Remember in high school when the Friday bell meant freedom,
excitement, and marked the beginning of the only two really good days in the
week-Saturday and Sunday? Well, life in Baray was no different. When we were
dismissed from school Friday at 6pm,
we walked down that dirt path lit by our headlamps with satisfaction
knowing that two things awaited us, dinner and the weekend. Hallelujah.
 
These two days were our time of action. We truly felt like
missionaries as our team took hold of the weekend and declared them days marked
by the sovereignty of the Lord.
 
Sakun, our gift from God Himself seized the opportunity the
minute he met our team to ask the white folks to visit his school and church
and teach English. Please note that this initial invitation was not met with
eager hearts, but I confess that some of us thought we were going to be spread
too thin.  Oh the ways in which God
teaches us! This offer turned out to be our SOURCE of ministry and so much joy while in
Cambodia.
 
Each Saturday we would rise eager to get the day started.
Breakfast, Milo, then we would sit ready and waiting for the Tuk-Tuk to arrive.
Rewind.
The first Saturday, Sakun was so excited we were willing to
come that he got his students to ride their bicycles to where we were staying
so that we could take their bikes, with them on the back, to the school.
4Kilometers there, back for lunch, back for afternoon lessons, then back home.
All done down the only Cambodian highway, passing ox-carts, motorcycles, vans,
pony carts, busses, (okay, they all passed me as I huffed and puffed) with a
laughing Khmer child on the back. Afternoon sun over a rice field truly never
seemed so breathtaking and alive as in that one day.
 
After this bike ride, sweaty and sore, we arrived at this
one room wooden shack of a school, standing in the middle of a muddy pond.
Which we were then lead through-barefoot. As my toes squished through the muck,
I tried to not think of the  animal
and human, well, stuff that I was walking through. To add to that, I tried to
make myself hyper aware of my facial expressions, realizing that this is normal
for the kids of this school.
 
Following a brief minute of this mud march, I step up to the
doorway and see the kids washing the feet of my teammates and then myself, with
water they personally walked through the mud to fetch from a well.    Yes.   These are the hearts that I got
to spend my weekends with in Boeng Village.  I expected to see kids learn some English words. Christ
expected me to see Him in the hands and eyes of Cambodian children.
 
After feet were cleansed and missionaries were humbled, songs
were sung, English was taught, conversation groups met and we each were asked
“miss, do you have sweetheart?” repeatedly. The children were actually anxious
to learn, to speak, and to laugh with us.  The kids were everywhere from 6 years old to 20. We taught
vegetables, sports, colors, Bible stories, Jesus songs.
Upon leaving Sakun’s school, which is also his church, and
home to him and 7 of his students who have become Christians and were kicked out
of their homes, we went to a learning center in the village to be guest
speakers. In pairs, we stood in front of classrooms of 50+ kids, Muslim and
Buddhist and shared the gospel. We told why we had traveled to their community
just to share the love of Jesus. In these moments, the Lord spoke boldly His
message through me and my teammates. Beautiful.
 
One Saturday, Sakun led us around Boeng village to meet his
mother and grandmother who welcomed us and fed us coconuts. Sakun’s mother is
not a Christian but we are all praying for her. You can certainly join us in
that.
 
Sundays. The Lord’s day.
Church was such an experience. The whole service was in
Khmer, a blind man played a two-stringed instrument while everyone clapped and
sang songs I had of course never heard and may have sounded terribly off
key…but…I worshipped. The presence of Jesus was there.
 
First service was all the adults, which left us to look
forward to the second service where the youth took over. Drums, guitars,
interpretive dances, children singing songs to Jesus amidst a community where
Buddah dominates all came together to provide an energy that would hype up even
the most stagnant backrow Christian.
 
After lunch, we paired off again to go to other churches. I
went to a fishing village, by boat, by an hour and a half boat ride down a
Cambodian river. Note: this “boat” was slightly wider than a canoe, all wood,
with wooden slats on which to sit, putting through the water by lawn mower
motor while a girl in the front scooped out the water that was filling the
bottom. Leaky canoe or not, we made it to a small strip of dam where a
collection of mobile homes rested. By mobile I mean that these wooden huts are
built on a wooden grid bottom with poles that lift off of the stand whenever its
time to move to another location for food or safety. Homes are carried by hand
to another spot. It really happens.
 
This mobile home neighborhood is home to about 30
Christians. Which is a huge deal seeing as how very recently, this place chased
off two preachers with its danger, gambling, drunkenness, murder, and hostility
towards the message of Jesus. I got to stand and teach Bible stories to the
children while their parents gathered for a church service in the home above
the newly captured pigs. The combination of hog squeals and Jesus praising
never fit so well together.
 
As you can see, I can say a good deal about our weekends in
Cambodia. Theses were the days that we spoke the words of Jesus, laid hands on
the sick and prayed for healing, saw unreached people hear the name of Jesus,
and experienced humbling in new ways.
T.G.I.F. has all new meaning.
                              
 **no, i haven’t forgot, i have news, and will share very soon. promise. **