Elizabeth’s

A Good Day

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– By Elizabeth

I had a good day today.

Yes, it’s true.

I had a good day yesterday too.  And not just “good for Cambodia,” but honest to goodness, downright good.

Last November I climbed a 20 foot pole.  And jumped off it.  (I know you’re all asking yourselves if this is the same non-athletic Elizabeth Hunzinger you thought you knew.)  I climbed it with no fear.  But when I got to the top, I froze.  The transition from crouching at the top of the pole to standing on the top of the pole was incredibly frightening.  It’s the shortest part, about 1 second of motion, but it’s the most difficult.  And I needed Jonathan to coach me through it.  Once I was standing, I felt fine again.

It’s the same in labor.  Transition, that part of labor just before full dilation, is the shortest part.  It’s also the most intense and the place where a mom doubts herself.  She needs help to get through it.  (Jonathan claims that since he did this for me 4 times, I owe him 4 doula fees).

At MTI last fall we learned about the “Chaos Bridge,” which is an analogy for transition (or “transsizion,” as our South African SPLICE leader called it).  We start out settled and stable, move into unsettled with all its farewells, and then into the bouncy bubbly transition.  We start to come out of it while resettling, and then finally reach a new settled state.

When I was neck deep in missionary transition, you supported me with prayers and encouragement.  I couldn’t have made it through without your doula-ing, as all my birthie friends would say.

Transition.  The most terrible part.  The shortest part.  Now I know with certainty that it doesn’t last forever.  And I can assure the next person I see experiencing transition that it does indeed end.  It’s painful, but it won’t last long.  Not much longer now.  I promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4

How Beautiful

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– By Elizabeth

How beautiful the hands that served

The wine and the bread and the sons of the earth

How beautiful the feet that walked

The long dusty roads and the hill to the cross

———-

Tonight I sat outside our door and watched my sons scooter, race, and jump in our dead-end street.  I like sitting out there.  It feels peaceful.  I watch people come and go on motos and bicycles, and I watch them turn on the outdoor spicket and rinse their filthy feet before entering their houses.  And I wonder how dirty were the feet that Jesus washed the night before He died?  I see how grimy my sons’ feet get, but they wash their own feet, so I don’t have to.

———-

How beautiful the heart that bled

That took all my sin and bore it instead

How beautiful the tender eyes

That chose to forgive and never despise

———-

I watch the orphanage children play with each other and with my boys.  They smile, and their teeth are black with decay.   I watch a teen girl pry lice out of the orphanage manager’s hair for 30 minutes.  And I think, Jesus was not afraid of these people.  He did not despise them.  Should I?

———-

And as He laid down His life

We offer this sacrifice

That we should live just as he died

Willing to pay the price

 

How beautiful the radiant bride

Who waits for her groom with His light in her eyes

How beautiful when humble hearts give

The fruit of pure lives so that others may live

 

How beautiful the feet that bring

The sound of good news and the love of the King

How beautiful the hands that serve

The wine and the bread and the sons of the earth

———-

Yes, it’s true, I love Twila Paris.  She gets it right every time.

The Saga of Sorya

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By Elizabeth

The Trotters want a TV and DVD player. We plan to drive to Sorya Mall, near the Central Market, after church. Mistake #1: Driving somewhere you’ve never driven before in a foreign country. Mistake #2: Doing it on a Sunday afternoon. There are lots of one way streets near the Central Market, and although we have a map, I misread it, and we drive in approximate circles for awhile. Then we find the hidden entrance to the parking garage. It’s 5 stories high.

Parking, next challenge. Success! Jonathan is becoming quite adept at driving and parking here. I on the other hand am not even attempting yet. My husband’s heart would probably stop if I tried. But back to the mall. And all the people at the mall. We hold our babies close and try to find the floor that has the electronics store. Remember there are 5 floors. All full of people staring at us. Like caged circus animals. Yet again. We find the store, and the kids and I plop down at a table to wait while Papa picks out the cheapest TV and DVD player he can find. Remember this is also where the ultra-elite Cambodian wealthy shop, and it’s expensive. He’s not sure if the DVD player will play our American DVD’s since the regions are different, but the employee assures him it will, and we pay and leave.

But. We’ve promised the kids ice cream at Lucky Burger. So we find Lucky (First we try a few different floors. Remember there are 5). More people staring. Actually, there were no Asians in that burger joint who WEREN’T staring at us. There were 2 white people. They weren’t staring. I am highly irritated. I’ve always been invisible in life, the unremarkable nerd who doesn’t attract attention. And I’m exhausted. It’s past 2 and we haven’t eaten lunch, and the journey to the mall was tiring to begin with. Hannah runs into a table and cries, and Jonathan starts to order. Half naked women are on TV, and Isaac has a hard time not looking at screens. We do all enjoy our ice cream. It actually tastes just like McDonald’s soft serve. Yummm. Now people start taking pictures of the white alien creatures. Time to go.

