Baby Steps.

               September 10^th I stood in front of my classroom. It was a monday and incidentally it was my first day of teaching. Twenty-three mostly bouncy students, from ages 9 to 19…versus me, a 20-year-old student-turned-pretend-teacher. Apprehensive would be close to the correct word to describe my emotions, however I would be more apt to use clueless.

         Attendance went over easiest, even including each one of my awful mispronunciations of my students’ foreign (to me) names. A few would quietly smirk and giggle while most were quite hasty to correct me. I did not mind being corrected. After all, these next nine months were going to be as much of a learning experience for myself as they were going to be for my students.

          Like all of the Christian schools I have attended, after attendance came prayer. “Does anyone have any prayer requests?……silence…..Does anyone know what a prayer request is?.....more silence……Okay…does anyone have anything they would like to pray for….?…..silence yet again. Alright, well…I would really like to pray for my brother today. He lives in America. I miss him and would really like him to have a good day.” Half of the kids still watched me with blank stares, while the other half continued to have their own conversations loudly in Khmer. “Would anyone like to say prayer today?” I figured asking was worth a shot, what else did I have to lose? To no surprise I had zero volunteers, so Alex or I said morning prayer, and I was okay with that.

          Little did I know at the time that 21 out of the 23 students in my ESL classroom are Buddhist with little to no previous education of Jesus, or my God. Originally I had thought that the language barrier was the factor holding the kids back from responding to my questions….but I quickly realized that with most, I would be needing to begin at ground zero…or with the raw fundamentals of what it means to be a Christian.
             Well, we have got to start somewhere. I tried to recall back to when I was first learning about God….shoot, that probably happened while I was in the womb…..so I then tried to recollect some of the first memories I have learning about Jesus Christ. What stuck……? SONGS STUCK! Eh songs.…I knew trying to teach Bible songs on the first day was going to be rough, but after all most beginnings are.

Learning "Jesus Loves Me"

          Singing and dancing and TRYING to teach “Father Abraham” was pretty ridiculous looking I am sure… and just as anticipated was anything but a success. I then tried to come up with a song that included a tad more repetition in hopes that the kids would be able to pick up faster…. OH! “I’ve Got the Joy!” Easy AND repetitive, I figured I had hit the nail on the head. I began to sing….and to my pleasant surprise so did THEY! So quickly the room lit up! The students began to sing along and were even asking to sing on their own. For a while I began to feel pretty good about the level of enthusiasm the class suddenly seemed to have. The energy level was quite the opposite from throughout the last song. I was pleased.....but not for long.
           After a couple of minutes in, I looked over at a couple of my “more behaved” students and noticed the appalled and almost offended look on their faces. They continually whispered back and forth looking completely embarrassed and terrified at the same time. Of course their conversation caught my attention, and while the rest of the classroom continually SCREAMED, “JOY, JOY, JOY, JOY, JOY, JOY” I walked over to the two whispering and asked what the problem was. “Tee-cha….we cannot tell you……” they replied with blushed cheeks. “Sure you can, what is the problem?” I asked a small bit more concerned this time around.  Still they shook their heads, mortified to say anything more. Finally after a few minutes of continually prodding, a different student who had been shouting “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy, joy,” probably began to feel sorry for me. He came up to explain to me that the English pronunciation of “joy” is the same as the pronunciation of the F-word in Khmer. Oh, this all makes so much more sense now.

            Now, unwittingly flaunting my own pair of intensely blushed cheeks, I told the class we would be learning a new song from that point on. SO, with a few....minor.... set backs on the way…we FINALLY landed upon the classic, ever popular, “Jesus Loves Me” the clapping, snapping, more catchy version of the song. Although the first time around none of my students sang along, a couple began trying to get the actions down. Then, of course, the bell rang and I had to laugh over what a fail the entire class period had been.

Today.

