Sunday, November 23, 2008

Culture Clash in Cambodia


Jennifer McPhail--Cambodia


As the plane soared above O’Hare airport, the elevation change reflected the rapid change in my life situation. I was raised in small-town Deep South America, child of a country church pastor, and very comfortable with my Bible-belt social sphere. Until I married Forrest McPhail, I had never been on an airplane, and until deputation, I had never been west of the Mississippi, much less outside of the U.S.A. To complicate my naivety, my doctor advised me not to accompany Forrest on our survey trip of Cambodia, since I was seven months pregnant with our first baby at the time. Now, on my third flight ever, I was moving half-way around the world to a place I had only seen in pictures.

Of course, the starlit glow of deputation had fairly convinced me that people everywhere were wowed by our sacrifice and commitment. The appreciative natives would doubtless dance around rejoicing once they heard the Good News of Jesus Christ we were bringing to them. I had prepared myself with missionary biographies, so I was ready to give it all, live in a hut, and eat rice and stir-fry at every meal. The complications of the 21st century were all completely outside my box.

We descended from the clouds into steamy Pochentong Airport, where the senior missionary we would work with during language school met us. His philosophy for 12-hr. time changes was to keep us busy until evening, so our first stop was the bank to set up our monthly wire transfers. I was stunned there when I met another missionary wife at the bank wearing jeans and a tie-dyed shirt! I expected a sarong and a checkered headscarf! From there it just got worse. I had bought a refrigerator and a washing machine by the end of the month, and life was looking more modern all the time.

Between language school, caring for our baby, and learning how to live with a house helper, we kept fairly busy and happy for the next few months. One big surprise for us was that the senior missionary would be relegating teaching responsibilities to Forrest and me after just seven months of language training. Their family was due for furlough, and the only other family had joined the team only two months before we had. The rookies were it!

Trials began to escalate. Our home flooded three times, twice above the electrical outlets, and we decided to move to higher ground, literally—we took a second-floor apartment. Our first landlady was less than happy, and so less than kind. My house helper was acting more like she was in charge of me, instead of the other way around, and she also began looking to us to take care of her financial crises, which came quite regularly. An attempted coup happened in the city, and the gunshots disturbed me greatly. Ever after, I could not tell if I was hearing fireworks or firearms until Forrest could comfort me (of course he could differentiate!). Worst of all, we began to understand Khmer, and so we could hear the less-than-kind comments about the “long-noses” or “frenchies,” as they call us. It seems we were not so popular as I had expected, and we began to sense this from church members as well!

Naivety was crumbling, but I was building some strong walls of resentment in its place. The beautiful smiles of the Cambodians I met began to look sinister. Forrest told me he felt like a walking dollar-bill, the way folks asked us for money all the time, especially if we wanted to tell them about Jesus. I had my pocket picked at market once, got price-gouged often, and experienced lewd remarks from the male population when I went out. I began to retreat into my home and garner my needed emotional support from husband, daughter, teammates, and email.

At this crucial point, God would not let me be. My husband disappointed my expectations, our toddler hit a most awful tantrum stage, teammates got busy with their own families, and emails from family never came when I needed them. My Sunday school class of 60-75 children ranging in age from three to twelve years was stressful, especially since my only assistant was my mischievous two-year-old. My carefully prepared lessons often came apart at the seams as I was distracted by snickers and echoes of my mispronunciations around the room.

I began to struggle with unreasoning fear at night. I would wake in terror that I could not shake, pull the sheet over my head along with a pillow, and tremble for hours. I knew oppression was a possibility, but looking back, I think adjusting to a place where I simply could not make things work like they always had led to anxiety that erupted in this way.

