We’ve been trained to assume that working hard means focusing on a single task to completion, then doing it again. But, says Davidson, “the new workplace requires different forms of attention than the workplace we were trained for…

The result is that we feel anxious and guilty, convinced we’re not getting enough done, not achieving an honest day’s work, failing to live up to the iconic model of our hard-working, brick-and-mortar grandparents.

I am working on many things at once. I trust and hope they will all converge, but I don’t know if and when. I’m over my head trying to engage in a very complex world. That’s just as true in Cambodia, or more so, because the representatives of the developed world are here in full force trying to “help” and “make a difference” with so many anticipated and unanticipated results spiraling out of sight. This country is change too fast for anyone to keep track of. Sometimes I crave just one thing to do with my hands with simple results I can measure.

For any one of us who has been panicking about how to adapt to constant, ubiquitous demands on our attention—how to achieve relevant, quality work, even as the workplace is shifting beneath our feet—it’s comforting to know that most people have yet to figure this out, and that it’s not a reflection on our natural capacities or intelligence.

Do I need focus? Must I cut back my tasks and simplify my goals? Or do I need to embrace multitasking and a diversity of aims? Accept my inability to control results? Learn to think and focus differently? Find new and better ways to collaborate?

“…full of things…smothered by gods”

Jesus, I come to the warmth of your Presence
knowing that You are
the very emptiness of God.
I come before You
holding the water jar of my life.
Your eyes meet mine
and I know what I’d rather not know.

I came to be filled
but I am already full.
I am too full.
This is my sickness
I am full of things
that crowd out
Your healing Presence.

A holy knowing steals inside my heart
and I see the painful truth.
I don’t need more
I need less
I am too full.

I am full of things that block out
Your golden grace.
I am smothered by gods of my own creation
I am lost in the forest of my false self
I am full of my own opinions and narrow attitudes
full of fear, resentment, control
full of self pity, and arrogance.
Slowly this terrible truth pierces my heart,
I am so full, there is no room for You.

Contemplatively, and with compassion,
You ask me to reach into my water jar.
One by one, Jesus, you enable me
to lift out the things
that are a hindrance to my wholeness.
I take each on to my heart,
I hear You asking me
” Why is this so important to you ? ”

Like the murmur of a gentle stream
I hear You calling,
” Let go, let go, let go! ”
I pray with each obstacle
tasting the bitterness and grief
it has caused.

Finally
I sit with my empty water jar
I hear you whisper
You have become a space for God
Now there is hope
Now you are ready to be a channel of Life.
You have given up your own agenda
There is nothing left but God.

What was bugging Hemingway? Why all the drinking, the macho excess, the manic displays of swaggering? Why was he so drawn to war, shooting, boxing and conflict? Why did he want to kill so many creatures? Was he trying to prove something? Or blot something out of his life?

I’m struck that a man like Hemmingway, who seemed to live a BIG life that others aspire to, might have never been truly free; this man of far reaching imagination, a genius at crafting stories, may never have seen his own story truly.  Did he taste the fullness of life, or was he so desperate to escape a shallow existence that he attempted it with a pen and his imagination?

I know what it’s like to walk around looking for stories and pictures, spinning bits and pieces of narratives and dialogues as I walk like kicking stones. I can easily get lost in the words; it’s like listening to another voice, or voices, that can please the crowd better than I can — a fantasy. What if I got lost in that?

If I write, or tell stories with pictures or video, I want these to come from myself.  I don’t want to craft myself from the stories.

I’d rather give up playing with words and images entirely than lose my own often tenuous connections to the world and people and God in this moment — to my own wife and children, who are upstairs going to sleep as I type. The greatest story I know is the story I get to live, and it’s happening way to fast, or slow, to write about.  I suppose I could write about watching the wind blow through the grass as I walked by the river this evening, but who would want to read about that — or write about it (once the moment passes). Okay, Annie Dillard. I don’t know how she did it; and I could only read half of that book.

I think I’ll go peak in at those kids now.

Seth Godin writes about three ways to motivate people to achieve: by pushing them relentlessly, by creating competition, and by giving them freedom and opportunity. The first two produce results, but only temporarily. As soon as you stop pushing, or when the competition ends, the motivation fades. The advantages of push and competition are speed and control; the disadvantages are felt down the road. Athletes who won championships don’t know how to motivate themselves apart from competition. I was a pretty good runner in my day, but I was never able to run consistently without a coach pushing me, and I ran for the thrill of racing and beating people. I’d love to be running today, but I still haven’t found it within me.

How will I work for change in society, or a better world? Whatever I want to change, it means people must change. But how?

Here in Cambodia, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of non-government organizations are working for change. There are hundreds of orphanages “saving”children, and many say they intend to raise up a new generation of leaders. How? By pushing kids relentlessly to learn more and faster? By emphasizing grades, scholarships, and and education so that the kids will be better equipped to succeed (i.e., compete) in society? We have been thinking about kids coming out of orphanages and the problems most face, because they so often flounder. They have been institutionalized.

Maybe what they need is not a better formula, but freedom to see opportunities and take chances. The people we want to work with need to change in a way that comes from within.

Give people a platform, not a ceiling. Set expectations, not to manipulate but to encourage. And then get out of the way, helping when asked but not yelling from the back of the bus…

No, most people can’t manage themselves well enough to excel in the way you need them to, certainly not immediately. But those that can (or those that can learn to) are able to produce amazing results, far better than we ever could have bullied them into.

I think Seth has it right. I love his positive spin on both the freedom to succeed and the necessity of allowing some to fail. Not everyone manages themselves well, but if we create systems for those who can’t and force everyone to participate in them, then everyone ends up wings clipped, living small stories, and in boxes.

