I never want to return to Cambodia.
This was my declaration two years ago as our bus left Cambodia for the next country on our Race.
I saw the political unrest and the shattered shards leftover from the genocides.
I felt the hopeless spirit and depression all around.
The broken parts of Cambodia reflected exactly back to me my own brokenness; a realization I couldn’t bear.
I left with no intentions of coming back.
Arriving in Cambodia two months ago, I found myself facing the brokenness again.
As I looked out the window seat of the bus, I saw dry land and temples fly by.
Yet another field passed when My Father said,
“Last time you were in Cambodia you saw her brokenness and rejected her.
Yet, in your brokenness I have seen and known you, and accepted you.”
Hearing these words, my heart dropped.
How can I hold others’ brokenness against them?
In my darkest places, in my shattered heart, Papa saw all of me.
He collected the pieces of me and made a vessel He called beautiful to be poured out despite my inefficiencies.
The thing about grace is that it costs the giver.
It cost Him His life: bearing the weight of every sin, separated from His Father, hung and shamed on the cross.
If giving grace cost Him His all, how can I not extend grace despite the brokenness around me?
In the end, Cambodia accidentally became my favorite country this Race.
With His eyes I now see how He takes what we call not good and brings a new name:
Chosen, redeemed, precious to Him.
Good.
