On our first day of being at our ministry site in Cambodia, I said to my friend Kelsey, “I want to do something every day to document the next twenty days we have here in Cambodia.” It seemed like a cool project; I even created a hashtag on Instagram, hoping my creative juices would catch on & concoct something mid month. They didn’t, and my idea never fully developed. But you know, I look back now and see that I didn’t need a project to document these last twenty days. I just lived each day to the brim, as the hours overflowed with laughter and hugs and rice. And I think I am ok with that. Yeah. Twenty days of pure, joy-filled life? That’s a project worthy of documentation I’d say.
This month was unlike any ministry I’ve done on the Race so far. It wasn’t just ministry to me; the “scheduled” times of being with the kids didn’t seem like a chore, but rather something I’d be doing in my own free time. I can’t recall a moment of wanting to be done with each day other than out of pure exhaustion and desire to rest so I could do it all over again the next day.
Our days were so long, beginning (for me) at 5:30 am to roughly 10 pm. Packed in between those numbers were construction projects (we mixed concrete and finished the Shelter’s border wall and built a patio from hoeing away the grass to filling the spot with large rocks, sand, handmade concrete, more sand, and tiles), music lessons (I taught ukulele, others taught guitar and piano), village ministry (Bible storytelling, games and songs with the neighboring children), English class (Nate and I taught five students in the highest level class), and Bible study (where we read 1 Chronicles and I struggled to stay awake as well as follow along in my English translation while they read in Khmer).
I could leave it at that: a list of what we did that is tangible and real to you and memorable to me. But beyond the scheduled things were times that almost seem unreal. Even now, two days after saying tearful goodbyes, I have to remind myself that yes, belting Let It Go with ten Cambodian kids singing and dancing along while Will dramatizes it on the piano was in fact real. That teaching ukulele was very out of my comfort zone but beyond exciting and meaningful to my students and how they looked up to me even though we literally learned strum patterns together. (Teaching is learning, as I’ve been well reminded this month.) That swimming at a dam with all the kids and staff felt like a huge family gathering full of splashing, swim lessons and pictures, and how I rode there on the back of a motorbike with a 17 year old girl driving. How normal it felt to walk back from the village with a three year old jumping in puddles and saying hello to the neighbor’s pet monkey.
It can’t have been real. It’s too insane, too wonderfully crazy, too funny. Too much of my heart’s passion, my soul’s cry. Yet I look down at my hands and think of the countless times I picked up the little kids and swung them around. I see my nails still painted with British flags, done by the ever patient, beautiful Lem who attends cosmetology school. I look at my wrists, adorned with only a third of the friendship bracelets I received and my heart breaks at the thought, time and love put into each one by a Cambodian brother or sister.
It was real. It was chaotic, beautiful, trying at times but rewarding. It was a gift from God to be called to such a place where I truly came alive and slowly began to believe in myself because I was believed in by so many. Each child was Jesus to me–so full of life, promise and genuine love.
Twenty days in Cambodia. Not a project, not just twenty days, but moments upon moments of true joy and friendship that I’ll remember for more than just a hashtag or photo. These people, this place–truly a Shelter of Love–have blessed me beyond words. And while I can only hope that God sends me back, I remain comforted in the fact that I’ll again see my Cambodian family in heaven where dance parties will last for eternity and we’ll be eating cake with Jesus.
