Friday, September 4, 2020


The dirt road I was driving on got bumpier by the minute. I was concerned by the ominous storm clouds blowing in above me. It was the middle of Cambodia’s monsoon season, and if we experienced a heavy rain, the potholes would fill with water, the dirt would turn to mud, and I would be stuck. I prayed against rain and pressed on.

Our destination was a house surrounded by rice fields and palm trees, the site of a house church planted two months prior. The grandfather of this household had become quite ill, and his family brought him to Pastor Kongyu, leader of the Cambodia Baptist Union (CBU) in Kampot Province. Kongyu prayed over the man, and he eventually got well. Kongyu invited this family to know the God who had healed them. She helped them start a house church and has been teaching them what it means to be a church. Twenty families are now part of the church. 

Kongyu told me this story while we drove together to the house church, beaming that this was a “Covid-era church.” Her implication was clear. Many things have had to close as a result of the coronavirus pandemic. But the Holy Spirit does not close. God is still at work.

Kongyu and I joined with other CBU leaders at the house in order to distribute rice and other food items to the families at this church. This time of year in Cambodia, many families run out of food reserves while waiting for the next rice harvest. The pandemic has only exacerbated these problems. The CBU sponsors food distributions in hard-hit villages. Wherever they go, they share a gospel message, and new believers, non-believers and even local government leaders have learned about this Jesus who has compassion on us and is the true bread of life. I was visiting one of these distributions so I could learn how to more effectively partner with this CBU ministry. 

But as I sat listening to the message, my eyes kept wandering up. The dark storm clouds were rolling in, the wind picking up, the temperature dropping. Would I make it out of here before the rain came? I was getting more nervous. 

Suddenly, I heard a quiet whisper in my heart, a nudging from the Holy Spirit: “Stop worrying.” Worry seemed like the only logical response to me, so I tried reasoning with the quiet whisper: “If it rains, I’ll be stuck here!” The reply was, “It may rain, it may not rain. There is something to learn either way.” It didn’t rain until later in the day, after I made it back to paved roads. 

As I drove back with Kongyu, she shared her two prayer requests for this new church: that they would grow in faith and grow in love. They will have many challenges and problems in the coming months and years, but if they grow in faith and love, they could face anything. I reflected on my own experience that day. I spent much of the time worrying about rain, worrying about myself. I had much room to grow in faith and in love. How much worry I could have saved if I had focused on faith and love instead. 

I came away from my experience with this new “Covid-era church” praying that we would all learn how to be “Covid-era churches.” This means that we won’t just see all the things that have been shut down; the Holy Spirit never shuts down. Instead we will look for the new ways that God is working and ask how we can participate in that work.* 

Being a “Covid-era church” means that, when we see the dark storm clouds rolling in—my experience with actual rain clouds reminded me of the small, large and life-or-death-sized problems that we all face—we will turn our worry into prayer. We will acknowledge that sometimes it rains, making some paths impassable, and sometimes it does not rain. Either way we have an opportunity to trust God more.

Finally, being a Covid-era church means that we will pray to grow in our faith and in our love. Our tendency often is to grow in our worry, fear, selfishness and pride. That’s why the prayer to grow in faith and love is so simple, and yet so profound. Whether we face big challenges like lack of basic daily needs, or smaller challenges like washed out roads, we cannot sincerely pray for faith and love and also continue to grow in worry, fear, selfishness and pride.

Let’s all strive to become “Covid-era churches.” It will take work. It will take prayer. It will take faith and love. But when the storm clouds close in on us, we can continue to trust in and follow the Holy Spirit who never closes. 

*The absence of community transmission of Covid-19 in Cambodia for many months now makes in-person church gatherings a limited possibility, whereas gathering and church planting as we think of it, might not be possible in some parts of the U.S. right now. Our job is still to ask how God is at work and how we can join in with that work.

Thursday, April 25, 2019


This blog was originally published on the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship blog here

Recently, I preached in our Cambodian church about the Valley of Dry Bones from Ezekiel 37:1-14. In that passage, the Lord brings Ezekiel to a valley full of dry bones and asks, “Can these bones live?” What a loaded question! How could Ezekiel know the right answer? He responds expertly, though: "Sovereign Lord, you alone know." He is buying himself a little time while he waits to see what God is up to. He's not sure if bones can come back to life, but just in case they can, he wants to be around to witness it.

