Remembering the Basics

"Han-naa, jam n'tEk.  Kn'om owee duk k'dau," Ming insists, moving swiftly before I can say a word.
           
Without the strength, nor the language, to fight for the little pride I have left, I stare into space, saying nothing.  Ming takes a large cooking pot, fills it, and puts it over the fire.  I wait, numb of emotion, unsure of myself, unsure of what to expect...

Stepping into the small space that is our bathroom, I slowly lift the small blue bucket handle over my body.  As I turn the bucket upside-down, a rush of hot water sweeps over my numbed fever-ridden body, suddenly awakening an ocean of emotion within me.  Closing my eyes, tears—strikingly warm—push their way past my eyelids, down my face, and into nothing.  I have forgotten the feeling of hot water.  As I lift another scoop over my body, I recognize a more costly forgotten feeling: the feeling of gratitude.
                     
                      Gratitude, for life itself.
                                     For running water, for boiled water.
                                                 For the Cambodian family that has taken me into their
                                                             living space, and cared for me like their own.  

                                                                     - - -

That was the first month in Cambodia.  Over the next several, I would learn this lesson again and again, receiving grace when I had absolutely nothing to offer, but a broken body and a drained spirit.  Feverish-illness would only strike me twice more.  But I would be overwhelmed with gratitude many many times over.  I would experience gratitude for the steel roof— leaky as it is— as rain water thundered over.  I would experience relief for electricity, that, for the most part, faithfully powers the portable fan that cools us down on unbearably hot days.  I would be grateful for fresh running water, when sewage water from flooding threaten to clog up the pipes.  But mostly, I would be grateful for the individuals that walk me through. My siblings, whose lighthearted spirits lighten up a tough day.  My co-workers, who care for me like family. My brothers and sisters at church, who share the same living community as me.

Gratitude, I have experienced, is one of the deepest evidences of God's presence.  It breaks through in the midst of utter chaos, providing moments of clarity to remind us of God's faithfulness.  I have seen people in destitute poverty testify to it, times when fear of disease, death, war, are no longer at center stage.  On the other hand, I have seen people living with great excess, deny its existence, frantically scrounging around, as if having lost life itself somehow.  Gratitude is stunning testimony to a God here and now, that allows us to be present with the people around us.  Together, reminding each other to be grateful for life, and for the very God that gives life.  

---
There are a short 5 weeks left in my time in Cambodia.  My prayer is that we as a Global community would continually remind one another, of a God that gives life where we are at.

Gratitude, I must add, does not discount the realities of fear, death, and sickness that are a daily struggle.  Instead, I believe it empowers us to to confront the realities of brokenness face-to-face.  My Ming is fighting a psycho-somatic condition each day, as non-stop worry physically drains her health.  I ask for prayers for her healing, and rest in her heart, as she continues to seek a God she does  yet know for answers.  I pray also, that Christians would surround her through the struggle, and be further strength to her each day.
 

Home

I push my bike forward across the lot, straining against the drenched sand, that is threatening to consume my tires.  My tires leave their mark, deep lines in the ginger-colored dirt amidst spots of tall grass.  My footprints leave distorted circular marks in the mud, betraying evidence of human struggle across the lot.





















My friend, and fellow co-worker, follows behind me, maneuvering his moto with much more ease, while graciously handling the sea-green backpacking pack I have lived out of for the past several months.  The hooded plastic coverings meant to protect us from the rain have, as usual, done a poor job keeping the water off our skin.  As I head towards the crude ladder, that marks the back of my house, I am well aware of a newly-established settlement next to the cement wall, a makeshift shack that is my neighbor's attempt to escape the impossible flooding.



"PtAya neu na?" Vysal asks me, eyeing the shack warily.
         
"PtAya neu nE," I say, pointing to the settlement on the other side of the ladder.  "tOl mok ptAya yearn lAk duk jrOU howee, alleU yearn neu kang kaoee."  The flooding at the front of my house is waist-high, and rising, hence my unconventional route through the back lot.





Suddenly, a familiar figure appears over the wall.  "mm...Han-naa!"  My host brother—also named Visal—says, greeting me in his usual accusatory manner.  Before I can respond, he throws his head back, yelling, "Ma!  Han-na mao howee!"

I laugh.  Yes, I am home.        





Before I know it, Ming appears over the wall, next to Visal.  "Miing!" I say, a wave of gratitude hitting me, in the familiarity of her caring smile.
     
