Senses of Cambodia

I see 36 children living in the New Hope Orphanage, laughing together, playing together, eating meals together. riding bikes to school, coming home to hang out. I see the older kids taking care of the younger ones as a family would do.

I hear blasting music for over a week from a nearby village celebrating a wedding.

I feel slightly more at home whenever I use those American dolla dolla bills to pay for something. (Who knew Cambodians incorporate USD in their currency!?)

I see Buddhist temples every few miles. I walk through them in awe of the detail engraved and painted into the structures. I mourn the realities of the people who believe in worshipping manmade idols, convinced they have to earn their salvation through pain, rituals, and sacrifice.

I smell the aroma of fresh flowers, given to us by orphan boys who picked them at the local temples. (oops…)

I hear stories of kid’s past lives. Parents still alive, not able to afford food, or parents and siblings having passed away. I feel sadness, wishing for whole, stable families to raise each and every one.

I see a kid come over and sit down by me after night worship, take out a band-aid, and carefully place it over the cut on my leg. I felt my heart melt down to nothing in that moment. 

I feel grief, horror, and deep distress when visiting S-21. Once an elementary school, used to further a country, turned into the opposite; an interrogation and torturing prison during “The Killing Fields” genocide in Cambodia during the 1970’s.

I hear New Hope kids running behind me, calling out my name or “sista”, wanting to join me on my morning runs. I feel them grab a hand on each side.

I see a cluster of cows at every house and laugh as I rise the dare of tapping one as we drive down the road.

I see two young married couples loving children, taking great care of our team, and running the orphanage with joy, laughter, and faith deeply rooted in Christ.

I smell the fumes of paint all day as we create a mural at the orphanage.

I hear soft prayers and casting of visions from my teammates as we take prayer walks through town and over future building structures of New Hope Orphanage.

I hear little voices singing great praise to God each night; eyes closed and hands lifted

I feel a girl spell out “I love you” on my arm with her finger during worship.

I hear kids yelling my name and the names of my teammates as we walk by, calling us to join them in games.

I taste seasoned worms, crickets, and tranchulas. I slightly taste regret after buying in to peer pressure.

I see village children running around half naked. Apparently its just a normal thing here. #cam-BOODY-a

I taste the best mango of my life and JACKFRUIT. Asia’s best fruit of all.

I see my team being honest and vulnerable with one another about struggling through month 6, wanting to be home and with family, yet still going out to live amongst the locals and love well.

I hear 40 different children say “I love you” to each girl on my squad in a video our guys made for us on Valentines Day.

I see my host go above and beyond to make us feel at home and show us the best of Cambodia.

I hear my team cheer after each shooting star we see at night in a dirt field.

I feel joy and uncontrollable laughter while my team dances in a dirt field for team time. I hear the music blast through the speaker. I see children ride by on bikes, some get off and join us in the laughter, hesitant to join in on the dancing.

I see DAD’s. Dads all over the community. The first country on the race. Dad’s caring for children, playing soccer, eating dinner at home. Men deeply rooted and involved in their villages. I see families.

I hear roosters and chickens. ALL.THE.TIME. (I feel myself go insane)

I see my team sleep in tents, use squatty potties and bucket showers like total bosses, knowing it is a part of the journey and we are blessed in the circumstances.

I taste special tea drinks our host’s wife made for us during our fast. I feel her care and support.

I’ve felt sick most of the month.

I taste grape jelly combined with toast for a makeshift communion with my team.

I smell musky air and dirt, reminding me of Africa. Bringing me back to good times and bringing me into new good times.

I taste smoothies, beef soup, rice, noodles, and cow brain soup. A gift given to us by our host and his wife for our first meal after three days.

I smell cooked rice, vegetables, and mystery meat at every meal; cooked for our team by a precious elderly Cambodian woman.

I feel dry, dirty and hot. At all times.

I see three puppies running around our site, stealing our hearts.

I feel the bumpy dirt road as my team is driven in the bed of a Tuk-Tuk a few miles away to watch the sunset. In that moment, I feel completely satisfied.

I hear words of encouragement and bold truths spoken in love to one another during feedback, team time, and meal time.

I smell smoke from neighbors burning their trash down the road.

I see 36 children fighting for attention, wanting to be held, hugged, taught, tickled, loved and seen.

I hear kind words of encouragement and instructions from a teammate helping me climb a temple to watch the sunrise.

I feel hungry, empty and incredibly alive during a three day fast with my team. I hear God’s voice, feel His presence, and see His beauty incredibly more than normal. I feel in tune with Him again.