Gregory is an unseen gecko that lives outside our room, in a mango tree and at night he squeeks his love song for us.
Literally he sounds like a rubber duck being squeezed…
(Service annnnouncement: The geico commercial has finally been useful as i was able to spell gecko without checking google!)
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He is mate calling right now as i lay in the dark and write this blog.
Hello Gregory, i hope tonight you find the love of your life…
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Today we returned from a village several hours away. I have to double check about its name, but so far it was my most “world racey” moment.
Everything about the last three days screamed “WORLD RACE”.
Plans changed constantly last minute, sweaty waiting. Packing “just enough” (whatever that means) into a day pack so we can carry it on our backs if needed – as long as needed.
Tent? Ok, in it goes along with sleeping bag or blanket. Sleeping pad. An extra set of clothes, toothbrush case, toilet paper – CANT forget the toilet paper. Bugspray, another essential!
We wait for the van.
Teammates rush off to buy some special supplies to love on the people we’re going to stay with. We have anticipated this moment. I have been waiting for it.
The van comes and we pack our bags in and climb in among other passengers also going towards – or to – our destination, and we are off!
Windows open, dust flying. We are passing more unique sights than my retina can capture. Time passes as i snooze in the heat, and if my calculations right there are 22 of us inside the van. It is not even the size of the 15 passenger i grew up with! No. Its half the size.
And the men in the back are, i think, sitting on our bags. They grin at me when i turn around, much friendlier than the little baby peering curiously over the seat in front of me. His frown cannot get any bigger.
But i snooze off again to happy chattering all around me.
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When i really come awake again, we are speeding past wide green rice fields that cut the horizon in half with their bold green color.
There are farmers hard at work spotting the fields and every once in a while a very asian looking white cow, like a statue.
The only other thing cutting the horizon is the tall palm trees and sporatic houses.
Whenever we come to a village it is very apparent. There is usually a simple cluster of houses, one after another, usually built up off the ground, as if they stand on stilts – daddy long leg houses, under which are platforms where women are preparing food, or a farmer has finally dropped down to rest from a long hard days work.
A few houses sport a hamock hanging below.
At least one of these houses is close to the road and is stocked with a well organized display of merchandise. And right in the front in a row, are glass pepsi bottles full of gasoline for whoever might stop and need just that much more gas to arrive safely at their destination.
This is the village store.
Little clusters of differently bagged up items hang from the roof, each organized into their own section. A woman or young child usually sits among the merchandise watching and smiling at passerbyers.
And our van speeds past.
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The sun is setting when we arrive at the village. The people start popping out in little clusters to welcome us. The first are two little girls who jump up and down when our van stops. They jump up and down and start screaming happily.
Then there’s a cluster of women, and a man motions me to follow him to see the sunset beyond the trees. And a whole group of kids pull me with them.
The sun sinks among pink laced clouds, below the green edges of the rice blades, still wet with dew.
I lose my footing while trying to impress the children and my leg sinks into the mud. The children all laugh, and my heart explodes with affection.
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We spend time talking…well. not really talking. More like greeting the villagers with hand motions and smiles, standing around smiling, and greeting with a simple hand gesture of praying hands in front of your face over and over and over, each smile feeling bigger than the last as we have no other words, and are pulled by children from one spot to another.
I think i was asked more than once where my babies were…
i cant tell if its because of my body shape or general age. I try to explain that i have no babies as the older women try to get me to hold the half dressed babies the younger women carry on their hips.
We are all smiles, and giggles, and laughs.
Everyone is so polite.
One young lady comes and introduces herself. She is a teacher at the village school. She invites Wendy and i to join her evening english class.
We follow her down the now dark road.
She takes us to the porch below someones house where there are rows of wood tables, and there is a group of students waiting.
We are introduced and asked to read. They want to hear our voices and immitate us.
We read through short passages from a book and the students surprisingly immitate us rather well. I thought we would teach a few simple alphabetical subject words, but these students where doing paragraphs of journaling and articles. It shows the teachers dedication and their eagerness to learn. I feel proud of them…
Then we are called away to dinner among a swarm of mosquitos.
The children thank us, their happy grateful beautiful faces shining in the dark.
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Dinner is a feast.
