Travel Part 3: Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia.

After Africa — leaky boats, baby monkeys, three hundred kids — I thought I deserved something calm.
So, naturally, I booked a ticket to Asia.
Because nothing says “peaceful” like the world’s busiest streets and a brand-new job title: English teacher.

(Okay… I may have also squeezed in some wildlife volunteering. What can I say? I love animals. We all have our weaknesses.)

Plot twist: I am not a teacher.
Never was.
In school, I was more “creative chaos” than “classroom leader.”
But apparently, when you click “book flight,” they don’t ask for credentials. just a TOEFL test.

Vietnam: History, Incredible People & Shrines

Vietnam was breathtaking.
And loud.

Scooters weaving like a video game.
Markets full of smells that defy description.

Everywhere I looked — religion.
Shrines in living rooms.
Incense curling from street corners.
Even rooftops designed to bounce “bad spirits” right back into the sky.

But here’s what you don’t see on postcards:
The people were warm.
Hospitable.
They fed me, guided me, taught me how to cross the street without dying.

I hiked mountains, trekked rice terraces, kayaked rivers, explored cafés hidden behind fake refrigerators.
I made friends who still make me smile when I think about them.

And somewhere between the incense smoke and the night buses, I realized:
We all worship something.
They burned incense.
We burn out.

Cambodia: Children, Hope & Healing

Cambodia was beautiful — and brutal.
History heavy enough to crush you, beauty bright enough to keep you standing.

I lived in a metal shipping container.
Fan. Thin blanket. No mattress.

Chores started early.
One time, I even boiled my clothes to kill bugs — yes, like pasta.
I called my dad to say thanks for washing machines and clean sheets.
(He thought I was sending a distress signal. I wasn’t. Just grateful.)

After chores came the real work — teaching English at Hope Agency. This training allows many students to pursue dreams and careers they had never thought possible prior to Hope Agency. Thanks to this program people do not end up in a sweat shop or other sick dark jobs.

I loved those kids fiercely.
Still do.

Fridays were “fun days.”
One Friday, I took my group into the city for ice cream.
(And yes, I missed air conditioning. This was self-care disguised as charity.)

The kids came like it was a wedding.
Shirt tucked in, nice dresses.
Hair brushed.
Biggest smiles I’ve ever seen.

When they got their cones, it was like we’d handed them the moon.
Somehow, five dollars bought more than ice cream —
it bought a little adventure and happiness.
And I sat there counting all the $5 bills I’ve thrown away on things that never mattered.

Later I found a café run by Christians helping women escape trafficking.
It was the first and only Christian place I saw in all my time in Asia — no church buildings, no crosses on street corners — just this little café.

The walls were covered in paintings by survivors.
Crowns on their heads.
Bible verses about God’s love and grace.

When I asked what the paintings meant, one woman said simply:

“That is how we see ourselves — daughters of the King. Our past does not define us.”

I stood there, tears in my eyes, thinking —
God is here.
In the middle of what most people avoid.
Restoring what the world tried to erase.

Indonesia: Prayers & Primates

Yes, my weakness for animals struck again.
I went back to what I knew — wildlife volunteering.

Birds, turtles, primates rescued from trafficking.
Messy, exhausting, smelly work.
Also beach cleanups and scuba diving.
Exactly what I needed.

What shook me: the city was filled with incense and offerings — everywhere.
Candies, flowers, cigarettes for the gods on sidewalks, beaches, backyards.

These wonderful people weren’t asking for luxury.
They were begging for peace.
Healing.
Hope.

And honestly?
It broke me a little.
Because I wasn’t sure where I stood with God.
And here were all these strangers giving everything to gods who would never answer back.

Then one morning, the car started shaking.
Everyone screamed.
I laughed it off — just a pothole, right?
(Paraguay has potholes big enough to swallow cars. It felt like Tuesday.)

But nope.
It was an earthquake.
And not a small one.

We still went to the turtle sanctuary that day, still cleaned the beach.
But when we came back, other volunteers told us about the damage in the city.

I remember thinking:
Life can shake in an instant — literally.
And when it does, you realize quickly what you’re really holding on to.

What Asia Taught Me

Asia was loud with worship.
Statues. Smoke. Kneeling strangers.

And me?
I wasn’t kneeling — at least not to statues.
But I was still bowing.
To control.
To independence.
To the need to prove I could do it all.

I wish I could say I prayed through this trip.
I didn’t.
I just noticed.

But maybe noticing was the first prayer.
The first crack in my own walls.

Asia didn’t give me answers.
It gave me questions:
What am I worshiping?
Who am I trusting?
What am I chasing so hard that I can’t rest?

Because here’s the truth:
Most of us are worshiping something.
Statues. Success. Control.

False gods — whether made of stone or stress — always take.
But the God who made you?
He frees. He restores. He redeems.

So ask yourself:
What’s quietly sitting on the throne of your life?
Your image? Your to-do list? Your need to prove you’re enough?

There’s only One who deserves that seat — and His name isn’t “I’ll handle it.”
It’s Jesus.
The only God who stepped down, carried a cross, and rose again —
so you could stop striving for worth and start resting in His grace.