El Roi- My First Tattoo

I recently got my first tattoo. The tattoo is one of God's Hebrew names within the outline of Cambodia. I have wanted this particular name of God to be tattooed on my body for many years.

There is a story in Genesis 16 of an Egyptian woman named Hagar. Hagar was a slave, she was forced to sleep with her owner because his wife could not bear children. Once she was pregnant, she was hated and abused by her owner's wife. Eventually she ran away because she could not take the abuse any longer. So there she was, pregnant and alone in a desert. At the low point of her life she was left to die with no support from those around her. In the midst of this, God came to her. He asked her, "Where have you come from and where are you going?". He assured her and comforted her in her weakness, when she was utterly alone.

In this moment, Hagar named him El Roi- The God Who Sees. She had now seen the God who always saw her.

For years I have had a deep love for this small story in a book of many stories. I think it is uniquely beautiful. In this collection of books called the Old Testament we see time and time again that the God of the Jews steps in for His chosen people. But in this story, He steps in for someone who is not His chosen people, someone who is on the outside. Yet he loves her all the same. He doesn't take her suffering away, he doesn't change her circumstance, but he tells her that she will be okay, He understands her past and will bless her future.

I have spent more nights than I would like to admit crying out to God-
Where the hell did You go? Why have You left me alone? Will You leave me to bleed out in this desert? 

Time and time again the answer has been, "I see you. I know where you have come from and I know where you are going. I will bless you."

This has been a comfort to me during rough times, when my depression and suicidal tendencies nearly got the best of me it was these words that pulled me through. They still do.

In recent years, this name of God has taken on a second meaning for me as well. Coming to Cambodia and seeing the horrors of their past and present days nearly broke me. Again I asked God where He was. I begged him to explain why He acted in my life in the western world but allowed millions to be slaughtered and abused here on the other side of the globe. How could He let them be treated in such horrific ways? I still wrestle with this on many days.

Yet again, the answer I received was that He sees. He knows that Cambodia was once a world superpower. He knows that not too long ago Cambodia was beaten down and destroyed by genocide. He didn't take the suffering away, He didn't change the circumstance, but he will bless her future. Working here, each and every day I am seeing evidence of Cambodia having a blessed future. Life is still tough here, but it is better each day.

So this tattoo is the permanent expression of my shared experience with this country. We have been abused and beaten down, but more importantly we have been seen and loved by the Divine. We are better each day.

The Child of Cambodia

Part of the Steps trips is going to Wat Phnom, a temple in the capital of Cambodia. This temple has hills, paths and greenery surrounding it, it truly is beautiful. However, because  the temple was started by a woman, it is seen as less than compared to other temples. This leads to it being a common hangout for prostitutes and former prostitures. If a woman ages out of prostitution but still needs money to feed her children, she will often spend her days and nights at the temple with the children, begging for money from tourists. 

In the last Steps trip when I was at the temple a little 4 year old girl whose mother was begging noticed me. She climbed up very steep stairs to come to me, stairs that were too steep to climb back down. Her mom was preoccupied with another baby and didn't notice she had come up to me. So I took her hand and we walked around the temple to find steps we could go down. We found a stairway and I carried her down to bring her back to her mother. 

I was struck with three thoughts. 

1. This child is the epitome of trust and love. She doesn't care who I am or what I've done, she wants me to love her. She wants to hugged and be held, she longs for someone to care for her. Even when we gave her a cookie, her priority was making sure I had enough to eat. She cared so deeply, with so little expectation. 

2. This child is so vulnerable. Technically she had a parent, but this parent didn't have the energy or ability to fully care for her. If she went up to another stranger, she could have been trafficked in a second, never to be seen again. She had no one watching to be sure she was safe, and no justice system that would have sought her out if she was taken. 

3. This child is Cambodia. She is loving, she is vulnerable, she is beautiful. She is growing so quickly that I can't even keep track. She is delicate but strong, and hopeful despite her trials. 

I love Cambodia. The pain and corruption within these borders is sometimes more than I can bear, but the hope and love is more than I can find anywhere else. 

Faith

1. (n) Complete trust or confidence in someone or something. 

2. (n) Strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion. 

