am and where I will be for the next few months of my life. Usually this realization comes first in the form of the most incredible heat wave I have ever experienced, only then to escalate. Every morning I jump onto my bike with tires half flat, weaving in-between hundreds of motos, other bike riders, and humongous-honking-semi-trucks on my way to school. This morning routine would not be half as eye opening if poverty did not slap me in the face with each mile that I ride. 

The distribution of wealth is so deranged here. Ignoring the extravagant mansions and the unnecessarily expensive cars that fly past me really is difficult, but it is even more impossible to ignore the wooden shacks with dirt floors placed right in between them. Tiny, naked, dirt covered children run in an out from their homes to greet us each day. “Hello!” “Good morning!” they scream out to Alex and I, no matter the time of day. As precious and heart warming as it is to see their gorgeous smiles through their mud painted skin, to see something beautiful in the very midst of poverty at its finest, I become more frustrated and discouraged than not.

I cannot help but find myself asking the same questions every single time I choose to turn off the distractions and soak in reality.  “Why” is at the top of my list. Why is any of this fair? These kids deserve a chance, what have they done to deserve this? How does a God of love allow suffering to this extent go on? Even as I sit down and write this on paper I already feel my blood beginning to boil.

Seeing children dig through trash in order to survive? I so easily become nauseas here. This is definitely not what I want to see first thing in the morning, or ever. Period. I promise myself I will never let my heart harden enough for these sights to not phase me as they do right now. 

I came to Cambodia to serve God, and as backward as it sounds, it seems that becoming angry with Him is so much easier for me to do here in Phnom Penh than ever.  Still, God is using this experience to change me. Before going to bed last night I came across a few paragraphs that I suppose I needed to come across….

“It’s hard. It’s complicated to reconcile a God who works through pain. It’s tough to trust in a Lord who allows suffering and inconvenience. It’d be a whole lot easier to mindlessly promise myself that Jesus always wants to make life easy, but I don’t think that’s how He works.

If anything, Jesus uses dark colors when He paints. He’s into streams in the desert and life out of death. Just take one good look at the cross and that ought to convince you that the God the Bibles speaks of is a God who uses horror and injustice to His advantage.

The cross is evidence to our minds, and balm for our souls that our God is a God who brings beauty out of pain. Art out of chaos. Beauty out of ugliness. Or as some of the poets have said, He conquers death by death itself. Our Redeemer beat Death at his own game.

Hope rises.

When we trust Christ, and the mysterious work on Calvary, we trust that He’s always up to something good even in the darkest days. In fact, that’s probably when He’s up to the most good, because that’s when the most good grows in me.

So hey, I’m delayed, I’m uncomfortable, but if this is the path the Lord has brought me down, then I say, “Don’t stop it Lord.” Redemption was born on a far darker day than this one, so bring the chaos. Bring the madness. Do whatever you’ve got to do to recreate my heart. After all, it’s me that needs to change, not my circumstances.” –donehey

First, I thought to myself how this was one of the most beautiful things I have ever read, then I read it again, and again, and again. The entire passage hit home, but especially the last few sentences. Amber what are you thinking….heck, if the dirt covered, naked, children I pass each morning have enough joy in their precious little hearts to pour out to me, I sure enough am able to share with them and more each day. 

Maybe after all it is not my duty to become angry with God for the suffering in this world. Perhaps my surroundings or situations are not what need to be changed, rather myself and my perspective of everything around me. I have come to the conclusion that my frustration is clearly my weakness. Not only a weakness but also a useless emotion unless I make the choice to turn it into something productive. What better time to be productive than now, considering I am here to serve, not to throw tantrums in my own mind. 

Yes, I still believe that poverty, in any country, is disgusting and unfair. But the little children who can smile through all of their pain? They give me oh so much hope. They are the ones inspiring me to keep going. So tonight I am thankful for the chaos, the madness, and the dark sides, because these things change people. These things are God’s canvas. 

-Amber

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. -2 Corinthians 12:9