"Cambodier"

Tarantulas taste like chicken.

Deep fried chicken, and crispy—all eight legs eight crunches of squeamishness. Delicious.

I know this full well; I popped one stiff arachnid in my mouth, after letting a live one crawl on my arm and hand, while at a roadside fruit stand in Cambodia last week. All around me were children in bright, sagging clothing, holding sticky fingers full of pineapple and plantains in my face while I chewed and swallowed. They said to me, “Pineapple? You want pineapple? If you don’t buy, I won’t go to school.” More sticky fingers.

Wedged between Thailand and Vietnam, the Kingdom of Cambodia (or “Cambodier,” to our English-speaking guide, Siranuok) is wrapped in a gauze of heat and wet during summer months. Yellow bushes squat, grumpy, beneath palm trees, which are strung across the plains without pattern. The sky is the underbelly of some giant blue creature, stretching like a circus tent over Phnom Penh and Siem Reap—two cities my group visited for our Spring 2012 Educational Field Trip.

We left on a Wednesday and returned on a Monday, and in between we experienced the country our director calls both tragic and beautiful.

The Tragic

The people are smiles and short, with names like Eang and Keav. Some are a remnant of the genocide that occurred between April 1975 and January 1979, a four-year occupation of a rebel group known as the Khmer Rouge. Over 2 million Cambodians lost their lives to this regime. The story is hidden beneath layers of media coverage for the Vietnam war, disclosing an atrocity reminiscent of the Holocaust and another reason for the world to ask, “how could this happen, again?”

Before the Khmer Rouge grabbed power, a monarchy (followed by a short-lived democracy) led Cambodia politically. The war in Vietnam spread across Cambodia’s borders, however, and American bombs dropped death into Cambodia in attempt to destroy soldiers hiding there. The Cambodian people grew discontented with the government for failing to handle these invasions, and a civil war between the government and the Khmer Rouge ensued. On April 17, 1975, the Khmer Rouge entered Phnom Penh to the applause of thousands of happy Cambodians, glad to be free of their incompetent government and excited for the future. Soon, though, things went wrong. As Khmer Communism seeped into the country, forcing a sick sort of equality on everyone, people began to die. First the intellectuals, ex-government officials, foreigners, mixed Khmer and Chinese families, people who wore glasses. Colorful clothes burned, paper money lost all value except for use as toilet paper. City-dwellers relocated to villages to form a purely uneducated, agrarian society. If anyone disobeyed the Khmer Rouge, they disappeared.

In Phnom Penh, my group and I trudged quietly through Tuol Sleng Prison, or “S-21,” the primary holding site used by the Khmer Rouge to torture victims during their reign. The three buildings had previously comprised a school, but once education was no longer necessary, it became a waiting room for death.  Blood still soaks the walls, near the ceiling, and rusted bed frames sit silently, like old men, waiting for peace or escape.  The Killing Fields came after, one ditch after another after another, thirty years ago filled with bodies but now only with flowers.  There is a tree in the middle of the Fields, gnarled and ancient, beautiful, tall. It would be the perfect tree to hug, to climb, to sit beneath, if not for the sign next to it, which reads: “Magic tree. The tree was used as a tool to hang a loudspeaker which make sound louder to avoid the moan of victims while they were being executed.”

Today, the existing leaders of the Khmer Rouge stand trial to be punished for crimes against humanity. Amongst other things.