Growing up in a Christian environment you hear a lot about faith. You're supposed to speak about your faith, walk by faith, and not hide your faith. In all of this, I think faith became less about the first definition of trust and confidence and instead took on the second definition of doctrine. Looking at it now, it makes me sad. It's like someone saying they "love" burgers. It brings a beautiful, intense word down to a very shallow place. 

To the Christian culture I have lived a life of faith. I never made a tragic, rebellious decision. I have walked friends and strangers through the "Sinner's Prayer". I volunteered, I taught, I sang with my arms raised. I had this stuff locked down. 

But now, being in a different country and having no idea where I belong or what I need to do, I am truly living by faith for the first time in my life. I'm not talking about doctrine, I'm talking about trust. I'm walking through the wilderness and hoping that the guide will show up. I'm praying for my family without having the option to manipulate the outcome of those prayers. I'm looking for my place without knowing whether or not it actually exists. It's scary stuff. 

There's a reason trust-falls strengthen a team or relationship, it's because trusting is hard. I think it's against our nature to trust someone else with our lives or future, that's why we work so hard to hold our lives in our own hands. We get comfortable jobs, sturdy houses, and easy going friends. We hope that we can construct a stable life where we don't have to deeply rely on any one person. If one person we trusted abandons us, we can be jaded for years or even a lifetime. But then what are we left with? A funeral and a comfortable house for our friends to mourn in. 

I think there has to be something more. I want to have faith in my life, whether it relates to my relationships, lifestyle, or belief system. I want to trust in the extreme. It may be a bit more uncomfortable, but I choose to believe it will be more rewarding. 

Muslims

Today there was a prayer meeting among YWAMers in Phnom Penh (YWAM is the organization over the ministry I work in, among many other ministries). The focus was the Muslim world. It was very emotional and I cried despite that being against the cultural norms here. 

Because really, it is so sad to see the amount of fear and turmoil around and within the Muslim religion. 

I have great respect for most Muslims. They put a high value on family and caring for those around them, I find that to be beautiful. Recently I offended quite a few people because I was very angry about  someone speaking ill of Muslims as a whole, so much so that I yelled and stormed out of the room during a dinner with family and friends. I know it wasn't the most mature way to respond to different opinions, but I still stand by the motivation and opinion that I held then. We cannot hate all Muslims because of ISIS. We cannot hate all Christians because of the Crusades. We cannot hate all Catholics because of some perverted priests. 

It goes beyond that though. It's learning not to hate, but also learning how to love. How many Muslims in Florida right now are probably being socially and economically torturred because of what happened at a gay club? How many of them are living in fear and loneliness for something they did not do and probably do not support? It's awful. Muslims are going through serious persecution right now, and they need love and support. 

I am in no way defending the actions of these extremists. I'm just saying that we cannot discriminate against an entire people group out of ignorance or fear. 

Someone at this meeting today said, "We don't believe in Allah, because we praise God". I love the person that said this, I mean nothing against them, but that really is a ridiculous statement. "Allah" is God in Arabic. Many early Christians in certain parts of the world would have praised Allah the father of Jesus, who sent his son for us. Allah/God is in many ways the connections between Christians, Muslims, and Jews; it's the beautiful idea of a Being that created the world and cares for his people. 

I keep thinking of that verse that says perfect love casts out fear. 

To my my friends that are Christians and/or westerners, I pray that you find a love so strong that it removes the fear of the other and instead brings you a desire to care for those you don't understand. 

To my Muslim friends, I pray that in your faith you are not led by fear but instead led by love for your community and the ones around you. I pray that Allah, God, the Universe- whatever we call it... Will bring you peace and hope as you face persecution in whatever country you are in. 

I don't know what to title this.

Tonight I listened as the woman next door to me was beat by her husband. I was having dinner at a friend's house. She translated what was going on as we heard every word and every hit through the thin walls. She has been here much longer than I have and explained that if we stepped out to intervene we would be killed. Not only that, but the added tension from us getting involved would have meant the wife would definitely be killed as well. So we sat there. 

I heard from one of my podcasts today that there was another shooting. I looked up the story and was heartbroken to realize the number of deaths and the fact that it was targeting the LGBTQ community. So many beautiful lives were ended out of hatred and fear. 