The Lord instructs Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones and the breath to come together and form living, breathing people. The bones, the Lord explains, represent the people of Israel, who say, “Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off”. The Lord, speaking through Ezekiel, will tell Israel, “My people, I will open your graves and bring you up from them...I will put my Spirit in you and you will live.”

The church in which I preached this passage is a 10-minute walk from the Choeung Ek Killing Field, which has been preserved as a memorial to those who died in this and similar killing fields scattered throughout Cambodia during Pol Pot’s genocidal Khmer Rouge regime in the late 1970s. Scholars debate how many people were killed during this bloody period. In fact, the impossibility of arriving at a definitive number of casualties can be illustrated by this: sometimes rain washes away dirt at the killing fields, uncovering a bone from another Khmer Rouge victim. The earth itself has not yet finished telling us the stories of the violence it witnessed.

While the country has made progress since the end of the Khmer Rouge in 1979, it still has deep wounds that may take generations to heal. Like the bones that wash up in the rain, so old trauma washes up at unexpected times. Like the people of Israel in Ezekiel’s day, many Cambodians feel that their bones are dried up, their hope is gone, they have been cut off.

And yet, the story doesn’t end there. Several years ago, the Cambodia Baptist Union cast a bold vision: to plant a church in every village in the nation. We have come to Cambodia to work alongside the CBU, helping it to build its capacity to fulfill its vision of cultivating beloved communities that bring truth, healing, reconciliation and justice to their villages and beyond.

In March, I visited Pastor Kong, a CBU pastor living in Kampot Province in southern Cambodia. She leads several ministries, including pastoring three village churches, teaching theological education classes, running a children's home and leading a prison Bible study.

Pastor Kong, in blue, teaching a theological education course.

I was perhaps most impressed by Pastor Kong's commitment to mentorship. She identifies people who seem gifted for ministry leadership, many of them young people in one of her village churches or children’s home. She will bring that person to a new church as a children’s ministry leader, for example, and they will do ministry together for a few weeks. As the student gains confidence, Pastor Kong steps back, observing and answering questions but letting the student lead.

As I visited with Pastor Kong and saw her ministries firsthand, I knew that God had called her to the front lines of the advancing gospel work. The Spirit of God, working through Pastor Kong, is bringing dry bones together and filling them with breath and life. I want to help make training, mentoring, encouragement and other resources available to Cambodian leaders who, like Pastor Kong, have the gifting and calling to make disciples and seek justice in their communities.

The fields of literal dry bones scattered throughout the country are a reminder of the many Cambodians who feel hopeless and cut off. God has called us here to work, placing us in the middle of this valley and asking us that always provocative question, “Can these bones live?”

With my head I say “No, the damage done here is too great.”

With my heart I say, “Yes, of course, they can and they will!”

With my spirit I say, “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.”

Wednesday, February 13, 2019


This last week I hit the 26th week in my pregnancy. With 40 weeks total and almost 13 weeks left to go before our daughter's due date, it seems like I still have a long way to go. And, especially as I get bigger and the temperature here gets hotter, I do still have a long way to go before we meet her. But a friend pointed out that 26 weeks is half of a year. Reframing it that way made 26 weeks seem like a long time, and indeed, when I look back, a lot has happened in 6 months. Some of it has been rough. Some of has been beautiful. And a lot of it has been...both.

These last 6 months have been unlike any others in our time here in Cambodia. Unfortunately I got hit by terrible nausea the first 5 months of my pregnancy. (I won't even get into the time I momentarily forgot about the nausea and walked into the raw meat section of the local wet market.) I've also learned there's very little that pregnancy hormones can't do to your bodylike the week or so where they caused my hips to feel like they were coming unscrewed, which made riding tuktuks, climbing stairs, or even just picking up the things I dropped around the house feel impossible. Nausea aside, the fatigue has been the most limiting part of the pregnancy. I've long realized that my capacity here in Cambodia is just simply lower than it was in my former life, but my energy levels have been at an all time low for these last 6 months. 

The last 6 months have also seen a lot of working to keep worries at bay. My guess is that for most people, becoming a parent naturally leads to a lot of worries. I definitely haven't been immune to that. It's also been a gut check to realize that, should something serious happen, there's no ambulance to call and we are probably a flight away from a hospital that can manage anything out of the ordinary. Yet, on the other hand, I feel the weight of the privilege I have to travel to Thailand to give birth when most people here don't have that choice.

