After I wrote Anorexia, Racism, and Defining Beauty, a number of moms e-mailed me, asking for more details about my struggle with anorexia. This is the letter I wrote in response. It’s long, and there are a lot of details, and I didn’t edit it, except to remove any identifying details and add in some subheadings. Publishing un-edited work is scarier than almost anything else for me. But this way you get the feel of my original letter, straight from my heart to yours. ~Elizabeth
God Can Heal Our Broken Potatoes [Hearts]
One of the people we’ve met since moving here is a young man who grew up in Cambodia but who is originally from Australia. (That makes him what we call an “adult TCK.”) After finishing university in Australia, he worked with TCKs (Third Culture Kids) in Phnom Penh for two years.
On his blog wheresthescript.com he writes about (among other things) TCK issues. In addition to the post below, I hope you will also read his post 15 Years Ago which details his TCK experience and is a beautiful portrait of a parent’s love.
Sometimes Missionaries Get Sick
Sickness in a third world country can be scary. Last September I watched my husband battle a 103 degree fever and a pain level of 10 on a scale of 1 to 10 (meaning the worst pain he had ever experienced). He was sick for about two weeks, and I was scared. I remember just standing there in the room, staring at him, with no thoughts whatsoever. I hated watching his temperature rise and his pain increase to unbearable levels, regardless of the medicine I had given him. I felt so helpless.
Demon & Divine
by Jonathan
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We moved to Cambodia about two years ago, and it’s been good. But it’s also been very hard. I’ve had my days of doubt, fear, and deep discouragement. I’ve looked around at the poverty, abuse, corruption, and I’ve despaired. I’ve heard that raspy, wicked voice taunt, “What can you do? Why are you even here? What about your kids, think of what you’re doing to them? You are completely ill-equipped for this. Did God really call you here?”
These are the (Mon)days of Our Lives
This is the sight that greeted my husband at the end of this Monday. He did not appreciate his daughter’s blossoming practical joke skills.
My daughter is a slow hand-washer. She does not want help and likes to do it all by her lonesome three-year old self. She, like Peter, not only washes her hands, but her face, and legs, and back, and tummy, and feet, and hair, as well. Her thoroughness consumes about 20 minutes a pop. She leaves the bathroom dripping wet, and has a tendency to slip or cause others to slip with her excess water. We are trying to teach her not to do this.
Jonathan & Elizabeth Trotter 