The Beautiful

Now, Cambodia is healing. Although the Khmer Rouge no longer plagues the country, brokenness still exists in the form of a thriving sex trafficking industry. The International Justice Mission, Daughters of Cambodia, Hagar Ministries, and other non-government organizations work to free and redeem the hearts and bodies of young girls taken captive for the trade. In the middle of Phnom Penh, one such NGO has concocted a beautiful and soft cupcakery, a place where ex-prostitutes can find safety, shelter, and work. The business refuses to advertise the histories of its employers, so the women know, when customers come along, they come for delicious cakes and not out of pity. The shop opens at 10 a.m. and closes at 5 p.m. so the employers can participate in morning Bible study. Although these hours do not cater to the typical 9a.m. to 5p.m. work crowd, God has been faithful to provide customers anyway. He provided thirty of us all at once, in fact, and our group sampled delicate and rich cupcake flavors—all with the fair trade label—like coffee cake with Bailey’s Irish Cream icing, orange poppyseed with passion fruit buttercream icing, dark chocolate hazelnut, and apple blueberry crumble. My own taste buds smiled through Oreo cheesecake cupcake and red velvet cupcake. All for a good cause, all for a good cause.

In the city of Siem Reap, Cambodia is a vending machine. The exchange rate for Khmer currency, the riel, is 4000 to $1. American money is circulated for convenience, and it seems everything costs one dollar.  One dollar in, one tuktuk (the Cambodian form of taxi, sort of a cart attached to the back of a motorcycle) ride out. One dollar in, one 20 minute “Dr. Fish” massage out (A “Dr. Fish” massage consists of one giant fish tank, and willing participants sit on the side and dangle their feet in the water, only to be swarmed by fish who proceed to gnaw the dead skin, calluses, and bacteria off toes and ankles. Pink, raw, ticklish feet emerge along with “happy people, or no charge!”). One dollar in, one bracelet, or sweet potato, or fried tarantula, out.

Travelers avalanche the country to visit Angkor Wat, one of the seven man-made wonders of the world. The temple is plopped in the jungle amidst other, smaller ruins. Angkor Thom, for instance. Ta Prohm. Banteay Srei. All constructed hundreds of years ago as Buddhist and Hindu sites of worship. Perhaps twas only wishful thinking, but to me, each ruin looked like gobs of dripping ice cream. One, mint chocolate, another cookies and cream, with brownies mixed in. Angkor Wat is dark chocolate, almost black. Deep and mysterious and brimming with carvings, secrets, and cacao.  I learned to plant rice around these ruins, cow brown mud squishing between my toes, water hugging my knees in the rice patties. I sat with a monkey around these ruins, watched him eat Pringles and love them. I rode an elephant around these ruins, thinking of ice cream and giddy to be so close to my favorite animal.

Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with this land of blue sky, bloodshed, palm trees, elephants, tuktuks.  One day, I think, I will return to love on more people, make sure those sticky-fingered children go to school, rescue ladies by eating cupcakes, things like that. I might even learn to speak Khmer, or eat another fried tarantula. Maybe.

"Smile with your liver."

Perhaps I am becoming a hedonist.

In the past seven days I have sipped on three different slices of chocolate cake, like silk.

This morning my friends and I bounced along in the sunshine to Mr. Pancake House for a rare breakfast treat—spinach mushroom omelet, airy pancakes and chips of dark chocolate on the side—instead of doing homework. During Tai Chi class, the three other girls and I asked our instructor to let us learn in the park today. He said yes. For an hour, we were the local live entertainment as we attempted to develop grace, flexibility, and agility in the dappled sunlight. Afterward I stretched on my bathing suit, which hasn’t left my drawer since Christmas in Hawaii, laid a towel on the lawn, and lollied there “bathing” while reading my Film textbook.  The sun is such good soap.

Every other night I read my roommates child stories like Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs or Stellaluna orOld Jake’s Skirts or The True Story of the Three Little Pigs. Lindsay falls asleep before I finish, and I feel like a mom.

This weekend I watched Eat Pray Love and learned to smile with everything I have—even my liver. A grinning Italian in the movie spoke words that particularly grabbed my attention: “Americans know entertainment, but they don’t know pleasure.”

We know entertainment, but we don’t know pleasure. We know how to party, but we don’t know how to celebrate. We know thrills, but we don’t know savor.

We know how to do nothing, but we don’t know rest.

This truth has found me tangled in a schedule of busyness and business, calendars and to-do lists and strained sleep and no time to read or play. When I do find that flighty moment of freedom, I sit and stare, or sleep, or try to relax and prepare for the next onslaught of forced productivity. But I do not rest.