               Today is the 24th of October and as I look back, September 10 seems just as embarrassing now as it did then. However, it is not my first day of teaching any more. Today, on the 24th of October, I can stand in front of my twenty-three mostly bouncy students from ages 9 to 19 as a student-turned-pretend-teacher and pronounce..most..of their names perfectly. I can stand here and have my class remind me to say prayer in the morning. On good days, I even get volunteers. I can stand in front and when I ask if they have anything they would like to pray for, I get responses. The kids will shout out TONS of prayer requests, even wanting to include me, their Tee-CHA. I can stand in the front of my classroom and hear the students sing, almost shout, “Jesus Loves Me” and more than not I can see them actually enjoying knowing all of the words and motions. I can stand here and really see growth when I look close enough.
             Although at times, through the hell-hot heat and through screaming kids bouncing off the walls, every day may seem as hectic as the first. Although at times I may feel that as a class we have gotten absolutely nowhere…I have to remember that we, in fact, have. It may have taken baby steps to get to where we now are, but we have made progress....and I could not be happier.

-Amber

Sandpaper Grace.

I never realized the harshness of, the flesh splitting, lung slicing, brutal edges of my hardened, ice-cold, hardly anymore at all blood thrusting, soul. More so, I did not catch on to the realization of the need to submerge, to absorb, all that this shrunken core could possibly contain...in everything….everything, You are.

Infuse me.

Permeate me until everything You…everything You..could spill over each blood starved organ of mine. Rain through the bone-dry channels that have longed for the slightest tint, the smallest hint of nourishment. Oh, quench this thirsty heart of mine, that through the red-hot fire of life, has evaporated near to nothing at all. 
Saturate me in You, so that these brutal edges could cut less, slice less, softened by Your sandpaper grace.

-amber

Change of Perspective.

It’s hard to put today into words. Looking at four school buildings that could easily be one that I’m currently working at, reading that an estimated 14,000-20,000 people were killed there only 40 some years ago is a lot to take in. Humbling was the word Amber used, and humbling it was. Room after room at the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum is filled with the faces of those who were killed at the genocide that began in 1975 and lasted until 1979. I couldn’t help but look at the faces on the wall and think of my kids. This too, was originally a school, and so many of the faces looked like they could be related to my own students. They could have actually been related to my students. This realization made me sick and made the whole experience a little more real. With each flight of stairs to the next level of the three-story building I kept thinking that this could’ve looked like CAS built 35 years earlier. What used to be a normal school had been turned into a torture center.

On the way out, we almost passed by what we thought was another pile of books being sold to visitors. It was another pile of books, but behind the table sat one of only seven survivors of the genocide. He looked like he couldn’t be older than maybe 60, and that’s when it really hit me how recent this genocide was. This man’s story was posted on posters next to him and books covered the table with his name printed on them. I couldn’t help but wonder how difficult it was for this man to be back at the place he had been tortured at or if he was honored to be back, letting the public know what he went through.

This is a sign found in one of the rooms with the stories and
trials of the Khmer Rouge leaders. This sign says:
"Memory and Justice" (and the Khmer translation below)

In addition to all the faces of those who were killed, we also saw pictures of the leaders and read their stories. They had all been arrested and had been put on trial in Cambodia.  We were shocked to read that one of the leaders, a female, was only arrested a couple years ago. It had taken that long to arrest someone who was involved in all these killings!

            The museum is at the exact location of where thousands of people were tortured and killed. It is on the side of the road, surrounded by houses and shops just like the rest of Phnom Penh. People told us before we went that we should be glad that they had cleaned the blood splatters up off the floor, but that didn’t change the feeling. Wooden and brick “cells,” left how they originally were, lined the multiple rooms that used to hold classes. There was a strong smell and the heat was intense, and as we walked up and down the stairs, in and out of rooms, what looked like blood still stained the floor and I couldn’t help but think of the many lives that had been lost quite possibly where I was standing.

            Last week, someone told us something that another teacher had said. “I was lucky during the genocide. I only lost my brother, father, and uncle,” is what they had said. As far as I’m concerned, that is far from lucky. That statement, however, shows how recent the genocide was and how much it has affected all the people I live and work with everyday. The majority of the teachers, and the students, that are at CAS have lived in Cambodia, most in Phnom Penh, for their entire life. This genocide has affected every single one of them. I now have a different kind of understanding and respect for the Khmer people that I didn’t have before today. Pol Pot and the other Khmer Rouge leaders have drastically impacted and changed their lives.

