| Phnom Penh City Overview Photo Gallery Director Bio Journals: · Jun 28 2006 · Jul 05 2006 · Jul 14 2006 · Jul 18 2006 · Jul 28 2006 · May 30 2007 Trek 2006 Home |
Global Urban Trek 2006
tragedy and hopeJuly 5
Week one. Wow, we just finished our first week in Phnom Penh. It feels like we've been here so much longer because it's been so eventful, yet I can't believe that we only have four left—there is so much more I want to see and learn (including the language—Khmer)!
Housing. The three guys live in a room the size of a king sized bed, where they sleep on the ground like sardines. John talks about his face being two inches from Fred's face when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Us women stay in a house that doesn't even have a front door, let alone a front wall.
We sleep in a room (fortunately with four walls and a door that locks) with three on a queen sized bed and two on a twin. But when I say beds, I'm not referring to the beds that we have at home. The only thing in common is that they are raised. These beds are made of wood, and only that. We have no mattresses, but are blessed with the mini-pillows that they let us use. The squatter toilet is behind a half-gone door that doesn't shut all the way. Bathing is definitely an experience! Since there is no bathroom, we bathe in the backyard.
While wearing sarongs, we must scoop the water from a large jar and attempt to clean ourselves. I have yet to master this art form. The thing that I am most grateful for in staying with our host family, and I think that the rest of my team would agree, is the food. This past week, our yeay (or "grandmother") has been cooking us delicious Cambodian food every night for dinner. We're trying to get used to how the whole family likes to stand behind us and watch us eat.
Humility. The humidity and heat make me hot and sweaty. Playing with the neighborhood kids makes me dirty. The countless insect bites on my body make me itchy. Though the physical discomfort here in Phnom Penh is ten times that of in Manila, I've been trying to keep my tongue from leaking complaints in order to stand in solidarity with the poor and possess a heart of humility.
I'm not exactly sure what it is, but I feel like God has a strong word for me in the matter of humility. Oftentimes when I pray, humility is the thing that God reminds me to receive and choose in to—humility in my dealings with my teammates, with the Cambodians that I encounter, as well as with the Most High. A word that I have been trying to manifest the truth of is from 1 John 4:16. "God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him." I want to get caught in the self-perpetuating cycle of being with and relying on God, knowing His love for me, loving Him, and loving others. Realizing that I cannot love without Him—because He is love—brings me to humility.
Sites. I have many outlets in which to exercise this truth and outpour the amazing love that God has overflowed my cup with: my teammates, the neighborhood kids, the church members, and the people at my site. Anna, Shuli, Paul, John, and Fred are at the orphanage during the day, while Rosa, Bunthy, and I are at the Cambodian Women's Crisis Center (CWCC). We usually get up at 6:30am, get ready, and go to the church to pray before we take the tuk-tuk (a small carriage pulled a motorcycle) to our respective sites.
CWCC provides services for women who are caught in prostitution as well as women and their children who are victims of domestic violence. We were so impressed by the extensiveness and effectiveness of their services. We spend most of our time at the confidential shelter, where many of the women CWCC serves stay for six months in community to be equipped to reintegrate into their communities with vocational skills in order to support themselves.
Our first day on site, the language difference was really hard for me. I just sat there clueless while people were talking around me. Because I couldn't communicate with anyone, I felt invisible. A middle-aged woman began to speak with me, but I had no idea what she was saying beyond "What's your name?" Though she was well aware that I couldn't understand Khmer, she kept trying to tell me something. After countless tries, she discovered charades, which was a successful tool in helping me understand her story. Using body movements, she told me that she now limps when she walks because her husband stabbed her on the leg; he also punched her stomach, tied her hands behind her back, and hung her by the neck.
During orientation, Fred had given me a card from a member of his church who had been praying for me. A small part of it reads, "Find God in the eyes of the people you will meet in Cambodia. Listen and be still and hear God's voice through their joy and their suffering." As she kept repeating her story, I was trying to hear God's voice. Instead, He let me feel His heart. I felt a lot of pain and sorrow. This brought me to tears.
Kingdom Eyes. I was also in tears the first day that we arrived in Phnom Penh. We went to a marketplace, where there were so many beggars that flocked to us because they knew that we were foreigners. The final string that brought out my tears was a man with only one leg who was trying to sell us books. We kept saying, "Ot-thay, ot-thay," "No, no," but it led us to see his persistence. In his persistence, I saw his desperation. This broke my heart. That day I saw so much brokenness in the city. I saw so many poor people. I saw so much corruption. I found myself repeatedly saying to myself, "This isn't how it's supposed to be." God didn't create a broken world for His beloved children to live in, but our sin corrupted it. I felt the weight of our sin for the remainder of the day.
Though it didn't feel good to have a heavy heart and shed many tears, I appreciated this feeling because I knew that that is how our Lord feels about the brokenness of His people. This summer, I am trying to have kingdom eyes to see things the way our King sees them, to feel His heartbeat. I am expecting to feel a lot of sorrow, but am hoping to also feel an abundance of joy and see a light of hope.
Print
Email