There have been other big and small challenges over the last 26 weeks. With this being an especially bad year for dengue fever and with Zika present in Southeast Asia, citronella has become my signature scent as I diligently spray every few hours to keep mosquitoes away. As we straddle medical systems from France, Cambodia, America and Thailand, I'm not always sure whose recommendations to trust. Being thousands of miles and a dozen time zones away from family and friends is even tougher than usual. OK, and I also really miss central air conditioning and Blue Bell ice cream.

Yet, as I've bumped along potholed roads clutching a plastic bag, as I've dragged myselfslowly, slowlyup to my rooftop language tutoring, as I've dreamed of eating things that can only be purchased thousands of miles away, I've experienced a lot of beauty and learned a lot about myself and my calling and Cambodia in these 26 weeks.

While the pregnancy symptoms have been rough, we are so thrilled to be welcoming a little girl into our family that all of the physical ailments feel worth it. And, isn't it just miraculous to be able to co-create a human with the creator of all things? Keeping the worries at bay has meant that my prayer life is stronger than it has been in a long time. And while I welcome the day that Cambodia has quality healthcare for everyone, I've also had to come to grips with faith in the God who called me here to this place. So, while some trust in chariots and horsesor hospitals with NICUsI (do my best to) trust in the name of the Lord our God who has called me here and knows what I need.  I trust that while my capacity is lower, God knew about that too when God called me here. These 6 months have required some shifting of responsibilities, lots of help from David, and coming to grips with all the miraculous things my body is able to do...and the things it cannot do. I've learned to better embrace the way God created me.

These 6 months of pregnancy have also seen a deepening in almost all of my relationships. Other foreigners have been hard to meet and get to know here, but an online group of moms I've never even met have stepped up to offer advice on things from choosing a hospital and doctor in Bangkok to what kind of handy baby items are unavailable in Asia and must be brought over. Other missionaries on our team across Asia have been quick to share resources and encouragement. We are even lucky enough that several of our friends and coworkers are also pregnant and going through all these changes and decisions at the same time as us, even if we are doing it in very different contexts. What a gift! Video chats and various messaging platforms mean that friends and family are only clicks away. People we don't even know personally are praying for us and our baby girl the world over.

Our relationships with Cambodians have also gotten deeper. For a lot of reasons, I'd settled into the fact that small talk, let alone the deep conversations that I enjoy, were just not in the cards with some folks, and that this was OK. Yet, it's been so fun to exchange sitting in contented silence together with them asking me questions about the pregnancy and the baby (even if some of those questions are about how much weight I've gained!). It's been incredibly hard for us to get to know anyone in our apartment building, yet now a Cambodian woman from a couple floors up always stops to smile and wave to me from across the garage. She loves getting updates on the pregnancy and giving tips on what is to come. The waiters at a coffee shop I go to weekly all light up when I come in now and come over for chats. Even the kids at church have loved trying to guess the baby's gender and coming up with possible names.  I've gotten lots of advice, some of which I will taketake it easy, eat lots of sour fruitand lots of it that I won'tdon't take showers at night, avoid cold drinksbut either way, it's nice for us to have something to talk about. We now have more shared experiences and more joy to share. I also think that for us and for the people we know here, the idea of having children and raising them here makes our commitment to life and ministry in Cambodia a lot more tangible, shifting our relationships.

At the end of the day, this pregnancy has been about a lot of paradoxes. Isolated, but wrapped in love and encouragement from around the world and down the block. Feeling my physical worst and my emotional happiest. Grieving being far away and rejoicing in being here, in Cambodia. Feeling like an outsider, but finally having a way in. Knowing fear is on the doorstep, but finding peace in faith. At 26 weeks pregnant, I probably don't have to tell you that it's all enough to make my eyes well up in gratitude!

Thursday, January 17, 2019


The last couple of months have been a bit of a whirlwind for us here in Cambodia. We thought you might like to take a peek at some of what has been going on with us here during the holidays. Here are some snapshots!