So now I am on a quest. For pleasure, for celebration, for savor, for rest.

Life is beauty, and a waist is a terrible thing to mind, and love is meant to be risky and fierce and deep, and sunshine is only felt on the skin, not through a window or TV screen, and believing in Jesus is a relationship, and time passes whether or not we make the right grades or say the right things or play it safe, and Sabbath is still a commandment.

Without asking anyone, without consulting my schedule, without convincing myself not to do it, I bought myself a plane ticket to Italy. I will be tasting Florence two weeks from today.

Maybe I’ll learn something from those grinning Italians. In the meantime, though, I think it’s time for a good nap.

Rocks III

I’ve been picking up rocks of God recently. Turning them over in my mind, cracking them open to see the colors inside, examining them and setting them back down. I keep walking and picking up rocks, rough, cold, smooth, soft to my fingers. And then I set them back down and continue along. And after I set one down, I know there will always be another one to pick up. I will always have something to listen to, to learn from, to ponder, to toss back and forth between my hands, to fill my pockets. I will never be able to pick up all the rocks of God.

The Third Rock:

I had a dream recently about two groups of people. The group on the left consisted of nonChristians I know, and the group on the right consisted of Christians I know. In the dream I was placed in the middle of them and had the opportunity to listen to both conversations happening simultaneously. On the right, the Christians were discussing Jesus with the usual Christian vernacular that pervades Christian speech. Words like “sin” and “forgiveness” and “the Cross” and “blessings” and “Satan” and “salvation” and “resurrection." All said with love, all said in gentleness, all said with certainty and a sense of finality, from the mouths of people I love and associate myself with.

On the other side, the nonChristians were not talking, but were rather listening. Although I could not hear their words, I felt their emotions as they listened. The emotions were collective, and (if I am to interpret this dream) represent the many conversations I’ve had with the people in this Jia who have felt jaded, embittered, judged, and threatened by the Christian vernacular, however loving, happening on the other side. It was as if, for one of the first times in my life, I could step back from the Christian group and empathize and understand how it feels to be on the outside looking in.

Somehow related to this dream, something I’ve been pondering, is fat. My mom is an anesthesiologist, and she says that fat can cause quite a bit of difficulty for doctors in surgery. Overweight and obese patients have much riskier surgeries because of the interference of fat in the procedure. Well, God has been revealing myself to me through various mirrors, and one of the things I’ve sort of received from Him is a picture of fat. A picture of Him performing surgery on my heart, and encountering a big chunk of bloody fat right smack in the middle of the procedure. I know this fat to be arrogance. An arrogance that is both pride and stubbornness, an arrogance that creates an “us” and “them” mentality within me as I group myself with people I like and relate to and group myself away from people I disagree with or find disagreeable. I am arrogant, and this fat is getting in the way of God healing my heart. I think I am arrogant in one sense because of the belief that Christians should have answers. I have scraped through conversations with nonChristians simply because I tried to give them answers, regardless of whether I knew the answers or not. I have made myself seem better, my life seem better, or less pain-filled, or less confusing, simply on the foundation of knowing “the answers.” I have been arrogant with answers.

So let me clear something up here. I follow Jesus. I follow Jesus and my life is confusing, and broken at times, and I often find myself at a loss for answers, and sometimes I get afraid, and I get angry at injustice and pain and I question God Himself and most of the time I just don’t get it. But I will still follow Jesus. That much I know.

And I’m also starting to understand something else about questions and answers. By its very definition, faith seems to be more of a question than an answer. Which perfectly fits into Jesus' whole inside-out, upside-down Kingdom idea. We want to know the right answers. He wants us to know the right questions. Maybe instead of searching for nicely worded Christian answers, we should be searching for questions like, “what does it look like to love the person next to me?”

