News Trend Bouncing Back|Actual

Here's the thing. If you spend the morning in Angkor Wat, Cambodia doing a whole lot of this:

Then by mid-afternoon, I guarantee that you are going to be feeling a lot like this:

And trust me, you are going to want some refreshment and relaxation, stat.

Luckily, Cambodia has figured out how to cater to weary Westerners:

^ We did not stop here but I gazed longingly down the cool walkway and felt refreshed just by looking

^ We ate a late lunch here atBlue Pumpkin, in a luxuriously air-conditioned upstairs room where we lounged across crisp white linens and pondered the state of our heat-wracked souls.

^ My small but mighty vegetable quiche restored me to life, with a sassy little salad on the side. Ice cream for dessert and I felt myself beginning to bounce back.

^ We wandered back out into the midday sun, immediately realized more water was in order, and ducked into this coffeeshop for two extra large bottles.

* * * * *

And after an hour or two spent in the comforting embrace of Siem Reap, I predict you will be feeling rested, recharged, and quite possibly ready to rock.

More temples, anyone?

News Trend Lunch At Thuy's|Actual

One of the really lovely aspects of my trips to Vietnam is that I'm not a typical tourist.

Quite the opposite.

My third-born's friends and colleagues in Danang welcome me with open arms. Invited into normal Vietnamese homes, we share everyday meals and experience culture in ways that Yelp and TripAdvisor could never help me do. And I come to know and care for these people who so generously draw me into their lives.

Case in point: my daughter teaches English a couple evenings a week at a school run by a woman named Thuy. With the help of several high school girls from my daughter's group, Thuy whipped up this beautiful feast in our honor , complete with icy Cokes, and we spent a lovely afternoon in her home eating every delicious bite.

It's worth noting that the table was too small to hold this groaning spread and we quickly decided to move the party to the floor. Asia, you are my kind of place.

Thuy and her family live in a modern and spacious landed house with an inviting courtyard  filled with plants. After lunch, I wandered among them, enjoying every dollop of healthy green foliage soaking up the tropical sun.

And I found a pretty pastel building across the street. What an adorable neighborhood.

But of course, my favorite part about this lovely afternoon was not the neighborhood or the garden or even the spring rolls and my quang.

In the front row, Susie, Monica, Sasha and Thuy.

Behind them: the Streichers

The best part about eating lunch at Thuy's house was spending time with these lovely women and making them my friends.

News Trend Stand United|Actual

When crazy people do crazy things, like shoot up a club full of weekend revelers, the world shudders in collective agony and then quickly attempts to find meaning in the madness.

But sometimes, I wonder about the conclusions we so hastily draw.

* * * * *

Here in the U.S. We have suffered dozens of mass shootings at schools full of children. My mind reels at the pure evil of anyone who would point a gun at a child and I think most of the world feels just as sickened as I do. Still, I've never heard these incidents specifically characterized as crimes against children.

I've never seen reporters grill public servants about their voting records for children's issues.

And I've never listened to anyone position the tragedy as just another example of society's ugly biases against youngsters.

In this age of worldwide terror attacks, we've solemnly come to understand that shootings at schools are not necessarily conducted by people who hate children. Bombs on subways are not crimes against commuters. Assault rifles at the theater are not attacks against movie enthusiasts. Suicide bombers at restaurants are not strikes against hungry people.

Mass shootings and other terrorist acts are designed to plant fear in the hearts of all people, to remind us that every day - no matter who we are or where we go - we take a chance with our lives. The goal of terror is to make us feel naked and vulnerable and alone as we step out into a world full of hidden foes. Those who create terror desire to fill our minds with the crushing realization that none of us are every truly safe and to poison our souls with paranoia and suspicion toward our fellow man.

We have every right to be afraid.

But we cannot let our fear divide us.

As much compassion as I have for the innocent human beings slain in the Orlando shooting, I cringe when I hear this tragedy positioned as a crime against the LGBT community.

