And that’s a good thing.

Heat. It is starting to heat up again. The wonderful two months of the cold season (85 degrees) are now dwindling and I can once again feel the sweat threatening behind each of my pores the moment I walk outside. Thankfully there is still a breeze each day which keeps the sweat at bay (at least for the first 5 minutes of going outside) except when I am riding the streets on my bike. Then, I get a refreshing 10 minutes of sweatless enjoyment of the wind blowing past my face and through my loose clothes. But soon, even that breeze will become less and less, until all is left is dry stifling heat that makes me feel claustrophobic, no matter how much empty space is around me. The inside of my body is just as hot as it is outside (98.6 degrees). So why does the heat bother me so much? And yet the fact that my body is getting used to this crazy heat (and will continue to get even more used to it), just means that summers in the Pennsylvania heat and humidity will seem mild. And that’s a good thing.

Pollution. This is really starting to get to me too. Cars, motos, tuk-tuks – all continuously spitting out fumes that feel like they are coating the inside of my lungs with…black. The amount of pollution is probably not that much more than in American cities (and may even be less), but the fact that I almost always travel on my bicycle or on a moto makes my lungs much more vulnerable to being filled with filth. You know those teal surgical masks that people sometimes wear in the US when they have a really serious flu or something and then they get really funny looks from other people because “they are so weird for taking care of others’ health”? Yep, I wear one of those now when I’m out in traffic. But many other people do too, so I don’t ever get those weird looks. In fact I feel a little more Cambodian when I wear it. And sometimes I use it (combined with my helmet) to hide my face so the tall, young policeman who stands on the corner doesn’t call me over when I’m stopped at a traffic light to ask me about where I’m going and if I have a husband.  The pollution just makes me want to take care of my health more. And that’s a good thing.

Broken Families. Well, that’s not even an accurate description of what is so prevalent in Cambodia. It is not broken families in the same sense that we think of in the US. These are just broken people who do not know what it means to care about the others they live with and do what is best for them. That’s not totally true. I see evidence of care and love, but the ideas that exist of what that love should look like are so discouraging. But then I am reminded, as I look at all these broken people living with other broken people and trying to make life better by being together, isn’t that true for all of us? Broken people in relationship with other broken people and trying to make the most of life? We are all broken and I have been so consciously aware of my own brokenness the last few weeks and how much that separates me from my God who just continuously showers kindness on me (Eph. 1: 6). So what do we do with our brokenness? Do we shove it down and ignore it so we can put up a righteous front and then inwardly judge others for doing the same thing we do? I did that last week. It’s fairly easy to recognize when we judge other people. We feel more righteous. We feel more justified in what we do because we do it right. We feel “better” than the other person. But then, when we really take time to stop and listen to the reason the Holy Spirit is pricking our conscience, no matter how lightly, we realize the real problem is our pride. We can judge the other person because we take pride in the fact that we don’t do what they are doing. We get annoyed with people who are late because we take pride in our punctuality. Or we get frustrated with that person who never follows through on what they say they will, because we take pride in being responsible and getting things done as soon as we think of them. That is what I do. All of my judgment comes out of my pride. And so I am just as guilty of sin as the people I am judging. Broken families…broken people…broken me. We are all the same. And so as I ride my bike to and from work, I look at the faces I pass and I pray. I pray for their brokenness, for their families. And so my realization of my own brokenness and sin has made me draw closer to Jesus in prayer. And that’s a good thing.

Actually, that’s a God thing.