I think this also epitomizes a key difference between the way God raises up people spiritually versus the way religion raises up people religiously. The message in the Bible, taught by Jesus and his followers, is that we are set free as we come into relationship with God, and we have God’s Spirit of Love and Truth within us. What could provide better guidance or motivation? But religion, seeing the potential for some to falter, or fly too high, has a way of asking everyone to fly low and succeed in smaller ways. It talks of the Spirit but constantly pushes and pits people against each other through comparisons and outright competitions.

Real change comes from freedom, not the push and competition of development or religion.

To become a person who walks in and dispenses freedom, I must give up my habits of pushing relentlessly and creating competitions. First, I must give up my habits of relying on such things myself.

…a never-ending cycle of optimization can become a crutch, a place to hide when you really should be confronting the endless unknown, not the banal stair step of incremental optimization. While Yahoo was optimizing their home page in 2001, the guys at Google were inventing something totally new.

There are so many ways we settle for less. Another is competition. “Winning” is supposed to have value. Demagogues are people willing to “wreck the system” to win. Demagoguery seems to be on the rise. What is the bigger story? Godin writes:

What happens when you define a win as getting closer to someone who wants the same thing? Or when you define it as improvement over time? Or in creating trust?

He’s talking about love, at least in part. Winning is nothing if the story ends there. Movies that end with the cheers of the crowd at the end of the game conceal that point. Victories in the big and small games we play recede with time into nothingness, and so do we if we attach ourselves to them. Love creates bigger stories that ascend and expand as they go.

Until you know you are loved you will be sucked into every religious activity and performance treadmill that exists, hoping against hope that you can do the right thing to merit that deep affection from the heart of the Father. But you already have his affection! The great lie of the universe is that you are not loved by the Creator of all. The question is only do you realize how loved you are?

If you’re interested in hearing more about living loved and loving others, Wayne has a wonderful series of audio teachings called Transitions on his website in the audio library section, or from iTunes, or I’ve uploaded them all in one zip file that you can download here.

Most people who personally know me have gotten the information, but I realized I’ve never posted the news here. You may have guessed; I think readers here won’t be surprised.

I find myself pausing, recently, and thinking about our journey these past eight years in Japan. Sometimes Hitomi and I just stop and say, Wow (or Sugoi). The twins were born in year one. We suffered a lot more than we’d anticipated during our first few years here, between pregnancy, culture shock, language learning, $10/pound hamburger, and more than doubling the size of our family. I began to change then, and I just kept changing.

We made a temporary move to the other side of Tokyo in 2003, and two years later we came to Hachioji. We were drawn by the mountains hills. Before deciding where to live, we connected with our kids’ future preschool/outdoors school while camping near the base of Mount Fuji. I saw some kids kayaking and having a great time, so I talked with one of the fathers. Later, I blew up a picture on the computer, to get the name of the school. We searched on Google and discovered it was within a triangle we’d already drawn on the map (two hours from where we’d met at the campground).  One thing led to another. Today I stopped by the preschool to drop off a couple things, and I felt like I was with my people. A mother gave me a card written by her daughter for the twins, another gave me a gift, and one of the teachers got all teary as I turned to leave. I know we’ll be back to visit, and I know we’ll be treated like long lost family.

It’s fitting that our experience here started with a human connection — a gift from God, I think.

We developed Global Adventure. Our first event was a trip to the USA, but the next summer nobody signed up. We thought about taking groups of Japanese to the mountains in Japan. I also thought about taking groups to India or some other place where they could see how the two thirds world lives. I had a connection in Cambodia, though, and he introduced me to the director of a Children’s Community there. Eventually, we focused all our efforts on the trips to Cambodia. That has led to rich relationships in Cambodia and a small but  growing community in Japan. I’ve been part of some wonderful communities in the past, and they all have their own internal momentum. This community is just starting to stir up. We’ve been in constant communication all week with volunteers who are patching together an accounting plan and discussing purpose statements and logos (designed by a woman I took to Cambodia two years ago). Hitomi met with two past participants today just to talk. She’ll meet another briefly tomorrow at a nearby train station, and another two or three are coming for dinner.

It’s funny, but our plan to leave stirred the water more than almost anything else we’ve done. It looks like we’ll miss the best part, but, of course, we won’t. We have a growing list of people who have promised to visit us in Phnom Penh. We’re looking forward to a community developing in Cambodia, and we trust the relationships here can endure (and thrive) despite the distance.

Anyway, we’re just following the road as it opens up before us. I have a wonderful image of this from a book called the Sacred Romance that changed (or crystallized) my view of following God. Our “plan” is to move to Cambodia for two years and establish Project Friends (the new name for Global Adventure). After two years, we hope we’ll have a good idea whether to return to Japan or stay longer. We really care about the Japanese participants and the community that will grow in Japan, and we’ll probably have a growing love for people (including Japanese) in Cambodia by then. We’ll see where this road leads as we travel further on it.

I’m pretty excited. Before coming to Japan, I spent time in Soweto, South Africa. I lived in East LA in a neighborhood full of wonderful and broken people. I spent time in Mexico learning Spanish. To put it simply, I may feel a better “fit” in Phnom Penh than amidst the wealth and rush of Tokyo. Then again, I’m learning that I can be at home anywhere. I could stay in Japan and be happy; and I can also take these two years as a gift.

Well, that’s my news. I don’t know how many of “readers” I have who will take notice, but for those who are paying attention, stick around and enjoy the show.

