When I’m in Cambodia, I assume that I think like an American and that I act like one too — because in many ways I do. But then I return to America and discover I’ve forgotten some key facts about the way Americans live in America. Things like:
- Americans don’t throw their toilet paper in the trash can. (Oops.)
- Americans pump their own gas. (You expect me to do what?!)
- Americans give and receive objects with one hand, not two. (Still working on that one.)
- Americans inherently know how to use shower curtains. (Unlike my children.)
- Americans don’t point with their middle fingers. (Also unlike my children.)
- Americans don’t get offended if you motion them to “come here” with your palms and fingers pointed up. (I, however, now am offended by palms-up gestures. Even in movies.)
- On the other hand, Americans may very well be offended if you ask them their age. (Oops again.)
- Americans in America don’t worry over torn or ripped dollar bills and will use them even if they’re not in pristine condition. (Which is one less thing to worry about at the ATM.)
- Americans (in Suburbia) don’t lock doors and windows obsessively like I do.
- Americans don’t worry about shoes in the house. (Is it because of the vacuum cleaners??)
Much more deeply than these surface-level customs, though, there’s no getting around the fact that Cambodia has been etched into my soul. I’ve encountered God so fiercely, so intimately, and so many times in Cambodia that it’s been written into my heart.
In prayer, in Bible study, in worship, and in fellowship with other believers, Cambodia has marked me. It has been for me Bethel, the house of God, a gateway to heaven. It has been for me Beer-lahai-roi, the well of the Living One who sees me.*
It’s where I’ve found purpose and calling in writing and encouraging fellow sojourners. It’s where I’ve fallen deeper in love with God and with His church. How can I not love Cambodia??
Sometimes I love God so much in Cambodia that I forget He’s also in America. My first home assignment was really spiritually dry. Almost like a desert, in fact. It made me want to hurry back to Cambodia. It also made me nervous about returning to the States a second time.
And sure enough, one morning early in this current visit, I was out on my parents’ deck, discouraged and feeling sorry for myself. God, where are you? Why are you so hard to find in America?
In the midst of my pity party, Jonathan walked out. He listened to me complain about my circumstances. Then he told me, “Remember, if you can find God in Cambodia, then you can find Him here.”
Ouch! Exhortation received, dear husband. And thankfully, I’m here to say it’s true. This time, I’m finding Him here. I’m seeing Him and I’m hearing Him. He’s not silent. He’s not far away. He is present. And He is good.
I miss my raggedy red couch in Cambodia; it’s true. I miss my palm trees and my early morning meetings with God, drinking my cheap coffee in a room thick with heat, street noise, and river dust.
I relish the comforts of first world living — the plush carpets and the comfy furniture. And I delight in the joy of meeting old friends. But I miss the pressure cooker of God’s love and the fellowship of like minds that I’ve found overseas.
I also know that in two months’ time, I’ll slide right back into my old, familiar routines. I’ll rise on the wings of the dawn and fly straight back to Bethel, back to Beer-lahai-roi. For the present, however, I’ll continue to meet God wherever and however He shows up.
How has your host country been etched into your soul?
Do have difficulty finding God when you visit your passport country? How do you deal with it?