This month in Cambodia the Wolfpack (my team) has been asked to wear many hats. Some look ridiculous and uncomfortable, but entertaining for all to witness, and others seem to fit like they have had it their whole lives.
So far this month we have taught preschool, worked in our host’s shop, prepared meals to be cooked, and taught English classes.
Come to find out, the hat that looks the most ridiculous on me is my attempt at teaching English. One of our resident video makers, Molly, has said multiple times this week she wanted to just be where I was to witness the amusement sure to come, and film my inevitable demise. Thanks for that vote of confidence, Molly.
Well I am pretty sure I delivered when on the first day my class of six to ten year olds stared blankly at me as I tried to explain an alphabet game to them. Their usual teacher was running late so I was flying blind here.
The classroom was held behind a restaurant/house on the dirt floor with desks that are well passed their prime. But they had white boards, so at least I could write letters and numbers to feel out what the students knew.
I have found the more flustered I get, the more words I use to try and explain myself and it turns into a tornado of confusion, myself included.
And imagine me going into an animated word tornado in English when all these kids understand anyways is Khmer. It was a mess.
And when the teacher finally arrived the relief was physically visible in my demeanor as I explained to her I was sorry and please take the white board marker from me before I further embarrass myself.
So I found some puppies in the tool shed behind the house that I attempted to befriend while the teacher, who was a freshman in high school, gave structure to the class.
Day two of teaching was a little more successful, however, but just as full of surprises.
Our host dropped us off outside a different classroom where Molly and I were to be teaching that evening. And when I say classroom, I use the term loosely as I stared at the three-wall garage holed up underneath the house it was being rented from. The fourth wall just opened straight on to the dirt road.
We started off with simple flashcards with pictures on them and the students repeated back to us in their monotonous, robotic tone…
Ap-ple. Coo-kies. Baaall. Sleeed (the word was slide)…
Meanwhile, Molly, who actually is a teacher in the States and looks like a total natural wearing this hat, is telling me I will never be a teacher unless I learned to write faster on the white board. I guess I can write ‘teacher’ on my list of things I knew I would never be anyways.
But there is still a child like giddiness in me that comes up every time I get to write on a whiteboard. So I am taking joy writing at my less than-your-average-teacher pace on the board while we called students up to read the words.
Next thing I know, there is a ruckus at our feet as chickens and roosters come meandering through. The unphased, glazed over look on our students’ faces told me that this was a normalcy, nothing to get excited about.
Cool. Just chickens disrupting my already less than focused attention span.
So while Molly is completely collected and moves onto teaching math, I am over here trying to keep it together at the hilarity of the chickens running around at our feet. Molly gives me a reassuring and understanding look that says, ‘Get yourself together, but yes, this is not what happens in a normal classroom.’
While we did addition with the students, their usual teacher sprayed Raid at our feet and in the crevices of the open room.
I could not help but think, ‘Yup, this is my life. This is what I envisioned when I signed up for this thing.’
As we wrapped up the class that evening and we politely declined the teacher’s invitation to show us his pet ducks in the back of his house, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for having Molly standing there to experience the absurdity of the evening, and what was sure to extend into the rest of the month, with me.
Because you see, the RTB Wolfpack has been experiencing some serious spiritual warfare since entering Cambodia and it has been a week of crazy ups and downs for us. The enemy has come in and tried to separate us as we strive to go deeper with Jesus as a team and each other.
The enemy knows the power of what we are capable of when we stand beside one another and tell Satan he has no home here.
I read a quote the other day that could not describe it any better.
“If you saw the size of the blessing coming, you’d understand the magnitude of the battle you’re fighting.”
And right now we are in the battle. We are ending our Race in less than TWO months, but Jesus is not done with us yet.
So for now I will relish the moments when chickens or puppies disrupt me and our teacher fumigates the classroom while we teach.
Because these will be memories I will have for a lifetime, with friends who stand beside me and laugh as I attempt what is not my skill set, but encourage and love me through it.
For now I will fight the enemy and pray against the spiritual warfare coming against us.
I will simply be thankful, because I am sure if I ever enter into a classroom again in the States, I will never find as much enjoyment in it as I did when chickens ran around at my feet.
