It has been raining sporadically all afternoon; fifteen minutes here, ten minutes there.
Standing on the roof of Overflow I have a 360 degree view of the city and it’s spiderweb of dirt roads leading away from Siem Reap and into the small villages that craft most of Cambodia. To my right immense cumulonimbus clouds blossom out of the horizon unfolding to ever-increasing heights; cracks of silent lightening can be seen striking from the shadows of these fleeting giants. At their edges the stratus stretch wide into cumulous on their way to bigger and better things. To my left, a rainbow paints the sky in vibrant streaks — brush strokes of rusty orange melt into deep, poignant purples as the sun begins it’s descent behind the horizon’s fold.
The sky is truly a wonder tonight.
Heading downstairs I call for a tuktuk to town, on my way to a meeting with a teammate over Mexican food. At Overflow we work with a consistent group of tuktuk drivers. We get to know their stories and their families — their lives have become important threads in the fabric of this mission. One of my favorite drivers, Semy, meets me at the front gate. Sitting in the tuktuk is his five year old son. Most kids are cute, right? Well, this kid is like, exceptionally cute. He’s quiet but not shy, and his dark hair falls around his face in a bowl cut. He’s wearing Spiderman pajamas and excitedly taps me on the arm to show me the red cape sewn in at the shoulders.
I climb into the tuktuk and this little guy hops out and onto his Dad’s motorcycle in front, clambering into Semy’s lap without much grace. We pull out of the driveway and onto the orange clay, bits of dust clouding the air with each pothole—and there are a lot of them—we hit. The road opens up to fields of lotus with a few ivory cows dotting the landscape.
My eyes flicker across edges of tonight’s indescribable sky, to the precious moment happening between Semy and his son on the moto in front of me. I notice Semy’s son looking to the sky, holding up a finger toward the heavens seemingly tracing the outline of the clouds. Turning his head back to the kind, joyful face of his father I hear him ask, “Daddy, who drew the picture in the sky?”
Gosh, what a moment; so full of hope and truth and innocence.
This little boy knows there is a God; knows there is someone who paints the sky and breathes life into the trees around him.
Sometimes faith feels hard. Sometimes I find myself complicating the simplicity of the Good News. I question the existence of God and cry out for answers of origin. I know my questions have the potential to lead me into greater depths of truth and awe in the mystery, but I have also found my existential tendencies driving distance between me and God making the chasm of connection feel far too wide at times. I too easily forget the glaring truth that surrounds me everyday in the sun that rises, and the trees that grow, and the rain that falls — there is a Creator and His work is on display all around us.
Today I was reminded to take a moment, and look up. Look up and see how the earth sings of the God who spoke it all into existence.
