I wait in anticipation as I sit on the back of the moto that will take me and Catie to our next new adventure. I am beautifully overwhelmed by the many children who greet us, not knowing our names, but intrigued by the color of our skin. They pinch, pet, prod our arms and laugh, communicating their excitement with us despite the language barrier. As we walk to the classroom, the herd of kids compete for a spot on our arms. I want to tell them that they are beautiful. I want to ask them what their story is, and let them know that they are so loved by their creator. But as each class ends, I realize that I can’t tell them those things. We don’t share the same words. I become frustrated, not being able to talk to them, not being able to tell them these things. A language barrier is such a funny thing. Everything else is there, but there are words that can’t be expressed simply because the words that we speak 
aren’t the same. It drives me crazy! I have always had the ability to speak to kids when others can’t. In Mexico, I loved understanding the kids. Whenever anyone wanted to talk to the kids, they came to me for help, since I speak Spanish. So I’ve never experienced a complete inability to speak the language around me. But even with this language barrier, I have been learning so much. I have been learning humility in my time of speechlessness. I have been learning that although we may not share the same words, we share the same emotions. My students and I can communicate really well using one simple tool… laughter. We laugh when words fail. We laugh as they imitate our energetic speech and our eager tone. We laugh when the sudden rain on the tin roof makes it impossible to teach. We laugh as we run outside and dance in the pouring rain. We laugh and we laugh. I am able to love on these kids, and God has been showing me that I don’t have to utter a single word in order to do so. I am filled with joy as these kids love on us as well. I don’t need the same language to see the mischievous look in his eyes when Leap (my ministry host’s son) is coming in for a tickle sneak attack (which he does often). I don’t need to speak Khmer to swing him and his brothers around and plot who will be our next victim of his merciless tickling. And I have been learning that I would rather be able to laugh and communicate with my smile and my emotions than with my words any day.
P.S. Just a glimpse into daily life here in Cambodia:
After teaching English every day, I come back to the house I am staying. We sleep in the loft of our hosts home in hammocks and tents. He has graciously given up the whole second story of his living space to accommodate us. We live with him and his wife, his 4 boys (1 biological and 3 adopted), 4 dogs, and lots of ducks and chickens.It is Cambodia’s rainy season, so it rains almost every day. Despite the occasional drops of water from the roof as I sleep, I am so thankful to have a roof over my head to keep me dry. Outside our house there are 2 white boards for English classes that are taught during the day. Our host spends his time pouring into little kids so that they will have the opportunity to provide for themselves and live a good life in the future. His wife cooks three meals a day for us, most of them including rice and meat of some sort. Every day here looks similar, but also brings new challenges, emotional and physical. Some of us battle homesickness, while others battle stomach sickness. Every day has its ups and downs, but I wouldn’t change anything about it. I may be uncomfortable, but I have been experiencing so many new challenges and circumstances that are also allowing me to grow and be more vulnerable with myself and with others.
I have learned so much already… too much to put in one blog. Stay tuned for more to come!
