On one hot July afternoon during my fifth grade year I found myself in the garage, sifting through old cardboard boxes on the hunt for long forgotten secrets. I had just finished watching National Treasure, and was now ready to dive head first into my own adventure, filled with secret codes, hidden meanings, and the dusty old boxes piled in our garage. There was little light to work with, aside from the scattered rays that shot through two cracked window panes high above. My nimble fingers and discerning eyes worked quickly, and I had already gone through an Amazon box full of tax records and a pile of old magazines when my eleven year old hands clasped a letter addressed to my mother. It was one of those fancy envelopes, the ones with the window in them so you can see who it’s for, and I knew I had struck gold. I swiftly tore the letter from its sheath and scanned line after line, waiting for the rhyming couplets that would lead me to Washington, DC or the Liberty Bell or something. As I read further I began think my initial assessment of the fancy envelope was mistaken, until I came across three bolded letters: NSA. Thinking that surely there had to be some mistake, I double checked who the letter was addressed to. But there was no mistake. This letter was clearly written to “Tracy Callward Holliday”. The same Tracy Callward Holliday I called my mom. Barely able to keep my young heart inside my chest I dug through the rest of the box and, sure enough, found a letter identical to the previous one, only this time the top read, “To: Matthew Karpinski Holliday”. I rushed inside, flew up the stairs to my dad’s office, slammed the letters down on his desk and demanded answers. Looking back on it I may have actually said something along the lines of, “Dad? Why do these letters have NSA on them? And what is an NSA?” He sat me down and explained that as part of his time in the Air Force, he and mommy had helped to translate intercepted codes from the Chinese into english. “So you know all sorts of secret things about the Chinese??” He explained that he didn’t, that they were just a very small part of a very big puzzle and they only got to see one piece at a time, but weren’t allowed to see the whole picture. And thus, my five minute dreams of being a family of super-spies were dashed. But I knew, deep down, that being a spy was in my blood. And it is that very instinct for deception, my reflex for secrecy, that I call upon now. “But Davis, why all the secrecy?” Our entire ministry is built on the trust. Many of the things we talk about could cause significant damage to Chu-Hong, and the last thing I want is to cause him any harm. Instead of posting it on my facebook (many other monks and Cambodians now follow me) I am asking YOU to share this blog post on your Facebook, Instagram, etc. to eliminate the risk of breaking trust while still allowing all of those who follow my journey without subscribing to this blog to remain updated. For the past six weeks myself and two team mates (Brendan and Travis) have had the privilege of teaching english to two monks at a local pagoda. We arrived our first day as official english teachers and dismounted our bikes at the gate, respectfully walking them to the back of the pagoda, where we would be holding class around a small wooden table. It went well and they invited us back to teach again. So we did. Five days a week, for the past six weeks. Over time we began to build trust, slowly growing from “foreigners” to “teachers” and now, dear friends. Our lessons range greatly from week to week, but seeing as they are already so proficient at english we focus on lessons they would never get at University, primarily slang. After a week of teaching, we were rewarded with a “Wassup Man!” as we biked into the pagoda one morning, and rolling to a stop all three of us were greeted with a fist bump and what we called a “bro-hug”. Time went on and we continued to laugh, study, and grow together. Slowly, in the midst of conversations about karma and the cycle of suffering central to the Buddhist faith, we began to introduce the hope of the Gospel. Building out of the love and trust we had already built with Chu-Hong, we started to introduce him to someone with infinite love and perfect faithfulness. Someone with a love so radical, so scandalous, that he sent His only Son to take our bad karma as His own, so that we may stand justified before the only true God. Hearing this news his face immediately lit up, overjoyed at the mention of a God that could save us from our sins. For an hour and a half each day we have continued to teach him more and more about the Gospel and love of Christ. We are continually encouraged by the softening of his heart to the Good News. In Cambodia to accept Christ is often to sacrifice tradition, culture, and family. He is not yet at a place where he is ready to this step, but I believe that God will continue the good work that He has begun in Chu-Hong’s heart. Please be praying for the Holy Spirit to continue to touch Chu-Hong’s heart as he explores for the first time a relationship with his Heavenly Father.
