As I sit here trying to write about something going on in Myanmar, the only story pounding against the inside of my skull is one that took place in Cambodia. I never wrote about it because I couldn’t find the perfect words to do it justice. I contemplated making a video in order to convey emotion more thoroughly, but that also never happened. Now here I sit, almost 3 months later, coming to terms with the fact that some stories just need to be shared even with flaws.
It was a Saturday. Our normal ministry in Cambodia was Tuesday-Friday. We taught classes at the college and preschool. That was the ministry I loved. In short, month 3 was a point in the race where I absolutely thrived. Except for Saturdays.
Saturdays were appointed for village ministry. Externally, I was happy and ready for any task. Internally, it was a different picture. The village was the last place I wanted to go. By that point in the race, I was over language barriers and small talk. I didn’t want to spend my afternoons trudging through swampy mud and the humidity, accompanied solely by mosquitoes, to go sing kid’s church songs for the fiftieth time.
Half of our team wasn’t able to go due to sickness or broken bones so the three of us that were able bodied loaded into a van with the local college students to take on the Cambodian countryside. About 30 seconds into our journey, hoards of mosquitoes that had colonized the van came out of hiding. I’m talking thousands swarming everywhere inside the van. Coupled with my already less than willing attitude, I was boiling with exasperation and anger. My heart was in the worst of places.
So there we all were. 15 of us piled into a van the size of your average soccer mom’s rolling through typical southeast Asian traffic. I had mixed emotions when I heard something that sounded like a muffled gunshot followed by swerving into the lane of traffic to our right. As I processed the fact that our tire had just blown, my initial feeling was relief. I was relieved because I thought we were going to get out of ministry. In addition, we broke down right next to a gas station and a coffee shop. My thoughts? “#praisetheLord even He doesn’t want us to go to the village. He has affirmed my feelings and blessed me with coffee.”
It was crappy, but that’s honestly where I was. The 3 of us from my team and the majority of the students crossed the highway. Something I didn’t initially see were all the people sitting on the ground around the gas pumps. There may have been 50 people just sitting, blocking the parking areas and the pumps. My head was screaming COFFEE but my heart hit a solid wall that said Ask the Lord, Amanda.
On the race, we do ATL pretty frequently. It stands for “ask the Lord,” and essentially means we do listening prayer and wait for God to give us direction in a given moment or circumstance. Typically, this is in terms of ministry. That Saturday afternoon, ATL was the last thing I wanted to hear but what I most needed to do. The students with us had never heard of it before so with the help of my teammates Emily and Rebecca, we explained that we were going to spend time in prayer right in the middle of the gas station pumps and ask the Lord what He wanted us to do with our time.
As I prayed, the Lord highlighted a specific woman and her son that were sitting nearby. I knew He wanted me to go talk to them. Sidenote: *moment of transparency – I’m not a fan of evangelism (which will most likely become a blog of its own in the future). When we opened our eyes from praying, the whole crowd of people had silently cleared out. I seriously didn’t hear a sound. They were like ninjas. Do you know who was still sitting there? That woman and her son. I knew God was giving me extra affirmation like a pre-victory pat on the back.
I asked Sarann, one of the students, to come talk to her with me and to translate. The woman seemed surprised that we approached her, but I introduced myself anyway and asked why she was there. She told me that she was waiting for a bus to go visit her family that lived a few hours away. She said her bus was hours late, but I wasn’t surprised. Divine appointments rarely work on our set schedules. Her name was Tani (rhymes with Bonnie). She asked where I was from, how I liked Cambodia, and why I was in the country. I knew this was my door.
I shared with Tani that I am a missionary and that we came to Cambodia to love people and share Jesus with them. I asked if she was religious at all and wasn’t surprised when she told me she is Buddhist.
To rewind, most of the students we were teaching in Cambodia came from Buddhist families and had converted to Christianity. Many of them have sufferred varying levels of persecution or ostracism from their own families for being Christian. Typically, they are the only Christian in their family.
Fast forward back to Tani. I didn’t understand why the next question came out of my mouth, but I can see now that the Holy Spirit had better plans than I did. “Is your family also Buddhist?” My words even shocked me. I thought I knew the answer. Of course her family was also Buddhist. When Sarann translated what she said I had to keep my jaw from falling open. Tani shared that she was the only Buddhist in her family and that the rest of them were Christians. Of all the 15.76 million people in Cambodia, the Lord had planted me in front of the 1 who was the only Buddhist in her family full of Christians.
Her sister that she was going to visit regularly took Tani’s son to church when they went to visit. I asked if her son was Christian and she told me that she and her husband wanted their children to choose for themselves about religion. Her son who was probably 11 or 12 listened intently as I shared the gospel with her. I asked Tani if I could pray for her. She declined but continued to talk with me about Jesus.
“Tani, if you could ask Jesus for just one thing, what would it be?” As Sarann translated my question, I peered intently into Tani’s eyes. I knew this woman could feel a presence that she couldn’t put a name to. I knew her heart felt the tug. She hesitated before responding, “I want peace for my family.” I shared that one of the names we have for Jesus is the Prince of Peace. I asked if we could pray with her for her family. Again she declined. I looked at Tani and told her that we would pray on behalf of her family alone and I challenged her to remember our conversation. Typically, I’m not as bold as I was that day, but I went on to tell Tani that her family would have peace and that when they did, she would know that it was my Jesus that had provided her request.
As our conversation was coming to a close, her bus pulled up – almost 3 hours late. I wish I had a definite ending to this story or that I could tell you that I got Tani’s contact info. I didn’t. That day wasn’t for me and that story wasn’t about me. I don’t need to have a definite ending because the Lord has assured me that the ending will be beautiful.
I went into that afternoon of ministry dreading everything about it. I lacked perspective and instead of love and gratitude, I came into it with a heart filled with complacency and apathy. The takeaway here is that EVEN IN your mess, the Lord will use you. Even when you are being a kind of crappy person, you can choose to turn it around and listen to Him. You don’t have to succumb to the snowball effect. Bad days don’t have to get worse. Crappy attitudes don’t have to wait until coffee or a nap to be resolved.
I took my crappy attitude and met Tani with it and the Lord was faithful. He doesn’t need your perfection. He doesn’t even want that. He just wants your surrender. He wants you to “ATL” and simply say yes.