Because it seems that Jesus was less of an “us” and “them” type person and more of a “we” type person. Actually, He typically could be seen hanging out with the “them’s” more than the “us’s,” an action that humbled those in higher positions and exalted those in lower positions, effectively leveling the planes and creating “we.”

And so I can only hope that, through proper diet and exercise, my fat will burn and God will have a direct path to perform whatever surgery on my heart. Maybe the surgery involves instilling a sort of humility in me, a sort of empathy for the hearts of all people. Christian or nonChristian, “us” or “them,” “me” or “you.”

And just maybe, you and I can create “we” as we search together for the right questions.

Rocks II

I’ve been picking up rocks of God recently. Turning them over in my mind, cracking them open to see the colors inside, examining them and setting them back down. I keep walking and picking up rocks, rough, cold, smooth, soft to my fingers. And then I set them back down and continue along. And after I set one down, I know there will always be another one to pick up. I will always have something to listen to, to learn from, to ponder, to toss back and forth between my hands, to fill my pockets. I will never be able to pick up all the rocks of God.

The Second Rock:

“Are you a missionary, or are you just studying?”

I am often asked this question in China. And I often find myself stuttering over an answer. Am I a missionary, or am I just studying? Just studying? Or? Missionary? What do these words mean? Why does the question imply that I can’t do both?

The answer lies in the separation of the “secular” and the “spiritual.”

(I would be very interested to see someone dissect Jesus’ life into “spiritual” and “secular” components.)

For quite a long time, Christians have been spreading the Gospel of Salvation. Many things could be said about this Gospel, both good and bad, but for my purposes here I will simply note its existence and its tendency to separate life into spiritual and secular. Usually, physical things like the earth and the flesh and chocolate and dead dogs fall into the basket of “secular.” Anything that doesn’t have a shape or a taste or a smell, basically, anything invisible, falls into the “spiritual” and therefore more important basket. So basically we have these two baskets, and one of them, the one with the entirety of creation inside (minus any sort of soul), is declared unimportant and set in the corner to await its fiery demise.

Hm.

Well at this moment, I am more concerned with a new (old) Gospel that is emerging in the heart of the global Church. The Gospel of the Kingdom.

The Gospel of the Kingdom focuses on the idea that the Kingdom of Heaven has come and is coming to earth in a physical, earthy sort of way. It is not merely concerned with “converts” or “salvations” or “saving souls.” It is concerned with bringing light and good and truth to earth in this lifetime, today, joining in God’s redemption plan for all of creation. Here, now.

Basically, the Gospel of the Kingdom infers that everything we plant, work for, build up, tear down, foster, destroy—everything we do, matters.

I’ve been reading Romans, and James, and other snippets here and there, and I’ve noticed that good, true, light, and pure things apparently come from God. I’ve read my way through the Garden of Eden, and through Jesus’ life (which he spent healing and teaching and feeding, three very physical acts of service) and through Jesus’ death and resurrection (a very physical resurrection, by the way), and through words about the end times, and I’ve noticed a recurring message of restoration, purification, and redemption dappled throughout the pages of these stories. It’s almost as if the nonspiritual basket, the one with sunsets and poodles inside, had significance.

I’ve prayed, and discussed, and thought, and written, and tasted physical foods like watermelon and cookie dough that must somehow make it into the “spiritual” basket (oh please oh please oh please), and I’ve come to the realization that God “saw that it was good.” It being a vague qualifier for almost any noun. Noun insinuating some sort of person, place, thing, animal, vegetable, or mineral—basically anything physical.

God saw that the physical things He had made were good. And then something happened in the Garden that brought pain and brokenness into the world, and then God set about rescuing and redeeming all of us by sending perhaps the ultimate good Thing, His Son Jesus, to live physically, die physically, and then be physically resurrected. Essentially, if Adam set the destruction process for all good things in motion, then Jesus set the redemption process for all good things in motion.

And so we are here, now, with the job of joining and spurring along that redemption process in the hope that all good things will be resurrected in the end.

All good things will be resurrected in the end.

