When I applied for the World Race, I knew I wasn’t signing up for something easy. In fact, I’m sure that’s probably what I was looking for. I had heard all of the stories of struggle, discomfort, radical heart change, difficult relationships, catching some weird disease in a distant (3rd world) land. I can’t say for certain that I was prepared for it all, but I had at least considered it. No one could have accused me of rushing things. For months, I fielded questions regarding safety, weird food, terrorists, toilet paper, and diabetes. What was I going to do when I came home? What was I going to do for money? I had the answers. I was ready. I was really ready.
Until one day, something happened that I wasn’t ready for.
This month, my squad is in Cambodia. Before the race, I didn’t know anything about this country except it was probably very poor and very hot. As I prepared to leave, I learned that about 30 years ago, there was a horrible genocide here and millions of people were murdered by their own government. Other than that, I kind of viewed Cambodia as the bridge between Thailand (which was on my must-see list) and South America (also a must-see). I was a little apprehensive to come here, because I had heard that it proved to be a difficult country for many racers. My first two impressions were that it was indeed very hot, and also very beautiful. After parting ways with the rest of our squad, my team headed to Kampong Chhnang, the site of what was supposed to be our ministry for the month.
Our ministry host this month was Teen Missions International, and we were going to be staying on a ranch, helping prepare the property for a youth camp in September (read: digging up stumps. We decided to call it Stump the Yard). We were sleeping in our tents in a pavilion, showering under the cover of darkness at the well, and cooking all of our meals over a fire. After being in a city for the last month, we were all pretty excited. There were two girls about our age (Annie and Shanghai) living there, and they were to be our guides/translators/best friends while we were in town. The first night, we set up camp, said goodbye to our ministry contact Nelly, as she left for Siem Reap, and ate Ramen noodles cooked on the wood burning stove. We decided as a team that I would be the “point person” for meal prep, and that the next morning our new friends would take Jillian, our team treasurer, and myself to the market on motorbikes. I had never been on a motorbike before, but it seems like one of those cultural things you MUST experience while on the World Race, so I was pumped. I remember going to bed and wondering if I hadn’t given Cambodia a fair shake in my mind. I felt like it would be a challenging month, but I couldn’t help but think that I was going to like it here.
Wednesday, June 1st: our first day of ministry. Jillian and I made a grocery list, said goodbye to our friends as they headed off to dig stumps, put on our helmets, and hopped on the back of two motorbikes bound for the market. It was a brilliant, sunny day (as most days in Cambodia are) and the market was only about 4 miles away. It was a recipe for only success. We spent a good three hours exchanging money, perusing the long-sleeved shirts and pants, buying old lady gardening hats to keep the sun off of our faces, picking out veggies and laughing with our new friends. I asked a vendor how much the face of a pig would cost, and he told me that he’d give me a discount because I’m a foreigner. We saw a cow walk up to a stall, steal a bag of sugar, and run off with it in her mouth. After stopping for gasoline, we headed for home- Shanghai and Jillian in the front, Annie and I bringing up the rear. As we drove, we talked about our home states. Annie is an American and comes from the same town where my father lives now. She pointed out the “internet cafe” where she skyped her family every Saturday morning, and the police station. As we passed, we waved at the officer working there, and she explained that he was a friend of hers who often came to the ranch to check on them. She also said that he loved to take pictures with foreigners and knew we were in town, so he would probably be by soon enough. As we drove, I felt this strange freeness, and I even thought momentarily that I would maybe like to learn how to drive a motorbike. Out in the country, there wasn’t much traffic, and anyway, we were so close to the market that nothing bad could happen. As we slowed to make our last turn for home, I heard a car honking from behind us. This is a very common thing here, as people honk to pass all the time. I knew that we would have to wait for whoever it was to pass by before we could turn. In the next few moments, the atmosphere, the serenity of the day, my race, my life changed.
The front motorbike didn’t stop to wait for the pickup truck to pass. As Annie and I watched in horrified slow-motion, the truck that was passing us at 50 miles per hour plowed right into the side of our friends. Sometimes when I replay the scene, I see it in the greatest, most vivid detail. Sometimes it comes back in flashes. I blink, and I see the impact. I blink, and I’m off my bike before it even stops moving. I blink, and I am running faster than I have ever imagined I could. I blink and I am kneeling beside my friend, and I don’t have any idea if she is alive. I blink, and I am carrying her off the road. I blink, and when she realizes that something has happened, she starts screaming. I sit beside the road, cradling Jillian in my lap. I begin asking her if she knows who I am, what day it is, where she is. For the most part, she knew all of the answers. Her left arm was very obviously broken, and I feared for her leg also. She was bleeding badly from her left calf and ankle. Luckily, she was wearing a helmet, and I was pretty sure that she had not hit her head. As Annie called for help, I waved down passing motorists. We couldn’t communicate, but in my mind, it was helpful having others around. One woman covered us with her shirt to shade us from the sun, and rubbed Tiger Balm on Jillian’s face to cool her down. She was speaking to me in Khmer, but I hadn’t been in the country long enough to understand anything. Every part of me wanted to cry, to scream, but I knew I needed to be strong for Jillian and that I would have plenty of time to do all of that later. Annie assured me that the ambulance was on its way. The next 45 minutes are difficult to explain. I had never even seen a car accident, much less been such an active participant in one. It was one of those moments where you are frantically looking around for an adult but then you realize- you’re the adult. There were people trying to help. There were people just gawking. I remember a man taking pictures of the panicked foreign girls sitting next to the road on his iPhone. Something about that made me furious. I realized that the man driving the truck did not stick around to help. My guess is that he thought he killed them. I would like to think that if I ever hit someone with my car, I wouldn’t just speed away, but I guess I don’t know. I thought of this and felt nauseous. In my past life, I would have been vehement. In truth, I wanted to be angry at him. He hurt someone I love, and ran like a coward. But, God has given me a good understanding of fear lately, so I just pray for him instead. Jillian and I have talked through it, and we both have forgiven him.