No matter what the demographics of the victims, terrorist attacks are crimes against all of humanity. And in their nefarious wake, we must always stand united.

News Trend Follow Your Dreams|Actual

On a sunny Sunday morning in Ohio, ninety years ago almost to this very day, a group of eager young students graduated from college. Among the freshly minted ministers at Cincinnati Bible College were Carl, a red-headed pastor of word and sacrament, and Clara, a former farmer's daughter whose expertise lay in Christian education, the highest-ranking field for women in the church of that day.

Commencement exercises were completed by noon, but the excitement was far from over for Carl and Clara. In a ceremony held on the leafy green campus lawn, they were married that afternoon, and the next day, boarded a steam ship bound for Africa..

This trip was no exotic honeymoon. The couple shared a dream of doing mission work in Africa. Their plan was to live among the native people of Southern Rhodesia, preaching and teaching and setting an example of Christian brotherhood, for the rest of their lives.

Yep. Forever. Carl and Clara went all in. When they sailed away from New York Harbor, they had no intentions of ever coming back to America.

Several years passed. The couple agreeably adjusted to the tribal culture, the slowly-progressing work, the unremitting heat. As their efforts in the mission field began to bear fruit, so did their family grow. A baby girl was born to them, and Carl and Clara both relaxed into their new life, calmly confident that their dream was firmly on track.

Then the letters began.

Carl's mother wrote often and shared news of the family business. Carl's father and younger brothers were well drillers, and with economic havoc of the Great Depression beginning to unfold, their livelihood was threatened.

Please come home and save the business.

You're the only one who can help us.

Without you, we will all be financially ruined.

Staying in Africa is selfish.

You owe this to your family.

What a dilemma. Carl and Clara's happiness was shattered. After much somber searching of their souls, they decided that they had no choice but to return to the states and help the family out of this jam. Maybe this would be a short term detour to their dream of missionary life; maybe they could return to Africa and pick back up where they were about to leave off.

But that never happened.

Sixty years later, with not one but two daughters successfully raised to adulthood and Carl gone to his heavenly reward after a long and satisfying career as a top-notch well man, Clara still wrestled with anger and bitterness over how their missionary dream was snatched away from them. Despite her generous Christian heart, Clara could not forgive and forget what had happened.

* * * * *

How do I know these things?

Because Carl and Clara are my grandparents; my mother is their second-born daughter.

Me and my brothers, admiring Grandpa's drilling rig and hoping for

one of his rare offers to take us for a ride.

Back when I lived in the Midwest, my grandma and I would often make long road trips together, and she would spin out for me this story of her life as an African missionary..She loved to go through the details, over and over. And to be honest, there are some rather unsavory bits to the story, like the part where my grandpa's parents ditched him with a heap of outstanding debt and then abandoned the business to him altogether. She told every part of the story with a full measure of emotion, good and bad.

But once I said to her, Grandma, you have lived such a wonderful life. All the people who hurt you are dead and gone. For your own sake, can you finally forgive them?

And as we rolled through the evening darkness of Interstate 94, somewhere around Jackson, Michigan, my sweet grandmother clenched her teeth and bitterly vowed that she would never, ever forgive her in-laws for ruining her beautiful African life.

My grandpa's business was a one-man operation, but he had an impressive fleet of four vehicles to run his business. Every one of them was painted bright red - his favorite color.

I don't really understand why this story has such an impact on me. But it does. Whenever I'm wrestling with decisions in my life, I take this little gem out of my memory and turn it this way and that, trying to see if there is wisdom, guidance to be gleaned from the savannas of southern Africa, almost a full century ago.

And while I see gleams of ideas about loyalty and teamwork and family commitment - not to mention the essential need for forgiveness - the strongest message that comes to me is always this.

Follow your dreams.

News Trend Reflections At Three AM|Actual

I also savor bouquets of pink peonies, but that's a different matter.

