Today I witnessed a rather heart-breaking happenstance: as I came down the stairs of the treehouse for lunch, wearing bare feet and tired arms from lifting the girls so much the day before, I noticed four unfamiliar faces waiting at one of the tables. I smiled and arbitrarily bowed my head and said, "Hello!" They giggled at me, partially because they weren't expecting an American, partially because to bow your head is a Khmer custom while "hello" is all English. They nodded and waved and continued their conversation while I sat down to eat.
Within a few minutes, two of our girls came wandering through the gate. The older one who was driving the bicycle smiled at the newcomers, while the accompanying six year old gave a stunned glance and immediately ran over to the newcomers, laughs and a huge smile escaping her mouth the whole way. Within seconds of hugging one of the women, our little girl began to heave sobs into her lap.
Our little girls name is Chanya (names have been changed for the girls' safety). She is bright-eyed, fun-loving, and silly. Among all of the girls, Chanya very much sticks out for her unique personality and attributes. She is never far off if any type of game is being played or if there are sweets available, peanut butter and lollipops being her favorite. She has a slightly mischevious grin to accompany her slightly mischevious ways.
Today, however, any ounce of the playful spunk that Chanya is known for is gone. As she sits sobbing in the woman's lap, I think of her story. We were told that Chanya's mother has passed away and her father wants to rape her. Chanya was brought here by her aunt a few months ago to protect her from her father. Chanya knows nothing of this, only that she cannot see her family except when they come to visit, which is so seldom that one of the women who works here told me she has never seen the people who were here today.
As the four faces leave, Chanya chases them to the gate, lays there, and cries for several minutes until the man who drives the tok tok goes and picks her up. She will not be comforted. He lays her on the seat in the tok tok and leaves her to herself. Some of the other girls go and try to get her to play, but she will not have it. She lays there and sobs and cries and screams, some of the most painful cries I have ever heard.
Within a few minutes, Chanya has exhausted herself and finally gives in and goes to play with the others. Her favorite thing is when I pick her up and throw her into the air, so I do. She flies high in the sky, her giggling and laughing has returned, but I am left wondering how long it will be until reality hits her again.
While my team and I have encountered prostituion, drug use, homelessness, drunkeness, physical abuse, handicapped beggars, child beggars, and a myriad of other pities on the broken streets of Phnom Penh, today I am reminded that sometimes, prevention of such things is the biggest assistance you can offer.
For Chanya, today she stands at the crossroads of a dark past and a bright future. Today, I hope that my hugs and kisses and throwing her into the air are a means of steering her towards the glowing of what lies ahead for her. But even more than that, I pray that God's love gets ahold of her through my team and I, through the people that surround her every day, and through this situation. I pray that the wrong that has been done to her is what drives her daily towards Jesus.
As we dress all of the girls up and get ready to take them to the river on this special day, please keep Chanya in your prayers, that she would be captivated by the love of Jesus Christ, that God would use the house mothers to constantly convey love and sacrifice to her, that she would be building right relationships at school, and that she would have the wisdom at six years old to make decisions that would steer her towards her bright future.
To everyone at home: I love and miss you very much. Enjoy your snow days, go Steelers :), and may you take the time to seek God out daily. I love you.
