At a safe house just
outside of Siem Reap, Cambodia, sounds of laughter and playful banter are
heard. In the yard of the house that is hidden away down long dirt roads, girls
play football (soccer), badminton, and try to converse in English with the five
white women who suddenly appeared at their gate. From the joy and laughter in
their playfulness, you’d never know that each of these girls, aged 13 to 18,
had once been trafficked and worked against their will in brothels and massage
parlors. Now in the safe house, they are being hidden from their perpetrators
while IJM and the local law enforcement attempt to prosecute those involved. A
thirteen year old girl with a price on her head. Thirteen years old and having
already experienced some of the worst evil that exists in the world.
In the early evening
hours I played badminton with Lucy* (not her real name). Lucy is new to the
home and is 13 years old, but she looks to be only 10. Her hair is cut short to
look like a little boy, but when she hears music playing from a nearby bedroom,
she sways her hips in a way that no 13-year-old should know how to do. Her
English is very minimal so we simply hit the birdie back and forth, sometimes
counting how long we could keep it in the air. After a while I became bored of
the back and forth, and was frustrated with not being able to converse with her
so I thought perhaps we should join the other girls hula-hooping in the yard.
But God said to me, “Keep playing. This may be only hitting a birdie with
a racket to you, but this is childhood restored to this little girl.” So
we continued playing until it was time for the girls to have a training class
and we headed back to our hostel.
Ruins.
The fact that we had
spent that very morning exploring the ruins of Angkor Wat seems only
appropriate to me. The purpose of our trip was not even to visit the safe
house. Our initial intent was to spend the weekend at Angkor Wat and to enjoy
the calmness of Siem Reap as a reprieve from the chaos of Phnom Penh. As it was
my second trip to see the sunrise over Angkor Wat and climb up ancient Hindu
and Buddhist temples, I attempted to spend less time taking pictures and
instead to spend my time observing the temples and the people, listening to the
Lord, and reflecting on my time in Cambodia thus far. I still found myself
eagerly snapping the shutter on my camera, but once I finally sat and listened
to the Lord, He led me to meditate on how He brings restoration to the ruins.
As I sat on a stone wall that was damaged and weathered, He showed me that
through Jesus, I myself am a picture of His restoration, sitting amongst the
ruins. Beauty in the mess.
And I saw that picture
even more clearly as I bonded with the beautiful girls at the safe house. I
know very little of their stories, though I do know that some girls still
suffer from PTSD or live in fear. But most of them, like Lucy, are quick to
love anyone who comes into their home and eager to play and laugh, to hug and
tickle, to be children. And through the programs at the safe house and through
attending school, church, and Bible study, they are being restored. God alone
can bring something so dazzling and beautiful like the heart of the child, from
the mess.
Restoration.