Finally, here’s a few details for those who want to know:

We’ll live in Phnom Penh. The city used to be called one of the jewels of the orient (though a quick search on Google reveals just about every prominent city in Asia all the way to Cairo claims that honor). Anyway, now it’s a dusty jewel, not exactly the kind of place you go on vacation (that would be a few hours away in Siem Reap). Every country has it’s “dust” though, except perfect places that exist only in dreams, or somewhere in New Zealand. (Respectful pause)

The kids will go to an international school. We actually wanted to switch them to international school, and we couldn’t have afforded any of the schools in Japan, so we’re grateful for this timing.

We’ll visit the USA first, and we’ll head for Cambodia in July. I’m getting to the age when time starts to move more quickly. Right now it seems like each time I blink I find myself getting ready to leave for a different country.

Or fake it, whatever.

Godin may be shocked by the pastor (I’m not). What gets me is that people in the secular world are increasingly free to talk about spirituality, passion, and calling. This is a very good thing. It’s great that Godin is bothered, and I’m glad he doesn’t leave spirituality to the professional religionist. We aren’t living in two worlds: secular and spiritual. There is just one real world that we’re often too distracted or simply afraid to see. Anyone who wants to live with genuine passion and calling will begin a journey that leads to truth. It’s difficult but worth taking. I don’t have to argue with you about where it leads, because if you pursue it honestly you’ll find out. I’m happy to share thoughts and experiences as one fellow traveler to another though. Meanwhile, people living by pretense or settling for the security of mere religion (or a mere role) are only fooling themselves. We have an incredible chance in this life, let’s live it to the full.

More later when I have time.

A boy living beside the old garbage dump in Phnom Penh

Today a Japanese student raised the question of happiness in a small group of students from five countries: Japan, China, the Philippines, the USA, and Egypt.  Here’s how it went. The Japanese student said her happiness was tied to graduating and getting a good job. The Americans (a student and two teachers) talked about contentment and joy. The latter was difficult to explain so the student drew a diagram to illustrate. A student from China also talked about the critical importance of getting the right job. Then the student from the Philippines, reflecting on how she lives at home, described having the equivalent of a dollar in her pocket to buy a nice plate of food when she’s hungry. The Egyptian echoed her sentiment and said he’s happy when he has food and whatever else he needs for today.

I observed how the people from wealthy countries think about happiness as a concept or a future goal, while others in poor countries find happiness in the present moment without thinking deeply about it.

What is happiness to you? Have you ever pretended to be happy, because you thought you should be? When will you be happy?

Driving home, 10 yo daughter points out a large fallen tree at a nearby park, and I notice it too. My 8 yo who missed the sight, then laments, “Oh, why don’t I ever see interesting things? Every day I just see simple things everywhere!”

Reia and the dragonfly

On December 15 we left Tokyo headed for Bangkok and then Phnom Penh. I was anxious. I’d been to Cambodia six times but never with my family. Would they like it? Would they connect well with the people there? Phnom Penh is not a great place for tourists, especially families. How would they react? At least the kids were eagerly anticipating lots of animals: dogs, chickens, geckos, and monkeys.

We flew to Bangkok first using frequent flyer miles and took a cheap flight to Cambodia the next day. Gani, a Cambodian friend-of-a-friend, picked us up at the airport. Cool and appraising, he had a large bass speaker filling up most of his trunk. I’m glad to know him now. He took us to the apartment where we planned to stay for our first five days. It was in a giant concrete block of a building. We walked down a narrow passage, climbed several steep flights of steps, and passed our neighbors on their balcony — their building was about two meters away from ours. We could see the length of their apartment through the open door. Apartments in Cambodia are long and narrow, often with three or four floors shared by an extended family.

Our apartment had an iron gate with a giant, thick padlock. We were instructed to lock ourselves inside every night. All our neighbors did the same. I wonder why they don’t build locks into the gates.

The girls loved riding through Phnom Penh in Tuk-Tuks (motorbike taxis)

Later we  rode by tuk-tuk to the new city mall, next to the “Olympic Stadium” (built for a canceled Asian Games in 1963 and appearing mostly abandoned). We ate pizza: deep dish, “Meat Lover’s Special,” Asian BBQ sauce, $11. At some point, Hitomi confided that Phnom Penh was a lot rougher than she’d expected. “I told you,” I said. I was relieved her face wasn’t filled with stress or fear.

The streets of Phnom Penh are crazy with cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and people all making their own rules. The sidewalks are trash strewn and usually blocked by parked cars. Skinned chickens and pig parts hang from food stands. The blocks are filled with open store fronts boasting TV’s and refrigerators, punctuated with open air markets spilling out fruit, vegetables, and more meat. Massage parlors offering legitimate and illegitimate services declare “$5 per hour.” We saw one playground. The kids looked and declared it was, “Hot!”

An atypical view of a sidewalk in Phnom Penh (riverside area)

Yet in the midst of all the outward frenzy, life is slow in Phnom Penh compared with Japan. That’s what a Japanese mother told us a few days later. It took her six months to adjust, but now she enjoys Cambodia and says it’s a great place to raise kids.

I got up the first morning at 6:30 and waited for the others. Eventually, we all got up early every day. Life in Southeast Asia starts before sunrise. You’ve got to take advantage of the coolest part of the day.