The bike Jillian and Shanghai were riding on. (Please note the lonely Chaco in the background.)
So, there we sat. We sat and waited and prayed. Out loud. The situation felt hopeless. The only thing I knew how to do was pray. And you know what? God showed up. He was there on the road with us. He protected my friends. In times of trouble, sometimes it’s easy to forget His promise to always be with us.
“And remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” -Matthew 28:20
See? Right there in black and white. Or red, depending on your translation 🙂
When the ambulance finally arrived, some men came and lifted Jillian out of my lap and into the vehicle. I tried to stand up and immediately fell back down because I had no feeling in my legs. When I made it to my feet, I looked around at the scene for the first time. There was the mangled motorbike on the shoulder of the road, pieces of helmet, scattered groceries, my own backpack, many concerned locals, and one lone Chaco in the middle of the street. I snatched my things and the sandal (Jillian was very thankful that she didn’t lose her shoe), caught sight of my friends standing across the road for the first time, and jumped in the ambulance. It took us about 40 minutes to get to the hospital. Something interesting to note about hospitals in Cambodia is that people really take care of their own family members there. I did most of the lifting/transferring/physical care of Jillian while we were there. I talked to both of her parents on the phone, assured them that she hadn’t hit her head, assured them that she was hurt but fine, assured them that I would make sure that she was taken care of. After lifting her from her wheelchair onto an exam table, I watched a doctor stitch up her torn calf muscle, as well as remove a two-inch piece of the motorbike from her ankle. I held her hand as the staff straightened her arm to splint it (brutal.) I held the plastic bag while she vomited in the X-ray booth. I prayed over her and Shanghai (who has a badly broken leg) continuously. And ultimately, when I was told I wouldn’t be able to stay with her, I caused the biggest, most ridiculous scene standing outside of a Cambodian E.R. that I’m sure many of those people had ever seen. I cried bitter, confused tears for the first time that day. As they loaded both girls into an ambulance to transport them to a better hospital four hours away, I crumbled. I wanted so badly to go with, to stay with Jillian and take care of her. I had promised her that I wasn’t going anywhere. I had promised her mom on the phone that I would stay with her. It came down to the fact that the rest of my team was still out in the middle of nowhere, with no phone and no idea what was going on, and I needed to return to them.
One of the longest days of my life.
I caught a tuk tuk(taxi) home from the hospital. I cried the entire way. The same driver would later approach my friend to ask her in broken English about her “friend that cries” and to make sure I was okay. The next week was so hard. We were ultimately stranded out in the middle of nowhere, with no team leader, no ministry host, no one staying on the property with us, no transportation. I couldn’t close my eyes too long without seeing the crash all over again. I realized that from where we were staying, I could see the exact spot where the accident happened. I would find myself staring at it for hours at a time. My team didn’t talk to each other, and when we did, it was strained and difficult. Some days, I couldn’t even come out of my tent until the late afternoon. I am not someone who normally struggles a lot with fear, yet all of a sudden, I was terrified of everything. I was afraid of being alone out in the countryside. I was afraid of the prospect of getting back in a vehicle. I will never, ever get on a motorbike again. The sound of a car horn sent me into a panic. I thought that maybe it was time for me to cash in my chips and just go back to Iowa, where I knew I was safe. Through all of this, however, I couldn’t shake the memory of God on the road with us that day. Obviously He was watching. How could I choose to abandon all hope now, right after He so clearly revealed Himself to me? These last few months of my race have been about learning to trust in Him. It’s been a doozy of a lesson. After many days of crying, trying to sleep all day, panicking, praying, begging, watching Christmas movies (don’t judge- it helped) and laying my feelings of iniquity and guilt bare, God helped pick me up by my bootstraps. He dusted me off. He revealed His heart to me. I knew I couldn’t run away. And I won’t.
So, this month got off to an interesting start. We have since moved ministry sites, so our team can all be in the same place. Cambodia is well on its way to being redeemed for me. Jillian had surgery on her elbow and is recovering quickly- I am so thankful! Shanghai is still in the hospital with her leg in traction, but we are praying quick and complete healing over her. Annie goes home to the states on July 10th, but has been a solid rock for her best friend over these last three weeks. She is only 19, but God’s love runs deep in her. She looks like Jesus. I will continue to pray for these precious sisters of mine, even after we leave this place.
“Hey…will you take a picture of me like this? I look tough!”
As for me, I’m still a little nervous about… everything, to be honest. But, a good friend of mine encouraged me after the accident to “stay adventurous and experience life.” So, that’s where I am right now. I’m trying to trust God’s purpose for this year of my life. I’m trying to not be such a wiener. I’m just trying to be present for my friends.
Thanks for praying, you guys.
Love you all,
Erin