This year Thanksgiving lined up with Phnom Penh's Water Festival. We decided to scout out some American ingredients around town and cook up a (mostly) traditional meal for ourselves and our Japanese missionary colleagues. The next day we headed out to the countryside to help teach at a university student retreat. The day included a lot of time on one of Cambodia's worst "highways," but it was a real joy to get to spend time with the students and hear from the other teachers and missionaries at the retreat. David also preached his first full length sermon in Khmer in November!

Water festival

Students performing a role play that had us all in stitches 

Eating together with students and other ministers

David's first sermon all in Khmer

Soon after Thanksgiving, Christmas season picked up here in Cambodia. Rather than centering around December 25th, Christmas services are held all throughout the month of December. The Cambodia Baptist Union supported and attended Christmas celebrations for small and brand new churches throughout the country. We were excited to help support this ministry as well as to attend some of the services. We traveled to Battambang province to attend two celebrations in villages there. One of the churches we attended was started in October and anther about a year ago, so it was a real joy to be with these churches on their first Christmas. We also got a chance to meet and talk with several pastors, see several churches and to learn a lot about the theological education by extension classes that are taught there.

CBU Christmas celebrations in the village. Each child receives a small gift after the service. 

Kids preparing to sing and do the motions to a Christmas song at a brand new house church

David giving a quick Christmas lesson at one of the celebrations

We returned back to Phnom Penh so that David could preach at a Christmas celebration at a dorm ministry. We had a quiet Christmas day at home on the 25th, which was restful and meaningful. Finally, we ended December with two more Christmas celebrationsone at the church we attend weekly and one at another dorm church that we attend and David preaches at monthly.

The dorm students performing a special Christmas song they prepared

A quiet Christmas morning at home: complete with a few Christmas decorations and some homemade sausage balls

The children at our church performed a hand bell version of Joy to the World in Christmas tree costumes they created themselves. We were very impressed!

Dorm students performing a Christmas pageant

We started the year with some time to plan, catch up and, for David, work on sermon planning for the year. We also celebrated our 5 year wedding anniversary and renewed our visas. The official and unofficial visa rules have changed considerably over the last few years (sometimes in contradictory ways), so we are very thankful to have our new visa extensions in hand!

Monday, December 10, 2018


When we first started to learn the Khmer language, we would practice the first few words we had learned with people. It was surprising how many Cambodians would say, with eyes wide, “Oh, wow! You know Khmer!” It seemed like an exaggerated response to my meager efforts, but I was glad that they seemed to appreciate it.

As the months passed, people started paying us a new compliment: “You speak clearly.” My pronunciation was improving. They could understand not just that I was pretending to speak Khmer, but that I could actually say something intelligible.

Recently, after being in Cambodia for three years, a teacher told us, “Talking with you is like talking with Khmer people.” We are still a little puzzled by that. What she clearly does not mean is that anybody would ever confuse us for a Khmer person. We think it must mean that our teacher can talk comfortably around us without “dumbing it down” much. We can speak and respond in a way that allows her to speak naturally around us.

I’ve been thinking about language milestones lately. They often take surprising forms and require a bit of interpretation. None of the milestones I mentioned in the previous paragraphs seemed true to us at the time. I would not say that “I know Khmer” just because I know a few words. I would not say “I speak clearly” when there’s still much I can’t say. Nor would I say I speak like a Khmer person...probably ever! Receiving language feedback is never straightforward and always requires a bit of interpretation and discernment.

I got to put these discernment skills to the test as I recently hit another language milestone. For a while, I was sharing monthly testimonies in the Khmer language at church as a way to help develop my public speaking skills. The first few times I shared, people were polite and moderately encouraging (Cambodians, or at least the ones I know, are almost never effusive in their praise, so “moderately encouraging” seemed significant). But after I had shared a few times, I got a different reaction. They laughed at me! After I said a particular word, a few people repeated it back laughing. Was it the wrong word, the wrong pronunciation, or just a big word they didn’t expect me to know? I’m still not sure. Later on, I stumbled over my words a little, and a couple of people hollered out corrections as I was still speaking. So much for polite and moderately encouraging! I must admit I was a little discouraged when I finished.

As much as I might prefer polite and moderately encouraging, I think this episode marked a language milestone for me. I think people felt that I was advanced enough that they could correct me and I would understand. They could give feedback on my word choice. They could talk to me more like they talk to their own family members and less like they talk to the foreigner that they don’t quite know what to make of. I am less like the new guy who is trying very hard but still sounds like a toddler, and more like the person who’s obviously going to be around a while so we might as well tell him that his grammar was off in that sentence.