Feeding monkeys at Wat Phnom

We endeavored to experience the city. We went to Wat Phnom, the oldest and  best known temple in Phnom Penh. We didn’t go for cultural reasons. Our mission was to feed the monkeys. The park has a healthy population of relatively friendly little beasts. A vendor sold us lotus pods and showed us how to extract the seeds. The monkeys take them one by one in their little hands. But monkeys are aggressive and clever, good at sneaking up on you from behind and grabbing things quickly. Several times they managed to take a whole seed pod. Two monkeys pulled hard on Hitomi’s skirt, with hands and teeth, and I had to stop them from climbing up. At one point, Mari backed up to close to a wall, and a monkey jumped from it right on top of her head. But it was all in good fun. As we were leaving, Mari felt a surge of affection and moved as if to hug a monkey. I grabbed her as the little fellow gave every indication of being about to go berserk. (Someone passing by told us that the monkeys were very calm, but they go crazy if you play with them. You don’t want to be around crazy monkeys, trust me.)

After the monkeys, we visited the elephant. Every day you can get elephant rides at Wat Phnom. We contented ourselves letting the twins feed it bananas. Reia, being more cautious (smarter?), kept her distance.

Another day we ventured to the riverside area, alongside the muddy waters of the Mekong River. It’s not the most beautiful sight, but there is a spacious, wide-open feeling and a cool breeze. After some coffee at a Chinese restaurant, we set off walking. Walking in Phnom Penh is no easy task, mostly due to traffic and heat (remember the sidewalks do double duty as parking lots). We went to “Friends,” an NGO and restaurant located near the National Museum. We didn’t eat but went inside their gift shop. I was attracted to a rack of children’s books in Khmer. I bought one of each, about twenty in all, for $27.

Friends is an NGO that, among other things, operates a gourmet cooking school and trains street kids to run restaurants. On the way out, I spotted their cookbook for sale. From Spiders to Water Lillies is undoubtedly the best looking cookbook I’ve ever seen. It’s full of wonderful photography — not typical food pictures, but dishes in their Cambodian context. I will buy it, just not yet. I checked, and it’s not available on Amazon. However, I understand you can order a copy in the USA from the NGO’s office. Call (541) 779-0103.

Did I say there’s not much for families to do in Phnom Penh? Not in the touristy sense anyway. We ate at different restaurants, returned for pizza again, and bought pirated DVD’s to watch at night. One day Gany took us around to show us how people live. We visited a couple of homes and an apartment that are for rent. The apartment was a typical skinny stack of long rooms. We entered the ground floor and I thought it was a bit tight. Then we went up a level and saw more rooms. Then another level and another. The place had at least eight rooms and must be 3 times as big as they place where we live now — all for $300 per month. I think Cambodians usually live in these places with their extended families, not as a family of five.

A “Saturday school” where Japanese kids learn in their own language

Gany helped me pick up a cell phone in the evening, which I needed for the volunteer trips I conduct several times a year. I wanted his advice, and I needed him to show the vendor his Cambodian ID card. I had been enviously eying unlocked iPhones for less than $100. I might have bought one, but Gany took my to an honest shopkeeper who explained that the cheap phones are “China phones” — fakes made in China. They work, he explained, but they are not made from genuine parts. They look cool — like the real thing — but they’re slower and don’t work as well. They’re known to break suddenly, so it’s best to find a shop offering a six month guarantee. A real iPhone costs $700 in Phnom Penh. I settled for a $29 Nokia that works just fine and a $5 SIM card, and I was glad to save the money.

Kids in Andong Village playing a game

On Sunday we went to Andong Village. I’ve written about Andong before,and some of the funds we raised for “Christmas in Cambodia” were earmarked for the kids there. Andong is a shanty town that is home for more than 1200 displaced families. Most of them were evicted from a slum in Phnom Penh in 2006 and forcibly relocated to a bare patch of ground outside the city. There are few good jobs nearby, the local well is tainted with heavy metal, and the kids had no school for the first two years. My Cambodian friend worked tirelessly alongside the people of Andong from the beginning, helping them build their first and subsequent shelters, putting in drainage pipes to lessen the flooding, counseling families, and doing much more. He started a small church as well, with a focus on holistic ministry, and in 2008 he opened a school that now serves 120 kids in four grade levels.

A mother and children in Andong

I’d never visited on a Sunday, so we all went to attend a church service. It was simple and nice but incomprehensible for us (being in Khmer). Afterward I passed on a gift of $600, donated by family, friends, and readers here. They plan to use this money to take a large group of children on a special  outing to a beautiful place outside the city. They needed time to plan, so it won’t happen until New Year’s Day or so. They promised to send pictures that I’ll post later.

Afterward, we walked with a young Cambodian woman, a volunteer English teacher, over to the shanty village. This was our first encounter as a family with Cambodians in their homes, and they happened to be among the poorest of the poor in Cambodia. Once again, I didn’t know how Hitomi and the kids would respond. Happily, they just dove in. The kids spotted dogs — lots and lots of dogs and loads of puppies — and chickens, too.  That’s was enough to make their day. When we saw a group of kids playing, they edged in close as if they wanted to join. The only downsides were Maika getting scratched by a chicken, and then they all got scolded by an old lady for moving in on her newborn chicks. (We weren’t letting them touch animals, but sometimes they were magnetized away for a moment or two.)

The girls and the kids we met

The village chief solves a dispute between a little girl and an angry man
(it wasn’t clear what got him so upset)

A boy, his bike, and his bricks

Our time at Andong was eye-opening and encouraging for me. I’m so glad my wife and daughters responded as they did.

Medicines for kids living with HIV at Wat Opot

The next day we boarded a bus and traveled 55km to Wat Opot. Hitomi was worried about five long days with little on the schedule, but I was anxious to get there and start making real relationships. Travel is nice, but getting immersed with people in a new place is so much better. From my experiences of bringing many others, I knew the time ahead would be very rich.