Meanwhile, I'm living a few miles from an old school that was turned into torture chambers during a mass genocide only 30 years ago (S-21). 

I'm angry. I don't get angry often, but tonight I am. It's not even about me. It's the awful reality that there is so much evil in the world. It doesn't matter what year it is or where you live, humans are destroying each other. There is a sickness here that is exposed when we live out of fear and pride. None of us is immune to it. At one point, each of these people were innocent, helpless babies. More than likely they have each felt love and compassion at some time, but through circumstances and decisions they have become this. It makes you wonder what kind of world we are living in... And whether or not it's worth it. 

I'm sorry to be so dark. I put a high value on authenticity, and in this moment this is where I am at. In the back of my mind I know there is hope ahead, but for now I will grieve. 

I Need Help

I've always been relatively self-sufficient. In school, I was the one helping someone else with their homework. In friendships, I prefer to be the one comforting rather needing comfort. With money, I've been the lender rather than the borrower. I frequently tell my family and friends that I am "a strong, independent black woman". 

I'm not bragging... I'm confessing. 

There is something beautiful about needing help. Humans are made to rely on each other. The accomplishment of one is pathetic compared to the accomplishments of a team. Even relationally, our minds deteriorate very quickly when human interaction is taken away from us. I believe that we were created by a Being, and throughout history that Being has made evident how necessary and holy it is to need. 

But despite knowing all of that, I hate to need. Being in Cambodia has forced me to come face to face with my inability to go it alone. Here, I can't get up and go out for the day on my own. If I want to go somewhere I either find someone else who is going there or pray that I come across a Moto driver who knows the place I'm talking about. I can't cook for myself because I don't know what the fruits and vegetables here are or how to use them. I can't even have a conversation with most people unless someone else is there to translate. 

Maybe I don't think I deserve to be helped. 

Maybe I'm too prideful to appear week. 

Maybe I'm afraid I'll be abandoned or rejected if I rely on someone else.

Maybe it's all of the above. In all honesty, I'm not sure. 

My new friends here are so quick to give me a helping hand. Even if I don't ask, they go out of their way to make sure I am cared for and not left in the dark. I'm trying to learn to take that help graciously, and in that I truly think I am becoming better. It's a process, and most days I'm not there yet. Still, day by day I am learning to need others and beginning to realize that my strongest moments are the ones in which I ask for help. 

Comparison

I had a pretty difficult childhood. I was forced into situations that were abnormal for a young girl. Im not complaining, these things made me into who I need to be. 

Still, I remember being frustrated at my friends feeling the need to qualify their pain in front of me. It would be something along the lines of "I'm so stressed with all this responsibility! But it's nothing compared to what you've been through..." Or even worse, they would refuse to tell me about their struggles because they felt they were petty. I hated the idea that my story made them feel their story was less important. 

But despite all that, I did the same thing. If I spoke about my hurt it was always with the caveat that other people in third world countries had it worse. I'd tell people that honestly my life has been a cakewalk because I've never been trafficked, beat, or starved. 

On rare occasions, this thinking can be helpful. When life is so unbearable that you can't take another day, there is comfort in knowing that someone else went through worse and survived. It's a good tool when you've hit rock bottom, but I think it's harmful if used for the long-term. If we always compare our pain to someone else's then we take away what our pain has to teach us. Rather than blowing off our struggles, we should be digging into them; we should find out how we can learn for next time and which parts of us need to be made stronger. 

When a 16 year old breaks up with her significant other, she is experiencing the deepest pain she has  ever known. If we tell her to suck it up and that its normal, she will generally go from one relationship to the next, allowing the pain to increase with each partner. Brought to the extreme, for many this leads to abusive relationships that are "normal" in the mind of the abused. What if instead we addressed this teenager's struggle for what it is? We can tell her that we are sorry she hurts and that we can't take the pain away, but that through this she can learn about vulnerability, trust, and healthy boundaries. Rather than comparing her hurt to the rest of the world, she can allow it to make her a stronger, happier person. 

Again, I'm not trying to negate the struggles of the third world. My heart breaks for the malnourished child, the wounded soldier, and the trafficked woman. I'm just saying that we all know pain on whatever scale our life has handed us. We also all know great joy and hope. Let's stop comparing our stories and instead make better ones.