            As an 8^th grader years ago, I had the opportunity to go to Washington D.C. with a large group of students from my school. While we were there, we went to the Holocaust Museum. I loved learning about World War II and I remember being fascinated with the museum before I went. I remember how eye opening and humbling that experience was so many years ago. The Holocaust and WWII was something that the United States, my home, was incredibly impacted by. Today, I had a very similar feeling to the one I had all those years ago. Though it’s not the United States, Cambodia already holds an enormous place in my heart and seeing what they have been through was really overwhelming.

            I hurt for the people I walk by or interact with everyday who have been impacted by this tragedy. I have a new found respect for these people, for they are trying to move on and are trying to rebuild Phnom Penh and Cambodia. I don’t know how you could live here and feel any differently.

            The past weeks, I’ve been trying to understand the people and the culture. Today I realized that I never will completely understand the people here, for a number of reasons. One of those reasons, however, is the fact that I will never understand the impact this genocide has had on the Khmer people. The lesson I’ve learned for today? Try to understand where people are coming from, and that which you cannot understand, you have to accept, because there might be a lot more to the story that you can’t even begin to understand.

-Alex

This is a sign in another room that has the stories and trials of
the Khmer Rouge leaders. This sign under genocide (with the
Khmer translation on the right) says: "Who are the Senior
Khmer Rouge leaders to be judged? The importance of
case 002."

Off Balance.

As much as I would really like to jump up in the morning enthusiastic and eager to be awake, full up on oomph, and confident that I can make it through the day without feeling like I have been flattened by a steam-roller….I have found these things to be anything but the case.
            Everyone had “warned” me that my months abroad were going to be the hardest of my life and I did believe them to a certain extent. However truthfully, there is no way that the any of the many meetings I sat through, the “How to Be a Missionary” classes, or any words of wisdom could have ever prepared me enough for what I actually face here in Cambodia every day.

This week concludes month one of actual teaching. As much as I would like to look back on this month with confidence in what I’ve “accomplished”…in retrospect I feel as though all of my efforts and “methods” (if you can even call them methods) were executed in every inaccurate way. 

                 Before leaving home the most repeated rule or guideline given by professors, education majors, and previous SM’s was as so ….”Whatever you do, do NOT smile for the first few couple months of teaching. The kids will lose respect.” I remember questioning whether that was a joke. There was no way I planned on keeping a straight face for more than a couple of hours much less a couple of months. Even IF I tried to hold off from smiling, I probably could not last half an hour….I just think the kids are too cute… and how much fun is being stern anyways? Needless to say I did not follow that rule.

My students make everything worth it

              As I look back over the month however, perhaps all of my efforts to be the “FUN” and happy teacher are exactly what have caused me to leave school every day barely standing.  Last week I mentioned the level of control I had over my classroom as being near to nothing and one of the other teachers questioned whether or not I was being “too much of a friend” and “too little of a teacher” making the students lose respect for me. Maybe I was not being serious enough. This was not said to me in a condescending matter of any sort, but I have to admit that I left the conversation a little insulted. I AM barely a year older than some of my students....HOW do I become “less of a friend and more of a teacher” to them? Someone please tell me HOW I am hypothetically able to do that having next to no training in educating others. Maybe all I want is a magic rule, some secret proverb, that tells me HOW I am supposed to find balance.

Finding balance between Cambodia and home, between being a teacher (which I literally am faking till I make it) and a friend to my students, between something as trivial but so challenging as knowing when I can smile and when I need to hold back….is more trying than I could have ever imagined.

            Balance is something that I have continually struggled with throughout my 20 years of life. What is more important today…studies or sleep… how much thought and energy, or maybe how little, should I or AM I going to put into this? How much do I consume, or do I even not? Can I sleep in all day or do I pull myself get out of bed? Do I need to make myself exercise right now….how much is too much…when do I let my body rest? How long do I hold on….when do I need to let go? What’s more important Amber…what’s MOST important? I usually have found answers to these nagging questions by trial and error…mostly resulting in error. So, balancing my “regular” life is hard. Balancing my “regular” life with my Cambodia life is a great deal, in many ways, harder than I ever could have imagined.