                            "Han-naa!  hot meh,  plEun rOholt Han-naa.  be Bak na,"                                          she says, empathizing with the difficulty of my journey home.

A third person pops up, next to Ming.  Channa, my younger host sister, has determinedly squeezed into whatever space is left on the ladder, not to be left out on the scene. Channnaa....." I say, chuckling to myself, barely able to contain the excitement at the sight of my host family.

As Ming, Visal, Channa, and other Vysal, help take my stuff over the cement wall, it is clear that our house is not in the best condition.  The flood water has risen so that the bottom floor— where Ming and Bu sleep, and where food is made—is unlivable.  The water, disturbingly black from years of unkempt waste in the community, has hidden everything except the wooden table that serves as the dinner table, as well as Ming and Bu's sleeping space.

The last time I was home, a few days before, the water was at mid-thigh.  I went to drop-by my host family after church, following the home visit of a friend—and neighbor—bed-ridden with suspected Dengue fever.  Taking the usual path home, I meticulously stepped my way through the water, guessing—hoping—for stable ground, as I had done so many times before through flooded roads in Cambodia.  I found Ming, Visal and Channa lounging on the table mid-afternoon, passing time, as if stranded on an island surrounded by water.  With a long stick Ming attempted to keep floating-trash away from them.  I had called on them unexpectedly, and upon seeing the ridiculous scene, laughed profoudly.  They had, upon seeing me and my excitement, and that I had willingly staggered through "the depths" to get to them, found great amusement in the situation themselves.  We then, devised grand plans to create floating devices to help us get around, and to go fishing, making light of the impossible situation...  I told them I would be home Wednesday.
                   
                             - - -
August was a time of angst for me, when the culmination of battles—both internal and external—somehow crept up in a grave cynicism. September, thus, was time away—a retreat, space, a step back—from the external pressures of the context, to reflect on the first three and a half months of life in Cambodia.

Three weeks at my boss's house, to myself, allowed me to set my own boundaries—though they were surely tried and tested, by the many children in the neighborhood—and in a way, rediscover my own calling.  It was a growing time, when relationships with DOVE staff deepened, when I was able to share my testimony in Khmer, when I experienced the incredible support of Khmer church and DOVE staff.   It was a sacred time, where the time away slowly steeped me in a new appreciation for my relationships, my challenges, and my experiences.  Sure enough, by the end of three weeks, I could not wait to be home.


The certainty in my being, that this is where I need to be—here, now, present, this moment—makes this home for me.  Home is an ambiguous term.  And perhaps, it should be. Henri Nouwen articulates this concept of voluntary displacement in Compassion.  "We, like everyone else," Nouwen states, "are pilgrims on the way, sinners in need of grace.  Through voluntary displacement, we counteract the tendency to become settled in a false comfort and to forget the fundamentally unsettled position that we share with all people" (64).

That conviction, makes this place home for me.  And that makes all the difference, to both me and my family.  It means that, the rising flood waters, accompanied by swarming mosquitoes, makes does not change the fact that I want to be with them.  The stink of the sewage water, along with the choked-up toilet, is of little matter to me.  The route home, marked with mud, flooding, and detours, in an endless drizzle of rain, is not the point.

What matters, instead, is getting to be in the moments of every day.  Like in joining Channa as she spontaneously belts out the latest pop tune, accompanied by grand attempts of dance choreography.  Like in watching Visal as he decides he must figure out how to make karaoke work on my laptop - and does.  Like joining in the exhilaration of seeing our neighbor send Vijerah, the community baby, down the flooded lane in a floating bucket. Like in watching Bu hysterically attempt to get rid of a fearless little mouse with a bamboo sheet.  This, figuring out life, being fully present in the joys, in the struggles, in the daily life, together—is what matters.  ---

In the fifth month of my internship, I ask that we pray for the lives in Cambodia that have been affected by endless days of rain, and flooding.  Eighty people— forty of which are children—have lost their lives, and 60,000 people have been displaced due to the flooding. Please pray that God would open the people's hearts to know Christ's presence with them in their suffering.  Please continue to pray for the unsettled political situation in Cambodia.  Specifically, that it would result in justice for Cambodians, particularly the oppressed.  And please pray for me, and those around me, that we, together, would know God's presence with us, each day.

Link to Recent Cambodia Article:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/flooding-in-cambodia-claims-more-than-80-lives/2013/10/07/2bff476e-2f4c-11e3-8906-3daa2bcde110_gallery.html