“Are you happy?” Tevy asked as we swung side by side under a bungalow by the clear spring water on our last Monday afternoon in Cambodia.
I smiled, a sad sentimental sort of smile and with small tears forming in my eyes I replied, “I am so happy Tevy, I couldn’t imagine being any happier than I am in this moment”. She smiled and said, “Good…the kids are so happy”. And I had to look away before my watery eyes turned into sobs. I looked out at all of the children, so innocent, so full of life, dancing in the river. I felt at home. And I wished so badly that I could freeze frame time.
Water crashed against my inner tube as little hands splashed my face, and sounds of laughter filled the background. For a moment I was lost. Lost in thought, in time. It was as if everything around me was frozen, there was no sound, no movement. And as I looked out upon the beautiful madness that surrounded me, I felt a sense of overwhelming joy, and yet tremendous sorrow at the same time. Joy for the work the Lord had done in my heart in Cambodia, for the way I had completely fallen in love with the kiddos at New Hope for Orphans, and for spontaneous moments like our trip to the river that I will carry with me forever. But there was also an undeniable heaviness in my heart. Heaviness for the pain that I saw in the eyes of the children [rooted somewhere deep behind their smiles and giggles], for the scars that many of the children wear, the hurt that they carry, and for the inevitable goodbyes that would soon take place. It was clear in this moment that God had broken [shattered, really] my heart for these kids. Unfortunately I knew full well that most of them had probably seen and endured more pain and suffering in their childhood than I had experienced in my entire life. And that hurt.
But it was in this, that I saw how deeply the Father loves His children. A tremendous love that surpasses any hardship, and is far greater than any pain. He revealed that He has given me a heart to see and love His children in a way that He loves and sees them. And if I was capable of loving these kids in a way that even I cannot explain, I can’t imagine how much greater His love is for us. Standing there, frozen in time, I saw my passion: for His children, for creativity, for laughter, for unconditional love.
The truth is that, as I sit here writing this blog, my heart still hurts. The truth is that I want to be back at the river in Cambodia. The truth is that I see the faces of my Cambodian family in every child I pass in Vietnam. The truth is that for the first time on the race, I wasn’t ready move onto the next month. And the truth is that, like everything in life, it’s going to take time. But I know that God has a plan, and He still has more to show me. He continues to remind me that the race is not over yet. That there are more goodbyes to come, and there are more children to love. That it’s not going to get easier, but it will get more special.
[Chanut, the little one who stole my heart this month]
[From left to right: Nahum, Nich, Chana, Noch, Srey Hai]
[some fun at the river!]
[Being silly]
[our daily routine]
If you would like to see my team in action, and some more of these sweet faces, check out my next blog with a video of the month! My favorite one yet!