It’s not the kind of language milestone I was looking for. I was really hoping my next milestone would be the one where I get non-stop praise and increasing requests to do exactly the kinds of ministries that I want to do. Instead, I get laughed at and interrupted. I can choose to be discouraged, or I can choose to notice a reaction I haven’t gotten before. Something changed. I must have hit a new milestone. I made people comfortable enough to correct me. To heckle me a bit.

Sometimes you just have to take the milestones as they come. Some milestones are more obviously encouraging, while others make me feel a little more vulnerable. But I can’t run from the milestones that makes me feel vulnerable. I have to receive them the same as I receive the praise. And I have to be willing to see through the discomfort to the hidden blessings inside. The path to progress passes through some milestones that don’t seem like milestones.

I pray that both you and I would be able to see progress as it is, not as we wish it would be. I pray that we wouldn’t seek only the progress that makes us feel good, but also the progress that makes us feel vulnerable and uncomfortable. I pray that God would bless you in the midst of milestones that don’t seem like blessings at all.

Since I got laughed at, I’ve preached two full sermons in Khmer. People were, shall we say, polite and moderately encouraging. We’ll see how they really feel after I do a few more. Then I can see what my next milestone is and how I can grow as a result.

Monday, October 29, 2018


This week David and I hit our three-year anniversary of moving to Cambodia. Three years! The saying, "The days are long but the years are short," definitely rings true for me. As David and I celebrated over dinner, we talked about the highs and lows, accomplishments, and lessons learned in the last few years.

What really surprised me the most was thinking back to our first days and months here and how little we knew. We sometimes still feel like we know very little, until, of course, I compare myself to how I showed up three years ago.

Language, of course, has been a big change. We arrived only knowing two words of the language (hello and thank you), and we were unsure of how to correctly pronounce even just that. We dove right in, but it would be more than 6 months before I would even start to learn how to read and write in the world's longest alphabet. Then, after a year of full time, intense language study, we would still attend our Cambodian church each week and not understand more than a word or two of the songs, prayers or sermons. We didn't really even understand how the royal version of the Khmer language worked, much less what all the royal and religious words used at church meant.

Now, after three years, I am able to read the Khmer Bible out loud with a tutor for an hour and a half at a time. I can read the hymns at church and sing along. Even if it's not always grammatically perfect, I've found myself in conversations lately explaining how earthquakes work and thinking through the pros and cons of different political systems. I've given and received personal advice. I can even make people laugh from time to time (and not just at my mistakes!).

There are other areas where progress has slowly snuck up on me, too. After a lot of listening, asking questions, observing, researching, praying and listening some more, we feel like we have grasped enough to step into more active ministry roles without hurting more than we help in the long run. The same process has brought us closer to our partners and their work. Our knowledge of how and why they work has expanded a hundred-fold, and we are excited about the projects that are now in the works. Also, after months of paperwork and meetings, we were able to start referring pastors and people from our congregation to receive quality, low-cost healthcare at a local ministry clinic. While we often still crave deeper community ties, I have gone from not knowing another soul here besides David to having a small group of women whom I can count on. We've also been honored to help bring together a collaboration of missionaries from around the world who are also here to support our partners.

There are small things, too, that I often take for granted that I have learned or gotten used to. I can drive a hard bargain in the market and can inch the car through a crowded five-way intersection without a traffic light. I can identify and eat a dozen tropical fruits I never knew existed. I'm no longer bothered by a few floating ants in my drinks. I've even conquered the squatty potty.

Three years in, there are plenty of things I still have left to learn about this place, this work, and myself. There are things I'm still not adjusted to. I still read slowly, I've still not adjusted to the heat, and I still have no desire to eat crickets or spiders. (And, I'm not sure those things will ever change!)

Yet, I can look back and see in these and a hundred other ways that over the last three years, God has been faithful to show up in our lives. And, while the increments were small, God was faithful to bless our meager efforts to show up as well. I'm reminded afresh that daily persistence does add up over time. Houses are built brick by brick. Saved pennies add up to dollars. And obedience and faithfulness, however small, can be transformational.