An idea which lends a certain focus for our lives, our relationships, our careers, our hobbies, our politics, our gardening talents—all of which, it turns out, matter very much. And suppose the inverse is also true. If all good things will be resurrected in the end, then accordingly, all bad things will be destroyed in the end. An idea which also lends a certain focus for our lives. Knowing that evil things, that dark things, that broken things, that death-bringing things will be destroyed ultimately, and knowing that all good things will be resurrected, perhaps we would pursue more of the good and set the bad in a basket in the corner to await its fiery demise.

And perhaps, who knows? This last bit here is only me writing and thinking, pondering and wondering. I am not trying to pretend what I am about to write is unflawed. However, I am thinking it so I will write it: Perhaps, if these two ideas are true, then we ought to be filling our own lives and our own souls with good things, rather than bad things, so that we will remain even after all bad things are destroyed. If I am a basket and you are a basket, and we fill our baskets only with things that produce death, brokenness, hate, and pain, what will be left when those things do not resurrect with the risen Christ?

Rocks I

I’ve been picking up rocks of God recently. Turning them over in my mind, cracking them open to see the colors inside, examining them and setting them back down. I keep walking and picking up rocks, rough, cold, smooth, soft to my fingers. And then I set them back down and continue along. And after I set one down, I know there will always be another one to pick up. I will always have something to listen to, to learn from, to ponder, to toss back and forth between my hands, to fill my pockets. I will never be able to pick up all the rocks of God.

The First Rock:

For Lent I decided to study homosexuality. At home in Malibu, Pepperdine University has been in the process of deciding whether or not to recognize Reach OUT, “a student-run organization that represents and serves the LGBT community at Pepperdine,” as a member of the Inter-Club Council (ICC)*.  The decision to officially recognize Reach OUT would grant, along with the recognition, all of the perks and responsibilities that come with being an official school club. Although Pepperdine has officially responded with “no,” the debate continues. Two weeks ago, I received in my inbox a one-question survey asking whether or not I think Pepperdine should allow Reach OUT to become an official member of the ICC. Only two blanks were available. Yes, or No. I pondered the question for an hour, sent in my response, and resolved to study the perspectives, facts, rumors, Scriptures, and political stances regarding homosexuality. For Lent.

This journey has led me to an unexpected destination, a location that has far less to do with sexual orientation and far more to do with a crucial, and yet often-overlooked, characteristic of the man/God Jesus.

I began the journey by scouring articles and blogs** about homosexuality. When I read these articles and blogs, I do not merely read the posts. I read the public’s commentary beneath the posts. And on most articles (not every one, but most), I have noticed a trend of anger, dissension, polarization, and arrogance that pervades many of the comments. In a word, hate. Hate between “us” and “them,” “Christian” and “Non-Christian,” “liberal” and “conservative” and other such divisive labels. The trend does not limit itself to the topic of homosexuality. Rather, many Web articles and blogs concerning theology, religion, God, salvation, etc. seem to create a highly energized environment of people trying to prove other people wrong.

It was during one of my “study” breaks, however, that I discovered the most interesting thing of all. The band Safety Suit has become one of my favorites, and while I listened to their new album the other day I decided, upon the recommendation of a friend, to watch their music video for the song These Times***. The pervading chorus of the song is simple yet hopeful, repeatedly confirming, “these times are hard, but they will pass.” They will pass. For the video, the band requested the public to post videos sharing why “these times are hard.” And the public responded. Each video depicts a single person holding a poster board with words like, “My mom has cancer” and “We lost our home” and “Anorexia surrounds me.” These videos are sprinkled throughout the entire music video, along with current statistics concerning poverty, unemployment rates, deaths related to cancer, teen suicide, etc.

I cried while watching, both empty and full once again because of pain in the world. And, out of habit, I scrolled down to review the public’s commentary on the video. Immediately I kept reading. Page after page after page, I couldn’t stop.

In the comments, people had posted more stories, more reasons why “these times are hard.”