         I really have always been the type that openly welcomes a challenge and possibly even masochistically enjoys it….but even so, this experience is drawing out a whole new side of me; a side that is aware of it’s complete incompetence and inability. Although typically I try to take on everything about life independently and unaided…I am beginning to realize there is absolutely no possible way to take on this year as a student missionary, that is in such desperate need of balance, alone. Although I came here to Cambodia to serve others, I can feel God pulling at MY own heart, chiseling it in the midst of all of the chaos.

Let go, Amber. Let go.

So here I am God, admitting my insufficiency, and letting go for You.
           
Please guide me through this.

                        Please guide me through this. 

Prayer.

I have never been much of one to pray. When I pray, my mind tends to wander or I fall asleep, depending on the time of day it is. Maybe it's not something that a good Adventist, Christian girl is supposed to admit, but it's the truth. Before coming to Cambodia, previous SMs and mentors would always tell me how important prayer was in the mission field. I always wondered how that was going to work for me, when I wasn't the type of person to pray all the time. Being a counselor at camp and now a teacher, I pray in front of my kids multiple times on a daily basis. Sometimes I get frustrated with myself because I don't feel like I have the words that these kids need to hear. I end up praying to myself before hand, hoping that what I say in my prayer will hopefully click. Most of our students are not Christian, have never heard about God or know what the Bible is. Cambodia is more than 90% Buddhist, with less than half a percent of the population proclaiming to be Christian.

Today, I sat in the back of the classroom while Amber took attendance and had morning prayer. We switch on and off everyday, and today I was particularly glad I was the one sitting in the desk watching and listening. Since our first day of teaching, we have been trying to teach our students what a "prayer request" is. One day we finally reworded it from prayer request to just asking them if there was something they would like to pray for and that seemed to click. Amber today asked the kids if anyone had a silent request, and after 23 blank stares, she proceeded to explain that it could be something that they were too shy or embarrassed to say out loud, but that God still wanted us to pray for. A few of the older kids were slowly catching on, but the majority of the class still seemed pretty lost (some even closed their eyes and folded their hands because they thought her explanation was actually a prayer). After a few quick glances from her in my direction, I quickly chimed in "God knows everything. He knows exactly what you are thinking and everything that is on your heart." That produced a round of "really's" and "no ways" and I smiled to myself as Amber expanded on what I had just said. While I sat their listening to her explain, I said a quick prayer asking God to help them understand what we were saying. It seemed like they were slowly catching on.

There are so many days I feel like I'm not connecting with my kids at all, especially on a spiritual level. Yet on this day, it wasn't even 8 am yet, and this news that God always knew what they were thinking was, quite frankly, blowing their minds. I had to keep myself from laughing when one of the little boys looked at Amber and said "I know what you're thinking!" and Amber said, "No you don't, only God knows exactly what I'm thinking." After that response one of the little boys sitting next to my desk in the back, said somewhat to himself, "Oh man. I want to know what everyone is thinking."

Once they finally understood that only God can know everyone's thoughts, Amber asked one of the students if they would like to have morning prayer. This is also something that we have been trying to get someone to do since the first day. Everyday, when this question is asked, this very open, very obnoxiously loud class, becomes very silent and shy, and Amber or I end up praying. I thought it was going to end up the same way every other day had. They all complained that their English wasn't good enough or just a straight "No, cha." Once again, I chimed in from the back: "You can pray in Khmer if you want to, you don't have to pray in English," I said, hoping that this suggestion would make them more comfortable. Eventually one of our older students said she would, a student who had last week shared with us that one of her friends had recently died and she wanted to make sure that her friend had known God before she died. All the students obediently folded their hands, and closed their eyes. In a prayer that was so quiet I could not hear if she was praying in English or Khmer, our first student prayed in class.

I cannot explain to you how I felt as I sat desperately trying to hear the words she was saying. For the first time, I heard no one speak or even move a muscle during the entire prayer. They were all listening and praying along with her.

I know how uncomfortable praying in front of others can be for me, and to have one of the quietest students be willing to do something that many of the other students considered to be embarrassing really made me happy in a way that I cannot truly describe. Though my student may say "ul" (understand in Khmer) even when they don't, I hope today they did "ul" something.

-Alex 

     
Here they are! All 23 of our ESL homeroom kids! You would never know by this picture, but they are CRAZY. These little ones are consuming our life while we're here! Love them!