About 50km outside Phnom Penh I had the bus driver and several passengers all helping me look for the place on the highway where we had to stop and get off. We didn’t miss it. After disembarking I flagged a passing tuk-tuk who drove us the rest of the way, about 3km down a dirt road. As we made the last turn, I saw Huett, the art teacher, sitting outside the local coffee shop — a shack with a rickety shelf of bamboo where we sometimes sit cross-legged and sip the dark beverage mixed from packets of Nescafe.  We arrived a minute later, and a few kids came to greet us with the familiar cry, “An-DEE, An-Dee!” Finally, my family had come to this place where I have so many heart connections now!

My daughters looked around and very soon spotted the dogs. Puppies, a litter of them  just reaching toddler stage, appeared from behind a building.  That was enough to lure them away. Some of the kids at Wat Opot joined them, and that was that. We could have left them alone most of the daylight hours after that. We never had the heart to tell them that those puppies are being raised for special occasions, like weddings — not as presents but as dishes. Yes, they are puppy chow.

We bunked in the hospice, because there weren’t any patients, and it isn’t easy finding space for a family of five. My wife says it smelled like a hospital, but I didn’t notice. The next two days we spent getting into the flow.

Her morning medications

At 6:30 every morning the kids living with HIV came to take their medicine. They must take their ARV’s (antiretroviral drugs) on time every day. If they don’t, they may fail a course of therapy, and then those drugs won’t work anymore. Because they are poor, they have very few alternative drugs available. Simply put, they must take their meds with near perfect discipline, or they will die.

We popped out of bed just before they lined up, if not sooner. Most of the children left for school by 7am, leaving only the youngest. But the elementary age kids returned about 11am.

We left our daughters on their own for large parts of the days. They would come back periodically with bumps, scratches, or small animals they had caught like geckos and frogs. They needn’t have gone far. The large basin in our bathroom that we used for showering had a young family of frogs living inside it, and a gecko lived in the corner behind a cabinet. Frogs are also food, and Wat Opot has a large pond filled with them.

Cooking up a snack to share with her friends

One day I pulled out my Khmer books and made a  rough sign up sheet on a piece of notebook paper. Very quickly I had a crowd of kids all around me reading and checking out books. I quickly explained they must write their names and the titles, take care of the books, and return them. Then they could borrow again. On previous visits I saw the kids didn’t have enough books in Khmer, and I noticed an girl earnestly reading a boring looking book that was clearly below her age level. I hoped these books would be a hit, and my expectations were exceeded. My only regret is that I didn’t buy more copies — especially of the longer books. Next time I go, in February, I’ll do that.

A boy checks out a book

What does it take to start a library? I was inspired by Room To Read, which creates libraries around the world. I’ve written previously about Room To Read, and I even met Miss Universe and Room to Read’s current CEO at one of their fundraisers in Tokyo (I volunteered as the event photographer). Starting a library is very simple. All you need are books and a simple system. Simple ideas are the best, and Room To Read has grown with incredible speed. I respect the organization, but I’m disappointed they only work with government schools. In a country as corrupt as Cambodia, where government schools are often “schools” in name only, why not set up libraries at private organizations intent on serving their communities? Why lock an organization behind a rule? (A bit of background: I tried to get Room To Read to start a library at Wat Opot, and I was willing to raise the funds for it, but my attempt failed because the local office stuck to the script.)

Back to my story, each time I pulled out the books a crowd formed. Many kids were signing out books, and  they seemed to be returning them.

Another night a young girl came and showed me a book about the solar system. She came to Wat Opot recently, at the age of 14, infected with HIV. That means she was likely infected by a sexual act, either by abuse within her family or by some visiting pedophile.

“What is this?” she asked, pointed to the blackness around the revolving planets. “Space,” I said. She made me write it down: “O-u-t-e-r S-p-a-c-e.” What dreams have been born in moments like these? What visions of freedom set loose by mere words?

I had a very short time to help the kids learn the system and understand the benefits, but I turned the project over to another volunteer (simply by handing him a paper bag).

On the bus!

When I raised money for Christmas in Cambodia, I said we would take the kids on a special trip. The big event was planned for Christmas Eve. Friends, family members, and others who I don’t even know pitched in about $1500, and the first $1000 went to Wat Opot. They reserved two buses with seats for 65 people, enough for all the school age kids plus some staff and volunteers. The destination was Kirirum, a beautiful mountaintop hideaway outside Phnom Penh. Kirirum boasts cool breezes and a freshwater swimming hole overshadowed by tall pine trees. (Note: Only a portion of the $1000 was needed for the trip and Christmas celebrations. The rest went to cover other needs, which I left to the director’s disgression.)

Traffic (the truck is carrying workers to the city who can’t afford any other way)

The night of the 23rd all the children were restless. I started to get frustrated at their hyperactivity during the evening, but then I realized they were just anticipating the next day. Eventually everyone went to sleep. Our family drifted off about 9pm.

The first excited voices of children drifted in at 4am. I stayed in bed for another 45 minutes. By that time, I could see shapes walking about in the darkness and the flicker of our neighbor’s TV. I knew most of the kids were up. I walked over to the new dormitory at 5am and found the director in the office and kids lined up outside with wet hair, carefully combed, and wearing their best clothes. The mosquito nets had been put away, and we could have loaded them into the buses and left right then. Only the buses hadn’t arrived. They weren’t scheduled to depart until 6:30. No problem. They came, we boarded, and we were off in good time.

