“Is this the last time we are coming to the village Daddy?”

“Well, I may come one more time tomorrow, Keenan. But that will only be for a short time. But this is your last time to the village. And this is Mommy’s last time to the village. This is Jaden’s last time to the village.” Then I hopped out of the truck, closed the door behind me, and opened Keenan’s door. As I helped him out of the truck I told him, “This may be a hard day for you, Keenan. We’re going to be in the village a long time. We want to tell everybody goodbye. This is the last time they will see us. We’re going to go to every house. Try to be cheerful and we’ll go through the village as fast as we can.”

Little Jaden held his mommy’s hand, and Keenan held mine, as we made our way down the hill into the village for the last time. Johanna walked slowly, intentionally. She was seven months pregnant. Our last trip to the Pnong was so different than when Johanna and I had come down the hill eight years before. I tried to wrap my mind around how much had changed during the past decade and how much more was about to change. But for some reason my mind wouldn’t go there. So we walked on as if it was just another visit to the village.

In the next three hours we visited over 20 different huts. The villagers welcomed us in with warm smiles and laughter. There were no tears. The boys played with tiny puppies, laughing at the wet, sloppy kisses. Everyone else laughed too. We gave each family the first book in the Bible story series and a family portrait. And we asked them if we could talk to Chief God one more time with them. Most people eagerly agreed and sat there beaming as we invited Chief God into their home. And then we shook their hands one last time and assured them that we would come back again someday. “Don’t forget about us,” they called as we walked to the next house. “We won’t. We won’t,” we called back, laughing.

But Momat was different. He’d been drinking that morning and was quite drunk. Following in his father’s footsteps, Momat is an alcoholic. You may recall my stories of Momat years ago. He’s the son of an old man I’ve called Koin – otherwise known as my Pnong father. And every time I look into the eyes of Momat, I see the twinkles that were always in Koin’s. During our last furlough, I told the story of how the bananas fell and killed the dog. Momat ate the dog and became terribly sick and asked me what to do. He and his wife wanted Chief God to be with them and I sat and prayed with them, asking Chief God to bring him healing. Momat did recover and though he never told me so, I feel certain he gives Chief God the credit. He always nods his head in a knowing, familiar way when I mention Chief God. Like his father, Momat is a quiet man and you’re never quite sure what is behind the twinkles in his eyes. But as he stood before me on that final morning, swaying back and forth in his drunkenness, I sensed a great sadness in his eyes. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, steadying himself, yet tenderly holding me as well. Looking deeply into my eyes he simply said, “I want you to have my knife. I’ll be waiting in my hut.” And then he stumbled away, back down through the village, toward his hut.

When we had finally been to every hut in the village except Momat’s, I told Johanna, “Why don’t you take the boys back up through the village. I’ll jog across the bridge and up to Momat’s house on the other side of river. I’ll be back before you head up the hill.” Johanna nodded and I turned and jogged toward Momat’s house. I wondered if I should even go. He was drunk. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to offer me a present. But then I remembered the sadness in his eyes. I knew I had to go.

I found him at the top of his stairs – passed out. I called into the hut to see if anyone else was home. No one answered. I was about to slip back down the stairs and away for good when suddenly I heard from inside the hut someone call me. “Mbut Keenan. Mbut Keenan. Wait.” It was Chyam, Momat’s wife. I turned to see her smiling face. I could tell she had just woken up from a nap. “Oh I’m sorry to disturb you,” I declared. “But I wanted to give you something. Here.” I handed her the book with our family photo. She came over with a big smile, nodding her head in appreciation. Just then Momat began to stir. He looked up at me, but his eyes refused to focus. He mumbled something that I could not understand. Chyam must have understood though because she turned and went back into the room behind the thin wooden wall where she’d been resting.

I knelt down beside Momat. He sat up and leaned against me, still trying to focus on my face. “You’ve always cared so much about us.” He mumbled. “You cared so much for my father. You care so much for me. I want you to have my knife.” Just then Cham returned carrying the treasured item. It wasn’t just a knife. I knew Momat and his wife had several. It was the knife – an enormous blade, a hardwood handle, and band of gleaming brass. I’d often admired it on elephant rides with Momat in the jungles. He used it to chop through the heavy jungle as he guided the elephant to the waterfall. Several times I’d ask him to make me one. I told him I’d never seen such a nice knife. Each time he blushed and muttered something about being too lazy to make another one. I’d always hoped he’d make me one. But not once did I ever imagine he would offer his own knife to me as a farewell gift. I didn’t know what to say or do. I didn’t even know if I should accept it. But he placed it in my hands and closed my fingers around it. “I want you to have it,” he spoke with intent. This time his eyes clearly focused on mine. “You’ve always cared so much about us.” A lump came up in my throat and for the first time in the day I felt like crying. This precious, quiet man had just blessed me beyond words. “Oh Father,” I prayed silently. “I hope he’s seen you.”

And then clutching that huge bush knife in my hands, I waved goodbye to Momat and his wife and jogged back down the trail into the village. Moments later, waving goodbye to all our friends, we began our long, slow walk up out of the village and to our truck for the last time. The moment was serene. There was no wailing and crying. We would miss our friends and they would miss us. But I think we all sensed another One present in that moment who would never leave any of us for a moment. And in that moment we all sensed that He had led us to this place nearly a decade before and now He was leading us away.