The villagers have sacrificed their own dinners for us. It is so good. We eat without knowing the cost.
We sing some, share some, talk some,-
Grace shares a message about obedience (which i will share as a guest post soon!) despite a neighbor immediately pumping up some popular and very distracting khmer hiphop music
– And eventually, when people have dwindled away into the dark, we go upstairs where we set up our tents or mosquitos nets, and we prepare to sleep.
My stomach gives a few warning flip flops and I make a quick trip to the bathroom which is a beautifully tiled little room with a simple yet elegant porcelaine squattie-potty.
They are simple here, so they have a simple system.
I take a modified bucket shower from the well like structure inside the bathroom.
And then i join my teammates to sleep in my tent. It is warm and somewhat humid. I use my peppermint roller and it cools me off enough to fall asleep.
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The next day we eat and spend some time getting to know our hosts.
That means listening to a lot of khmi and watching their faces and getting translations every once in a while from our hosts.
While we eat they all stand and watch us to enjoy seeing us enjoy the food theyve given up for us. There is so much joy on their faces. Each face is different, and each smile holds a different joy. Their eyes all hold different questions. Already i can see which ladies are curious, which ladies are suspicious, which ladies want so much to be our friends.
Outside the circle a new face.
An old dignified looking man, wearing one arm in a sling, with a cane, and reading glasses still sporting the prescription sticker, and two different style slippers sits quietly on a plastic lawn chair.
I finally finish my breakfast and break away from the group to find out what his story is.
He tells me his job is to cast spells. He tells me he is the village witch doctor.
He tells me slowly in a dignified way, as if it is hard for him to talk. He avoids looking in my eyes.
He tells me he has bad blood sugar or pressure and that he got dizzy and fell and broke his arm. This is the second time he broke it. His hand is swollen and i can see blood seeping up the wrist under the skin.
I ask him why he comes to me. I ask him why he doesnt just do his own spells to cure himself.
I am curious, but i also want to challenge his heart. I want him to open his heart to the gospel. I want him to acknowledge his helpless situation. I want him to agree he is powerless.
He tells me that the first time he was able to do spells over his arm, but that this time he could not. He tells me the pain is too bad and he cannot make it stop. He went to a doctor, but the doctor cannot help his pain. A better doctor is too far away, so he doesn’t know what to do.
So he is here for prayer.
I tell him i think Gods allowed his arm to break so that he will know God. I tell him God wants him to stop doing his spells. I tell him we humans are always trying to find our own way but God wants us to stop, be still, and know that He is God.
I say a few other things, i spoke as i felt led. Then i ask to pray for him.
He says he will let me pray for him. I hold his hand. I pray for him.
He is not miraculously healed, but i know God is doing something. He thanks us for praying for him and leaves.
One lady has come and asked us to come with her to the school so we also leave.
It is pleasant in the early morning.
We walk down the dusty road we came down the day before.
The view is so beautiful, and peaceful. I savor the crunch of different rocks under my shoes. I breathe in the fresh air.
We walk for a long while, we walk under a gate signaling that we are on a path to a temple.
We reach the temple, orange and gold painted walls hide all but the peaked roofs from view. We enter an ornate snake gate, and there are crumbling temples, a simple wood dorm for the boys who are dressed like monks. Dom, our host, tells us they are given to the temple by their parents to be raised because here they will be fed.
They watch us with shy smiles, their heads are shaved and their robes are bright neon orange.
Beyond them are long buildings, built in an empty dirt area. They look like war barracks from World War II. As soon as we arrive (although we have not yet reached the buildings) the news that we have arrived is punctuated by a chorus of childrens voices. The place errupts like a feather pillow – faces popping into view in windows and doorways, that soon overflow and spill out. I can hear the teachers voices amid the childrens chatter. The faces are both curious and elated.
We are beckoned beyond to a second row of buildings where we are ushured inside a simple office with a very tall ceiling showing the tiles through the wood structure.
We are greeted by two pleasant men, one who is the Principle, the other his secretary, who wait for translations from our hosts.
After all the introductions they share with us about the school and the different problems they experience trying to stay afloat as a school while the government ignores their pleas for funding, supplies, and proper buildings (or even badly needed repairs). They ask us for prayers.