We stopped at a bakery for breakfast

Kirirum was a three and a half hour drive away. After an hour on the road, we pulled over next to a bakery and the staff bought big bags of baguettes. All the kids had a special allowance for the day, so some bought extra pastries. But when I boarded my bus, the driver had a wrench, and he was working on the brake pedal. “It’s no problem,” someone said. But this isn’t the first time I’ve been on a broken down bus in Phnom Penh. I suspected it was worse, and it was. They talked about replacing the bus with another, but it’s not that simple. Most buses aren’t allowed to drive up the mountain road where we were going. Thankfully, someone quickly made a decision to press on in the remaining bus. We had fifty seven people in thirty five seats. Fifty seven happy people, most of them quite small. No problem.

Buying lunch from a market vendor on the way

An hour later we stopped to buy food for lunch, because the vendors on top of the mountain are expensive  compared to the stalls in town. The staff negotiated for chicken and pork. We had packed our own rice and vegetables. I bought an iced coffee and paid 12 cents to use a public restroom. We drove out and turned uphill.

Pit stop

Most Cambodians aren’t used to driving long distances, and that includes the kids at Wat Opot. They get car sick. The next time we stopped was a restroom break. A few children plopped on their knees and threw up. We traveled on, and the older girl seated just behind me cradled her head in misery. A boy at the back, Leak, was waving a plastic bread bag. I don’t know about Leak, but as we switched onto a dirt  road the girl finally lost it. I felt sorry for her. It’s not just that she got sick, but she is a very cool young teenager, and you know how that is.

The pine trees of Kirirum

When we finally arrived, after another round of puking that fertilized some grateful pine trees, we spread out straw mats and had a feast. One of my requests, when providing the money, was that the kids could have a big meal. Well, it was huge, and we somehow finished it.

The staff getting out the food

A simple but tasty feast!

We finally walked over to the water, and it was clear…and COOL! The kids dipped their feet in, and it was a shock. They normally swim in warm, brown ponds; this was chilly by comparison. As they hesitated, Mark, an American who is volunteering at Wat Opot, suddenly rushed by and dove in wearing his shorts. Pretty soon, everyone followed.

There is nothing quite the same as swimming in a cool mountain lake, so restful and peaceful. Tourists flock to the place, but on this weekday we were almost alone there.

In deep water

In shallow water

The lake is really just a widening of the stream as it flows through a shallow bowl formed of rocks. Just below where we stopped it narrows into a gentle waterfall (which is a roaring waterfall in the rainy season). I led some small children around the corner to the place where water ripples over two large rocks, and they held back in fear. I realized that they probably had not seen a running stream before. For their own good, I picked them up and set their feet in the running water. I think I enjoyed the discovery almost as much as they did.

Kids approaching the little waterfall (our daughters, Reia and Mari, are with them)

Reia with Nia Pia and Srey Mao

Mari and Srey Nu

Older kids and staff

Note: Most Cambodians swim in their clothes, except for children who
swim in their underwear or, if they’re young enough, in nothing at all.

Some of the older kis and staff after the little kids had moved downstream

One thing happened at Kirirum that I want to mention separately. Socheat, a boy about ten years old, came to me with blood pouring out of his foot. He’d stepped on something, probably a sharp stick. Mark was nearby. I squeezed the sole of his foot and coaxed the blood out, because puncture wounds need to bleed. My wife got her band aids and antiseptic gell. The bleeding slowed, and I patched him up. Hitomi was asking me if it was okay, and I didn’t know why she was so anxious: just a kid with a cut. About thirty minutes later, she mentioned it again, and it finally dawned on me that Socheat has HIV. His blood IS a big deal. That’s why he made a big deal about it (not crying, but getting quick attention). I didn’t have any cuts on my hand, so the risk of touching his blood for me was extremely minimal, but working with these kids means I can’t forget what they have. I guess I needed some kind of a shock to realize that.

The group photo minus myself and a few kids who were still car sick at this point

Leak (Leyek) heads for the bus carrying a pine branch as a souvenier

We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon, until everyone was ready to return. Mercifully, I don’t think anyone got sick on the way back. The bus had a TV mounted on the ceiling just behind the driver, and one of the kids had brought a set of Karaoke DVD’s. As we drove and the sun set behind the rear window, we transformed into a rolling party. I looked back during one particularly uproarious song and saw Leak at the center rear. He was actually standing behind the last seat due to the lack of space. He had on a red silk shirt, unbuttoned, and the fading light was pouring in through orange curtains draped at his shoulders. He was dancing, but it was almost like he was conducting the whole bus from the pulpit — like the high priest of hip-hop. Everyone looked back and cheered. It was another one of those moments you just have to see and remember. The day Leak danced at the back of the bus.

On the bus with Leak in the back (during a calm moment)

The next day was Christmas, our last day at Wat Opot. It passed quickly for me. Part of the day I spent interviewing the director and some kids on video. Preparations were under way in the dining area, for a party in the evening. Decorations had been pulled out of storage. Bright silvery shapes were hung above, and the “Christmas bush” — a leafless Cambodian plant they’ve used for years — was brought in and covered in festive lights. A group of kids folded origami hearts and other shapes and put them in the branches.

We took out the face paint on Christmas morning (that’s Mari at the bottom)

At 5pm we ate a wonderful meal: cold noodles with some sort of green leafs and flowers on top all drenched in a curry sauce. Mmm, a specialty of the cooks’.