So, for those of you who have followed our journey, who have prayed for or supported us, who have sent notes and encouragement our waythank you! We can't wait to see how far we have come and the ways God will show up in another three years.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018


Lauren had fallen asleep, but I was still awake, lying in the bed reading. I could feel her turn over and rustle around, trying to find a comfortable position. I kept reading, but I was surprised that she was still rolling around in the bed. I looked over to see if she was awake. I was quite surprised by what I saw. She had not woken up. She had not moved. And yet, the bed was still shaking. If she wasn’t shaking it, what was? As the situation began to sink in, I realized there was an even more pertinent mystery to solve: what was shaking the entire hotel room? 

We were on the island of Bali for a meeting with our organization, and we stayed afterwards for a few days of vacation. About two weeks before we arrived in Bali, a couple of powerful earthquakes struck Lombok, the next island over, causing significant damage. We knew it was possible that there would be more in the area. And late on the first night of our vacation, that possibility turned into reality. A magnitude 6.9 earthquake struck near Lombok and was felt in Bali.

The shaking was strong enough to wake Lauren. We peeked into the hallway and saw guests pouring out of their rooms. We entered the groggy flow of people and made our way outside. Once outside, we stood near the big green “Assembly Point” sign. These signs mark places to come together during emergencies. The Assembly Point signs all over the place are eerie reminders that no matter how much fun you’re having on this famously beautiful island, you are still sitting on the Ring of Fire, and earthquakes can happen any time. After a few minutes, the hotel staff told us it was fine to go back inside. During the rest of our vacation in Bali, there were a few more aftershocks, but we never again had to visit the big green Assembly Point sign.

As I reflect on my time in Bali, I keep remembering this Assembly Point sign. In fact, for me Bali was like a metaphorical assembly point. It was also an assembly of colleagues from across Asia gathered for the CBF Asia meeting. We told stories, encouraged each other, laughed, shared our struggles. And we had a business meeting or two. Can’t ever get out of those, I suppose. But all of it, from the sharing time with teammates to the business meetings, helped me see how I fit into the big picture of the global work we are participating in together.

One night during the meeting, a local took us on a tour of his village and then did a cooking class with us. Calling it a cooking class is a bit misleading. Rather, our guide would hand some of us a plate of herbs and tell us to chop. He told another group to stir and another group to slice. He would call for two people to mix in the kitchen, two more to squeeze some leafy greens, two more to fry tempeh (he also would call for one person at a time to take pictures of what was going on because if he’s learned anything about Americans, it’s that they love pictures of their food). Each of us contributed one or two things, and none of us saw the whole picture. We could only guess what would end up on our plates at the end, and we didn’t always know exactly which items we had contributed to. But the end result—the “assembly point” of all those ingredients and all that work—was alarmingly good.

Another night, we learned to play the gamelan. The gamelan is a traditional percussion ensemble used for ceremonies and festivals. I was assigned to a small instrument like a xylophone with only ten bars. I was told to play the same two notes over and over. They were clangy and repetitive. Then after each of us had practiced our individual parts, we put all the instruments together. When those discordant notes came together, they made music. At this assembly point, things which did not seem beautiful, came together to create haunting, complex, shimmering music. Again, the big picture was made clear at the assembly point.

My daily life is mostly consumed with the small picture. I learn Khmer vocabulary, write a sermon, fill the car up with gas, write a quarterly report that I send into the ether, have coffee with a partner, or any of the other tasks that make up my ministry here. Just like squeezing spinach or banging on two notes of the gamelan, they don’t seem like much. How could the chef use all these small efforts to make a banquet? How could the gamelan conductor use all these discordant notes to make music? How could God use all these small tasks to make a ministry? And yet—defying all laws of logic and physics—meals, music and ministry arise out of these efforts. I pray that you too would be richly rewarded by the assembly points of your efforts to serve God, even if they are a long time coming. I also pray thatlike us, you would be blessed by assemblies of people—teams, communities, family—who would encourage you on your journey.

Learning to trust that my small efforts contribute to God's big picture was the main lesson of my time in Bali. But there was one final lesson to be gleaned from my visit to the big green assembly point sign. I learned that Cambodia does not sit on any fault lines. I learned that, no matter how many difficulties come from living in Cambodia, at least I don't have to worry about earthquakes. I enjoyed my visit to Bali, but it felt great to be back on solid ground in my home sweet home.