My heart didn’t break in Thailand.
Not on a single night I walked the Red Light district. Not when I watched girls younger than me being sold for their bodies. Not when women well past their primes stood watch over the sales. Not when men placed value on women using number signs. Not during an entire month.
But in one day in Cambodia, before I’ve even met my ministry contact, I’ve already been broken for this country and its people. Because I finally saw myself.
She’s 13. And you can see all the spunk and attitude from a mile away. She’s adorable, and she knows it. She can outdance just about any tourist she spots (and she knows that, too). She has all the energy, exuberance and charisma of a new teenager who thinks she officially owns the world.
And she does. She owns her world. Which consists of about a block of “Pub Street,” Siem Reap’s tourist street. It’s where everyone goes to toss back $0.50 beers after spending the day wandering around Angkor Wat. My first Cambodian taste of what ie grown to call “Little America.”
Usually, these places are safe havens for me, full of McDonald’s and Bruno Mars and people who speak English. They’re a small retreat from World Race life that usually pop up once a month or so. A place where the troubles of ministry and the stress of all that’s wrong with this broken world fade away for a couple short hours.
But last night, I found myself dancing in the street. I was wearing a bright orange tee-shirt and blue leggings and the most adorable pair of pink sneaks. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail that bounced out the back of my blue-rimmed baseball cap as I bopped along to the music blasting from the Temple Club. I was thirteen, again.
Except I was a little Cambodian girl named Linda. And instead of dancing in the streets to celebrate the end of the school year, I was dancing in the streets to get the attention of the tourists I needed to buy my bracelets. Instead of pushing around boys on the playground, I was pushing grown men, who were drunkenly stumbling down the road. Instead of posing for pictures in my friends’ basements, I was jumping in every shot people were snapping as I passed the hours.
Linda was out there all night, and stayed even after we had wrapped up our dancing and headed home. I have no idea when she left, but I’m guessing I was curled up in my comfy hostel bed snuggling with my stuffed snowman. Her memories of 13 won’t be of giggling with her friends over her crush or straight-arm slow dancing at the school dance or starting high school or crawling into her nice, warm bed and falling asleep in the safe arms of her stuffed animal.
They’ll be of what I saw last night.
Sometimes, I have to wonder where God is. How He can love us so much, but never seem to be around. Why can’t I see Him? What am I missing in those moments where I want to change a little girl’s circumstances, but know that only God can do that and He’s not there?
In those moments, I have to remind myself that He’s there. Because He’s in me. I carry Him in my spirit and my heart. He shines through my smile. He loves through my embrace. When I can’t see Him through all the darkness, it’s because He’s trying to use me as His light.
And in those moments, more so than any other, I have to say yes. I will have that conversation. I will go hug that old lady. I will tell that little boy that he is smart. Hell, some days it might be as simple as saying yes, I will get out of bed today. It can be so easy to get overwhelmed by the darkness. It can feel like too much to try and reach the light, much less be the light.
My 5th year college reunion was this past weekend. It was one of the things that almost kept me from going on the Race. And for the past few days, my Facebook has been flooded with pictures that look scarily the same as they did 5 years ago. One of my friends posted a photo that had one of our school motto things hashtagged: Set the world aflame. It was my favorite one of the Jesuit slogans during my time at Boston College. But it has never meant more to me, nor have I ever lived it so fully, than in the last 9 months.
Bringing light. God’s light. If we don’t tell them, if we don’t show them, who will?
I don’t know if I brought any light to Linda last night. All I did was ask her a few questions, buy one of her bracelets and offer to get her a soda. I don’t know how much little things like that really do. But God is big. Really big. He can use a smile, a bracelet and a soda. Jesus fed thousands of people with a few fish and a couple loaves of bread. Also, turned water into wine. And He taught me all this using a little girl in Cambodia.
Clearly, He has no limits.
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By the way, still need to raise a few thousand dollars. So if you’re feeling led, please click the “support me” tab to make a donation. I’m also selling t-shirts right now, which you can purchase here.
