All it takes is one time, one moment, and everything changes.
Month seven. Cambodia. I was exhausted. I was checked out. Our time in Kampong Thom was coming to a close and I was ready for what was next.
I think there's a misconception on the Race that every single day is full of long meaningful conversations that end in a healing or conversion. Those things certainly happen, but in reality it's sometimes a fight to avoid becoming numb to ministry. When it becomes your life for a year, evangelism and ministry can become mundane. It's easy to lose sight of why you're here and the amazing things God is doing day to day.
I had lost sight. This specific morning I didn't want to get up and evangelize in our village. If I ha my way, I would stay in bed and read until lunch. But I didn't get my way, so I joined the team and began trekking through the mud.
I had no clue what was waiting for me down the road.
We came upon a small house and we're greeted by an elderly woman named Mourn Auntie. She warmly invited us inside. We squeezed onto a mat and began a conversation. A lot of times, these initial conversations are a little awkward, full of basic questions (age, occupation, how many people live in the house), and long pauses.
At the woman's side was a small girl who had a makeshift splint around her arm. She had fallen out of a tree a few dash earlier. Because the family couldn't afford a visit to the hospital, they turned to their own resources and did the best they could. The girl struggled to keep her arm straight and was in visible pain. It broke my heart. The shell of numbness I ha placed around myself was getting a few cracks.
Before I knew it, this woman, Mourn Auntie, was surrounded by children-her grandchildren. She began to share more of her story. These precious children had been abandoned by their parents. The mothers had found new men and the men had left for work in the city and had not yet returned. So this grandmother, a widow and unemployed, had become the primary caregiver of these children.
I wanted to pour into her. She looked so spent. My teammate, Jess, shared Psalm 127:3-5 with her.
Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame.
We surrounded her and prayed. She broke down and I truly believe she was being filled. This woman who did so much for her family with no recognition was being comforted. It was like God was saying, "I'm here. I see you. I haven't forgotten you."
As we were leaving I felt compelled to stop and get her picture. I asked her to smile, and after much persuading, she did. And it was beautiful.
In that moment, something shifted.
We looked at each other and our eyes filled with tears. I spoke life over her and left before I was overcome with crying.
This was compassion.
Here in the mundane I was reminded of why I am on the Race and why we are called to ministry. Being Jesus is simple when we get our minds out of the way.
Sometimes it just takes one encounter.
