For the past month, my team and I have been partnering with a ministry in Battambang, Cambodia called Crossing Cambodia.
They have, without a doubt, been some of the sweetest days and weeks.
Some of the most exhausting, but even still- so, so sweet.
Crossing Cambodia is a ministry that focuses primarily on street children.
It puts all of its’ efforts, all of its’ love, into the children who don’t have a home to go “home” to, at night- the children who sleep under tattered tarps, on hard, cold pavement in the square of the city. The children whose only place of refuge is an organized pile of rubbage at a nearby dumping site for the city’s garbage.
Crossing Cambodia, through sponsors, ensures that each child has a safe place to come each day during the week- to be met with rest, and love.
It ensures, that each of them, are completely funded for school each year, and that they each receive, at least, two meals a day.
Each morning, at 6AM we hop in a truck and drive around the city, pulling each groggy, little child (23 of them, to be exact. From the ages of five, to thirteen.) from their small shelter and guide them, still half- asleep, back to the truck.
When we arrive back at the center, it becomes an immediate scramble to get the older kids ready for school, and fed, before seven.
We bathe. We braid. We comb. We brush. We make collars look neat, and tuck in shirts. We hold back packs as little arms squirm through the straps. We squeeze them, we kiss their heads, and they climb back on the truck- a little more awake than the first time- and head off to school.
The younger kids, however- still too little to go to school- stay at the center all day. They typically sleep all morning, after restless, long nights of begging on the streets.
And so, we hold them close to ourselves- we scratch their backs, bumps, and bites, and we allow our Father to lavish His children with deep, deep comfort and love through our arms, open to freely give it.
In the morning, we sit around with the sweet staff at the center- we worship, we pray, and we share Jesus with one another. We welcome His presence, and we dwell in it. We ask that each child that walks through the front doors, is met with the presence of our sweet Jesus- and that, when they walk back out of the doors, they carry it with them.
Throughout the rest of the day- we help to prepare meals for the children, we help the staff with chores around the center, we chase children and twirl them in the air, we teach English, we snuggle, we sweat, we love.
And then, at the end of each day, we return the children to their broken homes- fully aware of what they’re walking back into.
Often, throughout the past month, my heart has ached deeply over the suffering and brokenness in this world.
My heart has ached deeply over a world that could not protect these precious children- couldn’t provide them with comfort, joy, and normalcy.
Each morning they arrive with fresh scars, and fresh bags under their eyes.
I have, often, longed and hoped for a day where the little children will run to His feet.
Tangibly, physically- run, and sit at their Father’s feet, utterly free of hurt and pain and suffering of this world, consumed only with His joy and His peace.
But, amidst it, amidst all of it-
Our sweet Jesus has taught me a whole lot about His goodness, and His promise.
He’s been reminding me of the sweet, rich hope that we have in His promise- the greatest hope, that we are able to grasp on to.
The hope that one day the suffering and brokenness that we see and experience on this earth, will be no longer.
He will make all things new.
“Fear not, for I have overcome the world.” He says.
And, recently- He has washed over my heart, so deeply, with truth. The truth that, one day, we will sit in His tangible presence in perfect peace.
But, He is still working here. He isn’t finished, yet. In His presence, and through His love, He is making things new. Here, and now.
Amidst, brokenness and suffering- He is with us. He is near to His children.
He is restoring hearts, He is giving new life.
Through Him, and through His blood, we are able to experience freedom and joy that are not of this earth. We are able to receive, and give, love. We are able to laugh. To dance. To shout, and rejoice. To dwell in our Father’s presence, and hear His voice. To receive divine peace, upon divine peace.
He is all around us, stirring and moving amidst the brokenness.
I see Him in children’s breathless laughter. I see Him in dancing, and twirling. I see Him in sunlight. I see Him in the faces of people who know suffering, but choose joy.
And hallelujah, because I think all of the cracks in the brokenness is how His light gets in.
It has been such a sweet privilege to partner with Him, as He stirs, and lavishes His children with love, and joy, and peace. Here, and now.
My prayer for myself, my prayer for each of you, is that we grasp tightly to our Father’s goodness in a world that, often, brings us to our knees.
May we be willing, bearers of it. May we point it out, may we make it known, may we be encouraged by the mighty, mighty ways that our Savior is moving.
May we rejoice, more than we mourn. May we shout and sing praises of His glorious works- even, maybe especially, the ones that we cannot see.