Time to drive home. A drive during which Jonathan gets stuck in an intersection when the cross traffic starts coming. Yikes. We make it through. Phew! Yikes. There are those police officers again. Phew, they want less money this time. Time to get home. Where we can set up the DVD player and see if it works. Phew. It does. The Incredibles is playing as I type.

Now I’m home, and I like to say my home is like the Embassy. It’s American soil. A Christian nation. And no matter what each day brings to me, at the end of it, I count myself blessed because I have a husband who welcomes me with open arms.

A Trip to Lucky

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By Elizabeth

I braved Lucky on a Saturday evening. I have a love-hate relationship with Lucky. For one, I am very thankful there’s even a grocery store here and I am fully funded and can shop at it. That I love. But the experience of Lucky is something I could do without.

I fill my CVS-size shopping cart to the brim while people stare and point. They touch Faith and laugh when she cringes. The carts don’t maneuver well when empty, and certainly not when full. Many items are not in English, or only partly in English, so finding what you want is tough, and deciding how many to get is tougher. About halfway through my list, my brain stops working. I am already pretty embarrassed that I’m white. Additionally I have a full cart (Cambodians tend to go to the market daily and buy less). It’s only enough food for a family of 6 big eaters for one week, though. I branch out this week to the produce section. Every other time I am too exhausted after picking out the staples. . . Next week I might foray into beef and chicken.

At the very end, with Faith whining at the bananas I squeezed into her seat, and with people staring at me, I pick up my last item — the kind of mop and bucket my house helper needs. I push the overflowing cart with one hand, and pull the rolling bucket and mop with the other, through impossibly narrow aisles to the checkout counter, where I hope and pray Jonathan Trotter is done with his shopping elsewhere in the mall. He has the cash, you see. He arrives, I avoid crying for the time being. A total of 4 ladies help me at this point. When the cashier can’t find the price on the cheese, another emplyee runs to the refridgerator section, and when she returns with the price, speaking in Khmer, they all laugh hysterically. Jonathan pays, and we leave.

When we arrive home, after unloading and getting the kids a snack b/c it is now past bedtime (meaning Jonathan had to drive in the dark which is always stressful), we discover the source of the ant problem I’ve had this week. Ants in my precious brown rice (have I mentioned whole grains are hard to find here??). Plus some other creepy looking critter. So I cry, “mommy, mommy, mommy,” and I’m not sure if I’m talking about myself or my own mother. We clean out the pantry and dump the rice container, which is obviously not airtight. I take care of the mess while Jonathan reads Narnia to the kids.

What a day.

Memories, of the Way We Were

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by Elizabeth

On our way out to CO for missions training we drove through Fort Riley and Junction City, Kansas.  Fort Riley looked just the same.  All the housing, just as I remembered it, having ridden through those streets on the school bus so many times.  I got out of the van at our old quarters and walked around.  I met my first homeschooled friend there, next door.  Drove past the garages converted from horse stables.  Drove up the hill to my old middle school, where I passed my very favorite school year, 6th grade.  Not even Mrs. Sample’s Brit Lit and Mr Smith’s Chemistry in 10th grade at Lee’s Summit High School could eclipse my year at Fort Riley Middle School.  Drove past the big hill where Dad left us sledding in the cold with those homeschooled friends and Mom got so irritated.  Drove past the Fort Riley Elementary School where the tall metal swings still stood, 20 years later.  On the way out of post there was a dog park where the buffalo used to be. No more caged bison.  Shocking, I know.

We drove through Junction City to our townhouse there.  I tap danced in that kitchen, read in my bedroom with the window open while it rained, talked to Dad in my bedroom, just the two of us.  We drove past the Church of Christ in Junction City, which was so much smaller than I remember it I almost couldn’t believe it.  The years at that church were very formative for me spiritually because that’s when I started going to Silver Maple Camp.  Camp is where my love of singing was born, and it was a place of incredible learning.  I returned to Silver Maple year after year until I was in high school.

Lastly we stopped by Eisenhower Elementary, the school I attended before we moved on post. I sat and nursed Faith, my fourth born, on the step of the shadeless playground where I played so many years before, and watched my older 3 play now.

As I contemplate leaving the country of my birth for a new one, I am so thankful my husband took an hour break on our drive through Kansas to let me see with adult eyes the places of my youth.  Over the last few months I have been able to process my years in Fort Riley and Junction City.  I’ve finally integrated the bad (the part when kids were mean to me as the new kid in school) with all the good.  In many ways those years were defining for me, and my soul is at peace with them now.