I hear the rooster crow, and I awake from sleeping in my hammock outside all night, only to realize that it’s still dark and about 4:30 in the morning.
Introducing the dumbest rooster in all of Cambodia.
After going back to sleep for a few hours, I begin to wake up a second time, but without getting out of my hammock, I spend the next hour or so reading and talking to God. Then I check for any new mosquito bites. I count three new ones, so I pray over each one that it doesn’t contain Dengue or Malaria.
Getting out of my hammock, I walk through the mud to get to the outdoor kitchen. I pour some hot water into oatmeal flakes and add some raisins to make it somewhat enjoyable.
Mornings are often spent building a new grass hut kitchen, working in the rice fields, or visiting the homes of the sick and elderly in our village.
The first round of kids begin to arrive. They are excited and ready to play with the white people. They mimic every move we make thinking that it’s a white person game. When in all reality we just really needed to flick off the giant spider climbing up our leg.
After killing the chickens for lunch and dinner, we sit down at the table for lunch. Don’t mind the dogs, chickens, ducks, and geese pecking at your feet. Just keep kicking them and they will eventually go away. After we finish our chicken and rice, we throw our chicken bones to the chickens to pick at. Yes, ironic isn’t it?
Back to the hammock, a power nap is in order to prepare for the insanity that will soon ensue. Suddenly, I am awoken by a 13 year old Cambodian boy who finds me fascinating, and continues to touch me everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
I play with the crowd of kids for a while and then push them toward the grass hut that is my classroom. Occasionally, I have to run outside to stop the cows from literally eating the grass roof of my classroom. I teach them a new English word and hold back the laughter when I ask a student to spell the world “milk” on the whiteboard, and she proceeds to write out “sihee“. After teaching them for nearly two hours, we learn a new Bible verse and finish off class by praying together. Simultaneously, I pray and ask God to explain to the kids that this love I am giving them is from Him.
Sometimes, I go to my secret stash of my two dozen Dr. Pepper’s that I miraculously found in a grocery store a few hours away and drink one to give myself a little comfort from home. It’s kind of become a game to me, to let the locals try my Dr. Pepper and watch their face get all wrinkly and quickly hand it back to me. Got it. Cambodians hate Dr. Pepper.
After class, I rejoice to see that it is raining, meaning that I get to shower today! I quickly run to get my soap and shampoo. If there is enough rain fall, I may even do my laundry too.
After feeling somewhat clean, I return to my hammock, kick out the chicken that has found its way inside, and spend more time with God.
Dinner: chicken and rice, just like every meal.
After dinner, I spend some time talking with Vuthy, our ministry contact. He grew up in the village, but dreamed of living in the city, so he left for Phnom Penh and began driving a Tuk-Tuk– getting drunk every day. Then one day, he drove a group of Christians, and their simple interaction with him has now progressed into Vuthy coming to know the Lord and starting a ministry reaching out to the surrounding villages in his community. Already, he has seen many come to the Lord and has trained them to be sent out as missionaries throughout Cambodia.
After hanging out with Vuthy, I gather the team to do what I thought two months ago was crazy: feedback.
We spend time giving each other feedback on how we are treating one another, carrying out ministry, and just how we are living. Sometimes, it sucks to receive constructive feedback, but we have learned to listen and receive it and ask the Lord and each other for help on growth in certain areas. Feedback has now become one of my favorite parts of the day.
Yes, I then head back to my hammock. I debrief the day with God, and slowly drift off into my nightly coma.
I have slipped into a routine here in Cambodia, but every day I ask God for a new perspective, and a new lesson, and a new brokenness for Him.
Every day is the same: it’s never predictable, and it’s always adventurous.
