Angkor Wat
Before
coming to Cambodia this summer, I thought I had a pretty decent understanding
of what it looks like, tangibly, to love Jesus and to love people. Yet, it
seems that I still have more to learn (of course). Since arriving, the Lord has
dismantled, piece by piece, what I thought loving & serving meant. The
first two weeks I felt like I had done nothing. And then He began to open my
eyes as I looked about me. And I saw Jesus everywhere. He was in the faces of
the boys smiling at us each morning, clambering all over our Tuk Tuk as we
pulled up to the center. He was in the staff who patiently wrangled a couple
dozen little ones in the playroom every day. He was in the director who has
committed her entire life to fighting for these kids; to protect them, love
them, and teach them about Jesus. He was everywhere. In the days without
schedules, in the moment to moment changes in plans, in the chaos of dozens of
little feet thundering up and down the stairs during class rotation. He was in
the discipleship class and in the playroom. In the street and out along the
riverfront. He was in my housemates and our Khmer friends at work. He was in me
too.
It
is often easy, I think, to see the Jesus in others. I see Him so clearly in the
people I live with & work with. They have such a deep love for the Lord and
it spills into their daily actions and choices. The tone of respect & love
with which they speak to one another, the patience with which they teach and
interact with the kids at the center, and the joy they find in the small
things. Each day we relish the small joys, the tiny triumphs, the most mundane
of successes. These are the miracles, the blessings beyond compare that keep
the darkness at bay.
Don’t
get me wrong, we love what we do. Truly. We are all glad the Lord has brought
us here. But we feel the weight of the darkness that surrounds us. And some
days, for me most days, I’m at a loss as to what I should think & feel. My
heart breaks for the broken people of Cambodia, especially the little boys
& girls we work with at the center. Their reality is often a living
nightmare. And we have the opportunity to love them in the midst of that, to
teach them, play with them, and laugh with them. To help them know beyond doubt
that there is a safe place for them, if only for a few hours of the day. A
place where they are not threatened or exploited, a place where they are loved
& respected, a place where they can be kids.
The
Lord is so present here. His sons & daughters in Cambodia have hearts of
love & devotion to the Lord. I expect to be amazed by what God is going to
continue to work through His people in Cambodia. I pray that his sons &
daughters will continue to rise up and bless His name, to continue in their
love for the broken and the lost.
Perhaps
this is a western misconception, but do you ever fall into the lie that in
darkness there can be no light, no joy? I fall for that lie. And these last few
weeks have done wonders to debunk it. Here, especially in our work which hold
it’s share of weighty matters and of dark things, there is much joy and light.
There is great sense of life in Cambodia. One of my favorite theologians says
that “light is the mother of life.” (John O’Donohue) and I have found this true
time and again. Light fosters life. Here, amid the brokenness, there is great
light and joy. Because you know what? God is good. And He is here. He has not
forgotten the people of Cambodia. He loves them with an undying love. He is
drawing them to himself, one by one. And where Jesus is, there is light, and
where there is light the darkness loses it’s power. And if that’s not cause for
hope & joy, I don’t know what is.
After a storm
There
is one body and one spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were
called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over
all and through all and in all.
–Ephesians 4:4-6