One morning, footsteps rushing past our landing alerted me to the fact that a missionary colleague was looking for Dr. Tom, our teammate, because the man’s wife had been hurt badly in a hit-and-run accident nearby and needed Dr. Tom’s help. The missionary community rallied in a wonderful way to get medical help, but our friend died. Their family had been staying in the building our church met in as they prepared to leave for furlough the day of the accident. I was thankful to have heard our friend’s testimony at supper a couple nights before. She told us of her great contentment with God’s working in her own life and in her relationships with her husband and children. Never had I known someone to show such peace before great tragedy. How I wanted that!

Finally, my bruised heart and thwarted will were ready to receive the feast God was preparing for me. God led my husband to a passage in Mark where Jesus was experiencing a difficult time, humanly speaking, in His ministry. In chapter 6, Jesus receives the news of the violent death of John the Baptist at the hands of King Herod. We read in verse 31 that the Lord and his disciples were so busy at that point that they could not even eat. They decided to leave by boat for needed rest in a quiet place. But the people saw them, and they ran and met them at their destination!

“And Jesus, when He came out, saw much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a shepherd: and he began to teach them many things.”

Jesus knew their hearts, their motives, and their thoughts. Many of these people wanted whatever they could get from Jesus. Others had a thirst to see the supernatural. Unredeemed humanity is not lovely, no matter what country it resides in. And yet, He was moved with compassion. I began to understand that what I needed most was Christ’s love for these Cambodian people, an unwavering love that is not based on the loveliness of the loved ones. Forrest and I began to pray to have that love, and God began to work in us.

For me, though, that was not the only issue at stake. None of the comforts that had eased my spirit at other points in my life were helping. Many of the pleasures I had enjoyed were not even available now! No libraries, malls, videos, or phone conversations. I had a gorgeous dream once that I was in a big department store where everything had price tags (Phnom Penh was still backwards then), and I shopped for hours! Comfort foods were gone too. I was shut up, like many campers feel when they go for a week of summer camp. But, like at camp, I was better prepared to hear God speak.

Desiring God, by John Piper, came into our possession, and I started to read. The more I read, the hungrier I got! Jesus Christ fulfills every longing that I felt then or will ever feel! I was craving things of the world without even realizing it, because I was dissatisfied and anxious without them. Hope sprang up in my heart that God would be all in all for me, come what may. It felt like a conversion experience, and my Bible was suddenly a personal letter for Jennifer-the-new-missionary-in-Cambodia.

If I had known what would await me on the nether side of the globe, I doubt if I would have so glibly fielded questions at our display table in the church lobbies of America. In fact, I think I would have left the task to someone better prepared. But now I would not trade my life for any other, not because of the adventure and romance of our calling, but because of how God has pushed and prodded me out of complacency and into joy.

4 comments:

The Stover Family said...

"Of course, the starlit glow of deputation had fairly convinced me that people everywhere were wowed by our sacrifice and commitment."

I thought this was a great description Jennifer. New missionaries have to be aware of the reality check that is awaiting once their plane lands. Contrast being sent off by a huge group of friends and family at the airport with arriving in your destination country and being greeted by only one missionary who is tired from the trip in to the airport.

Six months into your stay and you realize that all those people who promised to stay in touch aren't doing as good a job at it as you had envisioned. In fact, the only time you get correspondence from some is because their kid is now an AWANA spark and has to ask a missionary a question.

All that to say that I agree with your conclusion, we continue to serve in Poland not out of some romance for missions or an uber love for the nationals. . .

"but because of how God has pushed and prodded us out of complacency and into joy."


Jason

The Sommer Family said...

Well, Jennifer, you hit the nail on the head! As a missionary myself, I feel like you were writing my story. Thanks for being honest about your struggles so that others can learn through them. And I agree with you, now, I'd never trade my life in Ghana for anything else. He does turn our mourning into joy!

Senkyoshi said...

Thank you, Jennifer! I'm at the stage now where I need Christ's love for these people. I know I am here because God loves these people! It can be so discouraging when you don't feel appreciated and the people at home seem to have forgotten you, but there is One who never forgets!

Karis said...

This testimony was a blessing to me.