Then they turned down the lights. Wayne, the director, gave his annual speech. He is a self-described “Buddhist follower of Jesus,” and he took some time to say that both Buddha and Jesus taught a message of compassion. Then he yielded the floor to the man who serves as caretaker in the children’s dormitory. He is a Christian pastor, and he talked about the Christmas story and the meaning of Jesus’ birth. After he finished, the kids all applauded. I’m honestly not sure if they clapped because they liked what the adults said or because the talking was finally over!

Finally, Wayne led everyone in singing “Happy Birthday” to Jesus.

Now the next part may sound strange, but keep in mind Wat Opot is a far off place in the countryside of Cambodia. When Cambodians want to celebrate, they turn up the music and dance. That’s exactly what they did. For the next hour or two we all twisted, laughed, and danced — from age 2 to 62 give or take — under speakers suspended from the rafters blasting everything from Cambodian hip-hop to the Macerena. Yes, the Macerena. What a night!

Sorry about the lack of pictures, but it was dark and I was having fun (and I didn’t bring my flash either).

We went to bed exhausted and packed before breakfast. The kids came in as usual to take their medicine, looking  more tired than usual. After breakfast we said our goodbyes. The elementary kids had gone to school (on a Saturday!), but the older kids were around. Our kids sat with a group of them while we wrapped up whatever details remained (a pad of paper to the art teacher, my bag of books to Mark, etc.). Then we left feeling grateful and happy-sad. I’ll see you again soon my friends…

A view at Wat Opot

Pulling in a catch of catfish from one of the fish ponds

Harvesting rice in one corner of the property

Older kids and staff working to plant some Papaya trees (the rice plot is behind them)

A small vegetable garden project that’s working well

NOTE: Wat Opot is by no means a “wealthy” project. In fact, they generally spend all the money they have every month. If you would like to contribute once, or monthly, you can find out how at this link: http://www.watopot.org/donate/

We went to the main road by Tuk-Tuk and ended up catching a van to Phnom Penh, along with about twelve other people. As we waited for the bus, which never came, Maika said something that touched us. She wants to learn to speak Khmer, so she can talk to her new friends. Reia and Mari agreed. Then we all started practicing the words we’d learned on each other.

Our last night in Phnom Penh wasn’t uneventful. We met up with two Japanese friends, plus a third Japanese man who they had just met. We all had Chinese food and had a great conversation. Mr. Sasaki lives near us in Tokyo, but every year he spends two months living in Phnom Penh. He went for the first time a few years ago, and he was so moved that he quit his salaried job and became a school photographer — so he could travel there each year. He volunteers at a small school started by a Japanese NGO. His friend teaches Japanese at a university during the week and, on Saturdays, at the school for Japanese children. (See the photo of the Saturday school above.) The third man has been surveying rice fields in Thailand and Laos looking for patterns that affect productivity (he uses a camera mounted on a remote controlled plane). The restaurant where we ate is owned by a nice lady from Szechuan, China. I’ll go back. The food was very spicy but tasted great.

As we left, we had one last reminder of the realities of life in Cambodia. A girl with a large spoon and a plastic grocery bag was sifting through a bin out front. Apparently, the restaurant disposes of all the leftover food in this bin, probably with the intention of kindness. I suppose the girl was happy to bring the food home to her family, if she has a family and a home. We boarded our tuk-tuk right next to her, and I told Reia what she was doing. She must see; we all need to see and have our hearts broken. Jesus once said that when we see a girl like that, we’re seeing him. What we offer to her; we offer to him. But in Cambodia there are so many.

We returned home to Japan two days ago. On the train from Narita I looked around at the other passengers clutching bags and suitcases, wearing warm clothes and heading home surrounded by abundance. I thought of Cambodia, and I thought those people on the train don’t know what they’re missing. The wealthy seldom see their own poverty. That’s why I bring Japanese to Cambodia.

It’s late. I needed to finish this now before the details slip away. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, and life goes on. To anyone still reading, wow, I salute you. If you haven’t already, I invite you to subscribe to the RSS feed and stick around.

Please scroll down for images of receipts and a final update…

Vinat standing in front of the new dorm for young children and girls

UPDATE

I said that I would post receipts, and I’ve really been dragging my feet. I guess going in Photoshop and creating images of receipts is not that motivating. But I really do want to communicate well with all of you who gave generously to show love for a bunch of children in Cambodia you’ll most likely never meet.

This is an image showing the total amount given through PayPal (click to enlarge). PayPal deducts handling fees, but they are very low compared to most services that receive donations.

This is the PayPal receipt showing that I donated all the funds to Wat Opot directly. You can also confirm by visiting the following website where detailed records of donations to Wat Opot are posted online (all the funds I donated are listed as “Project Friends”):

http://www.partnersincompassioncambodia.com/index_files/fin1.htm

If you visit the link above, you’ll notice I donated a lot more than $605. That’s because friends and family in Japan and the USA gave money to me directly, which I passed on. All total, I was able to give: $1005.62 to Wat Opot and $600.00 to the NGO at Andong Village.

I received a report that the Andong Village NGO took two full busloads of kids and staff (nearly 100 people) to Kirirum (the same place the Wat Opot kids visited). The Andong kids also had an incredible day they will not soon forget. I wish I could have been there to share it with them and take pictures.

Thank you all!!

He whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow
When I attempt the ineffable Name, murmuring Thou,
And dream of Pheidian fancies and embrace in heart
Symbols (I know) which cannot be the thing thou art.
Thus always, taken at their word, all prayers blaspheme
Worshiping with frail images a folk-lore dream,
And all men in their praying, self-deceived, address
The coinage of their own unquiet thoughts, unless
Thou in magnetic mercy to thyself divert
Our arrows aimed unskillfully, beyond desert;
And all men are idolaters, crying unheard
To a deaf idol, if thou take them at their word.
Take not, O Lord, our literal sense. Lord, in thy great,
Unbroken speech our limping metaphor translate.