All around on the walls are carefully written rules, teaching charts, student numbers, and daily class schedule information neatly chalked out for the day.
After talking for a bit, we form a circle and pray over all the specific needs. We pray for breakthrough with funding, and strength and blessing for the faithful teachers and staff.
The students crowd the doorway and windows during our entire exchange with the teachers and Principle.
Afterwards, we walk back home, stopping at a pump station donated by the government to the village.
We stop for a bit and watch two little boys cannon balling into the chocolate river.
I watched envying their carefree hearts: unafraid and loving life.
Walking home many village people laughed and commented about my teammate Grace’s height.
Many smiles and a crowd of children going home from school followed our retreating selves.
When we got home we were greeted by more children and lunch.
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After lunch i helped clean up the dishes while my teammates started playing with the kids. It soon evolved into a special time of trimming kids nails, speaking life over them, and washing little feet. The women standing nearbye were encouraged to join, which they soon did, shy, but happy.
At this time i joined them and God started to stir my heart. He gave me specific words of His love to speak over them as i washed their feet. I knew that they wouldnt understand but i spoke anyway. I was rewarded with many shy smiles confirming this, but my heart was satisfied with knowing i had obeyed Gods voice.
I was praying that my service to them would be as Jesus said: that whatever we do to the least of them would be as unto Him.
It was a special time for me, and i got the impression that it was for them too.
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My team kept playing with the kids after they finished. And after a while, the kids began to trickle away to wherever they needed to be. We sat around with Dom and Eunice and heard their stories.
(I will have a guest post by my teammate Rhi sharing one of their stories!)
Then it was dinner time again.
What a feast! Each meal seemed better than the last. They even made special traditional foods for us – special bean and rice cakes wrapped and cooked in banana leaves, and shared fresh watermelon.
After dinner we sang some songs (no longer surprised when the neighbor farmer began blaring his music again) and Rhi shared a message about forgiveness. After the message everyone seemed to talk pretty involved about it. It was good.
Then, despite the hour, no one seemed to want to leave. So the elders urged a few of the children to sing, and a cute little girl of maybe 5 sang several songs.
After that we thought people would disperse, but again the elders urged one of the kids to sing, and finally a young boy that looked around 11 or 12 shyly climbed onto the platform we all sat on and opened his mouth.
A soft voice warbled into the stillness and i felt something clench inside my chest and tears fill my eyes.
It was like worship.
He sang from deep within his heart, and i felt it, like a prayer.
When he finished Eunice urged him to answer a few questions.
We learned he was 15.
Then, he shared a bit about his life. How his family struggled and how because of that he also struggled. How his parents went away to work and how he stayed and took care of his five siblings. He shared about his simple struggles. And then, when asked, he shared that his dream was to be a singer, and he sang again.
I felt led to encourage him and the Lord put davids story in my mouth, so i spoke for a while exhorting him to be faithful and not lose heart and how i knew the Lord was hearing his prayers. I forgot everyone else for a minute, and the people fell silent as i shared.
Then my team and i spent some time praying for him.
I went to bed with a full heart.
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i wake up to net.
i am in my tent without the rain cover, basically my tent has become my mosquito net protection for the last two nights. and we are all in our tents or nets. Sunlight is filtering in thru the slats of the house. It has a beautiful calming effect. I lay there for a while and then hear a voice beckoning me. Plans have changed again and we are leaving earlier than planned.
This time we have the van to ourselves and we sadly pack the van, hug everyone goodbye and speed on home.
I am sad to leave the village.
I wish we could have stayed all month.
I will not forget the villagers kindnesses.
I will look forward to the possibility of seeing them again.
My heart is full.
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…so what does all of this have to do with Gregory?
Gregory calls out every night.
I realize that God is calling out every day too.
Today i read Psalm 19, one of David’s prayers.
It talks about how creation cries out the glory of God with a voice that reaches all the ends of the earth.
I came on the world race to hear and be that voice, and yet to be that voice i have to spend time listening to the voice of God everyday and listening to what He is telling me.
Only if i listen instead of brushing it aside for my own agenda will i reap the blessing of seeing Him work and move and act.
God is my Gregory, calling out His love everyday.
Am i listening?
Are you listening?