Tonight - or should I say this morning - as I go to bed, I take great peace and security from knowing that:

Everyone else in the house is long since sound asleep.

Rain patters gently down in the darkness outside.

The house is clean, from top to bottom, and ready for the new day ahead.

My plans for tomorrow are sorted.

Ranger snores gently at my feet.

These are the joys of being a night owl, the sweet moments of contentment and pause that no early-to-bedders can ever savor, or even understand.

And though, as usual, I will miss tomorrow's sunrise and golden moments of early morning stillness, I wouldn't trade my hours of late-night solitude for anything.

News Trend When In Danang: Part Ten|Actual

When in Danang, dare to drive a motorbike.

Now the traffic here in cute little Danang is not so heart-stopping as the huge cities of Saigon or Hanoi, but in order to survive, you need to wrap your head around these Vietnamese rules of the road:

1. Throw the Western rules of driving right out the window.. Oh sure, traffic lights, lane lines, turn signals and other such conventions exist in some fashion, but you can't count on other drivers to respect or necessarily use them. And if you insist on sticking to the old rules yourself, silly American, you are going to cause a lot of drama and confusion on the streets of Vietnam.

2. Understand that Vietnamese drivers operate like a school of fish. Flowing along in close quarters, they speed up when they see openings and slow down as congestion builds. When one stream of traffic intersects with another, each driver enters into a silent dance with the others, nonverbally negotiating who will gently accelerate and who will ease off, in order to safely pass each other by.

Tiga Play with babies

Nine

Trust me. It's fun.

When in Danang, dare to drive a motorbike.

* * * * *

Here are my other top ten tips for getting to know the sweet little city of Danang, Vietnam:

One | Ride across the bridges

Two | Hang out in coffee shops

Three | Play at the beach

Four | Stroll along the river after dark

Five | Fuel your creativity

Six | Go see the sunrise

Seven | Spend an afternoon wandering in Hoian

Eight | Play with babies

Nine | Get your nails done

News Trend A Crabby Day At The Beach|Actual

After lying around the house for a full week, stricken with the Asian flu, my clever daughters decided that I needed a change of scene.

"Let's go to the beach," they said.

"You love the beach," they said.

"Trust us," they said. "It'll be fun."

Hmm. They know me pretty well.

So we drove down the hill, parked the car, and strolled out to our favorite place to hang out at the beach - the floating dock.

But I have to admit, I was feeling crabby.

Mmm, a glorious scene awaited us there.

Sky,

sea,

islands,

and the sturdy ferry chugging across the water.

All was exactly and perfectly as it should be

Except for one thing.

The balance-control centers in my stuffed-up head were unable to properly interpret the rolling waves that pitched the dock underneath my feet. Instead of enjoying the ride, my legs wobbled uncontrollably and I felt like I was about to pitch over the edge into the briny deep.

Which, I must admit, made me feel even crabbier.

^ I needed to get to dry land pronto. As I stumbled toward terra firma, my eyes fell on this strange sight.

There was the ferry, moored at its familiar dock.

And the friendly lighthouse, protecting the point as usual.

But what was all that grey stuff along the edge of the water?

Suddenly I realized I was seeing the effects of an extreme low tide. Usually the waves lap up close to the rocky seawall at the base of the lighthouse, and cut off access to the beach to the left and beyond. However, this low tide had created a superhighway of sand that stretched around that mysterious corner and led who knows where.

Clearly, this was a rare opportunity for adventure.

As I rambled along the rarely revealed stretch of sand, taking a zillion photos of these well-known icons from wildly unusual angles, I felt my mood improve and my heart lighten. I may have even stopped coughing for a few minutes.

^ As I made my way back to my waiting daughters, I came across this beautiful specimen in lifeless yet exquisite perfection. A Dungeness crab.

At that moment, I realized that there was only one crab on the beach. And glory hallelujah,  it wasn't me.