An Open Letter to Cambodia

Dear Cambodia,

you have not been anything like I thought you would be. Not that I had any idea what to expect. You have stretched me. you have grown me. I have laughed so hard I cried (okay, and maybe peed my pants a little too). I have cried so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart was broken for your people when I visited the Killing Fields and learned all about the Khmer Rouge, and why this is considered the youngest country in the world. I saw the bones of your people, wrapped in old cloth, still resting in the ground where they were carelessly thrown into the mass graves dug for them by their own countrymen. I have found a new love for kids ministry while teaching English at our school. I can finally remember the names of all thirteen students in my pre-K class. they all greet me with a hug or a high-five, and a few times a day during class some of them will hold up their hands in the shape of a heart and say, “teacher Nicole, I love you”. I have built a strong friendship with Nhemol, the teacher whose class I get to assist in. She tells me about her days, about her weekends away in her province when she goes to see her son. The language barrier has been so hard, but has opened the door for so many unexpected blessings. Sweet Sophia, who sells food from her home on the street corner between our house and the school, speaks English very well. I buy pork and rice from her for $1 every day for lunch, and she always asks about our day, what we are doing, and has shared with us about her daughter’s recent cochlear implant surgery and her hope that her daughter will speak her first words soon as a result. Smei, a woman who works at the convenience store in our community, makes the best coffee, and speaks very little English. She has a list taped up behind the counter, where she has all of the names of everyone on my squad written down. She has memorized them and calls every single one of us by name when we walk into her store. The neighborhood kids stand outside of the window to our house, waiting for one of us to walk outside and give them a hug or a high-five. I have been invited to the wedding of two of the college students that we have become friends with while living on campus of the seminary here. I have been pulled onto the “dance floor” by dozens of elderly Khmer women at a women’s conference, and loved every minute of slowly shuffling around the room, copying the graceful movements of their hands and arms. Every Tuesday when myself and the two other team leaders go shopping for food for the squad at the market, the woman that we buy our vegetables from always recognizes us, greets us with a smile and a “hello!”, and is kind enough to write the price of the vegetables on the palm of her hand to show us, because we don’t understand how to say “32,000 Riel” in Khmer. I have, however, learned how to count to 20 in Khmer by listening to my pre-K students sing songs about their times tables. Despite the constant heat (90 degrees on a good day) I have been taking a little over an hour out of my days to work out with my teammate Louisa on the roof. I have my quiet times on the roof too. The sunrises and the sunsets here are breathtaking, every single time, without fail. Tuk-tucking is now my all time favorite mode of transportation. The drivers always try to talk to you if they know even a little English. If they don’t, I can say “hello” in Khmer when they pick us up, and “thank you” in Khmer when we reach our destination. I have been absolutely slapped in the face by the urgency of the gospel here. the people here embody so many of the attributes of Jesus— love, compassion, kindness, intentionality, patience, selflessness— and some of them have never even heard the name of Jesus before. This country would be an absolute powerhouse for the gospel if the people had a chance to encounter their savior. I pray every day that people would feel a tug on their hearts for this place. (romans 10:14-15). That they would feel a tug on their hearts for the 31 unreached people groups that live here. There are so many young people in this country who are growing up, praying to gods that can’t hear them or help them or see them or comfort them. And there are too few missionaries here. But God is doing big things regardless. The older students at our school were given Bibles in their own language a few weeks ago. They read them on their own time. They take them home and read them to their parents. Even though their families are Buddhist, they value their children’s education enough to send them to a school where they are taught Bible stories in class. Where their children, and even themselves, are constantly being saturated in prayer. Seeds are being planted. Behavior patterns are changing. God is getting the glory. 

So Cambodia, thank you for the hard times. Because as I was writing this, at two in the morning, unable to sleep, I realized that although these have been the hardest three months of my life, the blessings that have come out of my time here are things that I wouldn’t trade for the world. The lessons that I have learned here will impact how I live for the rest of my life. I would come back and serve these people again. The gospel is worth it. They are worth it. I’m thankful that God trusted me to come here and have my heart broken for these people and for this country. I’m soaking up these last two weeks here, and expectantly waiting for the revival that I believe will come to this country. 

Cambodia, I love you.