- C.S. Lewis (h/t McLaren)

There was a boy in search of truth. He followed a trail up pebbles up a well worn trail. Each pebble contained a tiny portion of truth. Previous travelers had polished them and laid them out along the way.

The trail was long, and as he traveled the boy grew into a man. He continued following the trail of stones in the hope that he would finally reach the source.

One day when he was resting he looked to the side and saw a great boulder on a hillside. It was rough, not polished or handled by anyone, and placed without any clear intention. Yet it filled him with strange wonder, like something from a dream, and attracted him like nothing he had encountered before.

To reach that place, he had to leave the trail, descend, and traverse. He could surely get there, he considered, but there was no telling what he would see from that vantage.

He looked for a long time, then he returned to the trail of pebbles that he knew so well. He had climbed a long way up the trail already, and the great rock was perched on a slippery slope after all.

Paper Hummers offered to deceased ancestors in an annual religious
ceremony (they had lots of paper Lexus models, too)

I’m back from Cambodia after a great trip. I took four young Japanese women who all had potentially life changing experiences as they connected, shared their lives, and served in very simple ways.  I’ll be posting photos and stories in the coming days. Some of us worked to make a short fictional movie — a first for me — and I’ll post that when it’s ready.

One day I had a conversation with a young Cambodian woman who works at the children’s community (for children orphaned by and sometimes living with HIV/AIDS). She is having a positive impact with the kids, and I’m grateful she’s there. But she is afraid that life will pass her by. She would like to “reach her full potential” and that, apparently, means earning lots of money. She dreams of buying a Lexus 4×4 land rover, the status symbol de jour in her country. She might settle for a different brand 4×4 with “Lexus” painted on the side.

My first reaction wasn’t helpful. I looked at her with incredulity and asked, “Why?!”  When I’m at the orphanage, the allure of materialism fades (although it’s different when I’m in a camera store). Anyway, the answer was obvious to her. She grew up in poverty I can’t comprehend. Anyone looking at her as a child would have said she had no chance to “make it.” One day, she says, she hopes to drive back to her old village in a Lexus. She says it will show the children that they can succeed, too. I suppose it might.

What she doesn’t realize is that most people in the world who are relatively wealthy have no interest in buying a Lexus. Most would prefer a sensible Toyota, and they would put their money in better investments like a house, property, eduction for their children, etc.

It’s hard to explain this, because a Lexus is the symbol of success for most Cambodians.

On the streets of Phnom Penh, there are three classes of motor driven vehicles: motorcycles (that transport entire families), old Toyota Camrys and Corrollas, and Lexus land rovers (and re-branded look-alikes) — plus a scattering of “Hummers” at the peak of the pyramid.

I wanted to change her mind, but changing minds is usually a futile business. We learn for ourselves when we’re ready. Mainly, I wanted her to know that her life is significant. What she is doing now is far greater work merely making money, and if she dies following a calling to love others then she will have spent her life well.

Why don’t I want a Lexus? I’m not interested. (She said that a Lexus is extremely comfortable to sit in, so I suggested she buy a nice sofa.) But the other day I was reading somewhat longingly about the newest Leica M8 digital camera (the Ferrari of cameras, in the reviewer’s words). I know what it’s like to want things, and how owning certain things just make you feel better about yourself for awhile (until you see you’re still the same person or photographer as before).

On a deeper note, the more (and bigger) things we have, the more we are afraid of losing them. And fear drives a wedge into my relationships; fear is the opposite of love.

I was reminded of this in a funny way today. I saw a post on Kottke about a lottery winner’s first reaction after winning 30 million dollars:

I went to the lottery’s website after finding the ticket and realized that I had won. I freaked out ran up to my apartment’s door and locked all the locks. It was completely irrational.

Admittedly, after unlocking the doors and coming outside, this person has had quite a bit of fun spending the money.

A boy begs outside the tinted windows of a Land Cruiser in Phnom Penh
(Lexus/Land Cruiser — almost the same and sometimes exactly the same)

Today I was reading an economist writing about development theory, and I was struck by the parallels between people who want to promote and control growth — whether economic or spiritual — on a large scale. William Easterly writes on “The Anarchy of Success“:

Humans are suckers for finding patterns where none really exist, like seeing the shapes of lions and giraffes in the clouds. It wasn’t that economists had no explanations of what causes growth. On the contrary, we had too many. One survey of the field counted no fewer than 145 separate factors that had been found to be associated with growth. But most of these patterns were spurious, because they failed to hold up when other researchers tried to replicate them. Economists can say something useful about economic success, but we have to clear away a lot of false overconfidence before we get to that point.

Growth and development whether in spiritual or economic terms has been thoroughly studied and we have principles and formulas up the yin yang, but are we the wiser for all the research and theorizing? Does real change, whether in spiritual or economic terms, come from engagement with people in the grit, decisions, and paradoxes of real life? If so, what we need is not endless futile and misguided attempts to control the process but more freedom and opportunity for growth to emerge from below (whether economic or spiritual).

Easterly finishes,

Perhaps prosperity is not after all designed from above; perhaps it emerges from below, from the independent actions of many individuals who figure out their own paths.

Here is a different version of this quote in my words as a follower of Jesus,

Perhaps the growth of God’s people in the world is not designed or controlled by people in supposed positions of influence; perhaps it emerges from below, from the actions of many individuals who figure out their own paths in concert with the Spirit of God working in them.