by Elizabeth
A good friend asked me when I’m going to blog again. My answer to her was: I don’t know. I’ve jotted down things to blog about for months. Light-hearted stuff about third culture kids, Cambodian traffic, or the educational differences between America and Cambodia. But I didn’t feel strongly enough about those topics to make myself blog about them.
by Elizabeth
As a good church of Christ girl, I faithfully attended Sunday morning Bible class, Sunday morning worship, Sunday evening worship, and Wednesday evening Bible class. Over the years, we studied Genesis, Exodus, Joshua, Judges, Israel as a unified kingdom, and Israel as a divided kingdom. Rather skipping over the prophets, we forged ahead to the New Testament, gave the Gospels a passing glance, undertook several iterations of Acts, and then gave particularly serious attention to the Roman and Corinthian letters.
I therefore thought I knew about the Bible.
by Elizabeth
(You can read Part 1 here.)
I’m not a crier. At least, I wasn’t, until I moved to Cambodia. I witness more pain and injustice here than I’m really equipped to handle. Consequently, I spent most of this hot season crying.
by Elizabeth
In this series, I will be discussing the way Cambodian culture and beliefs have affected me. It has been very difficult for me to write (and has taken me several months), because words feel so inadequate to convey my emotions about these things. We are told in Romans that the Spirit will intercede for us with “groanings that cannot be expressed in words.” I can only pray that the Spirit will intercede for me, and that somewhere in the space between my words and your hearts, He will translate for me.
Learning a new language, interacting with an unfamiliar culture and its customs, living near an orphanage, living near a house of girls rescued from human trafficking, all these things can make my life seem overly exotic to someone living in America.
And while it’s true that living cross-culturally has been known to eat away at my mental and emotional margin, most of my life is extraordinarily . . . ordinary. I wash dishes. I fold laundry. I brush my teeth. I often combine those last two.
I cook. I grocery shop. I get to the end of some days and ask myself just what am I going to feed these people tonight??
I fetch the Band-Aids. I scrub the bathroom. I take care of sick people.
I make sure that my children study and that they play. I make sure that they put away their own laundry and that they brush their own teeth (though not necessarily at the same time).
I get irritable for all the ordinary reasons: being tired, being hungry, being hot. And during certain times of the month, I freak out. Even if I’m not tired, hungry, or hot.
I like to spend time with my husband. I like to spend time with my friends. I like to spend time by myself. (Translation: I like to check Facebook.)
These are not extraordinary things. These are the very ordinary things of my life, and I feel very ordinary doing them. In fact, I did all these things back in America, including the one-handed-laundry-sort.
And maybe, just maybe, you do all these ordinary things too.
Jonathan & Elizabeth Trotter 