·      “Lost my Mom to suicide.. It's been a struggle but I know it will pass.. Love you always Mom we miss you..”

·      “i lost my boyfriend in a car accident i do sometimes call his number to hear his voice but ive learned that hes not coming back and the realization kills me every time this song really helps out”

·      “6 years ago my dad died in front of my eyes... just colapsed and died. I'm still waiting for it to pass”

·      “Sometimes, all the crap of the world is overwhelming, but knowing there are other people dealing with the same things is a little comforting--It makes me feel as if even in this vast world of endless hardships, at least we're all connected, you know?”

I kept reading and I realized that these comments were missing something that pervades the comments beneath the blogs about theology and God and religion: hate. It was as if this problem of pain had somehow created a gentleness in each person, an empathy, and a knowledge that everyone, everywhere has struggled, is struggling, and will struggle.

The conclusion of my observations seemed to indicate that religion divides, and, according to these posts, pain unites.

Abandoning my first study of homosexuality (which will resume shortly), I determined to answer the question, “Where is God in all of this?”

It seems that, if I were to imagine a dialogue between Joseph Smith, and Mohammed, and Confucius, and Buddha, and the Pope, and the American, modern-Christian Jesus (who, to me, seems to be a stylized, fictional character who points his finger and spouts judgments on the masses), the dialogue (or rather, debate) would take place in the public commentary beneath the theology blogs. People would refresh their pages in rapt attention, following one blazing, polarizing opinion after another. They would probably be eating popcorn, come to think of it. Sitting and eating popcorn and watching these religious heads try to prove each other wrong.

And off in a corner of YouTube somewhere, would be a Rabbi named Jesus, watching the These Times music video by a band called Safety Suit. He might watch and cry, and read the stories of people who have watched and cried before Him. Then, Jesus might share His own story. He might post a comment, or send in a video of him, holding a poster board that might say:

“I was crucified, though I did nothing wrong.”

Religion divides, pain unites. And if I’ve learned anything in my time in this Jia, in this strange country of China, in this heart, it is this: Jesus is always bigger. He is always bigger than religion and theology and Christianity (yes, even this). But even so, despite His bigness, or perhaps because of His bigness, He chose to come down and sit in the pain right alongside us. He became one of us, to be united with us through the shared experienced of struggle and brokenness.

So may the world, and may the Christians, stop fighting and start sharing. May we set down our popcorn and our ravenous desire to prove someone else wrong, plop beside the person next to us and listen to why these times are hard.

May we be like Jesus.

* “Reach OUT, as a student organization at Pepperdine, affirms that diversity is a critical component to a liberal arts education.  We aspire to contribute to the University community by helping ‘to insure full engagement of diversity-related issues, and to become a clear reflection of the communities we serve.’ (Andrew K. Benton, Envisioning a Bold Future 2001).  Reach OUT exists to support and serve the LGBT students at Pepperdine, and in this capacity it will:

1.      Create a safe space where LGBT students and their peers may comfortably ask questions and confidently express themselves.

2.      Regularly hold social events wherein students may interact with one another, developing healthy, lasting friendships and sharing common experiences.

3.      Perform community service events related to the treatment and well-being of the LGBT community and people as a whole.

4.      Inform the student body of issues pertinent to the LGBT community and to initiate dialogue concerning those issues.

5.      Disarm destructive stereotypes surrounding the LGBT community.

6.      Construct bridges of mutual understanding and respect between members of the LGBT community and their peers.

7.      Facilitate constructive dialogue concerning spirituality, and Christianity in particular, as it relates to issues surrounding sexual orientation and gender identity.” (Reach Out Constitution, Bylaws, Section III)"

** One in particular has been especially beneficial and is devoid of the nastiness and hate I mention later in this post. I encourage anyone to explore it and learn from it. http://www.oddmanout.net/

*** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TOS1GaxqAkI

South of the Clouds

I thought a visual would do. Yunnan Celebration Video, Spring Break 2012.