The next morning I rode the motorcycle back over the hills toward the village. My heart was pounding and I didn’t know why. I knew my blood was running hot with tension and stress. For the past week I’d spent over 12 hours a day escorting Levon around from village to village. Levon had come from the AFM home office to make a documentary of our project. Though we were excited to have our time in Cambodia recorded as a documentary, the timing could not have been worse. Instead of setting up interviews with villagers and helping Levon find the perfect shot, I knew I should be packing. In just a few short days we would need to move our family to a new continent and the other side of the world. And there were a million things that needed to happen before we could walk away from Cambodia for the last time. We had so many goodbyes to say. Our house was still filled with furniture that needed to be delivered to those who purchased it. What about all the food we had yet to give away? What about the boxes of clothes and supplies downstairs that we hoped someone could use? We still needed to clean out the house. What about packing in such a way that we could get everything on the plane? How many extra bags would they let us take? My mind was in a blur as I made my way to the village for the last time.

I slowed the bike down at the top of one of the biggest hills and turned off the engine. I wanted to soak in this moment. The early morning sun seemed to make the rolling green hills glow with brilliance. And the wind did something magical to them. As it danced through the grass it tossed it this way and that causing a ripple effect that looked like the waves of the sea. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh father,” I prayed. “Thank you for this moment. Thank you for this opportunity I’ve had for the past decade to live in this land and know these people. Thank you for sustaining me during this time and bringing me to the end still full of health and energy.” Then I suddenly opened my eyes. Something was different from other days. Something had changed. What was it? I glanced around the hills once again. Then it hit me. The winds had come! The sky was blue! The rains were gone! This was the first day of dry season!

After that my heart was merry as I continued the trip to the village. I sang into my helmet and I praised my God for this one last trip to be with my friends. I parked the bike at the top of the hill again, knowing the trail down into the valley was still slippery and dangerous. And then I went in search of the few people we’d missed the day before. One of them was Grandfather Maat. I found him by the stream. He beamed a brilliant toothless grin when he saw me. He was standing in water up to his knees. “So you’re leaving us, huh?” he laughed. “You’re going to forget how to speak Pnong. When you come back to visit us you won’t know how to talk.” At that we both laughed. “That’s not true,” I argued. “I’ll have Met Keenan to help me practice in America. And whenever we want to talk without letting anyone else know what we say, we’ll speak in Pnong.” Then we both laughed again.

By this time he made his way over to the edge of the stream. Then he squatted next to me on the bank. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you Grandfather Maat,” I said quietly. “You’ve taught me so much. When I first came I didn’t even know how to talk. I didn’t know anything about the rice. I didn’t know anything about baskets. I didn’t know anything about the jyaks. You’ve help me – like your own son and I want to thank you.”

He smiled, still looking out over the stream. Silence reigned in that moment. Finally, “I’m going to miss you too,” he finally replied, still looking out. “Come back and see us. And don’t forget about us.” At this he turned and looked at me mischievously and began to laugh again.

“I won’t, I promise,” I said as I stood up. “I hope within a few years I will be able to come back again and visit. Until then, be careful. You’re an old man. Walk carefully on the trails.” We laughed together again and then I turned and made my slow way back up the trail to the village.

I found my dear mother Yau at the last house before I left the village. I was so glad to see her one last time. In my pocket I had a special present for her. I’d noticed she’d been wearing Koin’s watch ever since he died. But it had finally broken and she was sad. So on that final day, before I told her my last goodbye, I handed her a new watch. Her entire face lit up and she exclaimed. “Oh look! Oh look! A new watch! Oh Mbut Keenan! Now I can see yesterday! Now I’ll see your footprints!” It was the Pnong way of saying, “This watch will bring back all the memories of my times together with you.” But I like the Pnong words better. “Now I can see yesterday! Now I’ll see your footprints!” As she squeezed my hands goodbye for the last time, I thought to myself, “Your footprints Yau, will always be in my heart! I’ll always see yesterday with you!”

And then I was alone walking up out of the village one final time. The chief and his elephant had passed the house while I was talking with Yau, and now I could see them up ahead near the top of the hill. As they disappeared over the top I suddenly noticed the crescent moon was still shining brightly in the morning sky. It was a beautiful sight in the moment and it will always be etched into my mind. I threw my leg over the motorcycle, kicked up the kickstand, and revved the engine. And as I turned the bike away from Boan village for the last time, I was filled with emotions I couldn’t understand. Was I sad? Was I anxious? Was I afraid? Was I excited? I didn’t know what for sure. Then I saw the waves of grass again chasing each other across the hills. Today marked the end of the rainy season and the beginning of a new one. The thought caused my heart to skip a beat. For on the exact day that the seasons changed in the hills of Cambodia, the seasons of my life were also changing. Suddenly the tears began to flow. And as I sobbed into my helmet I sang a new song:

And there in those hills while riding my motorcycle home for the last time, I recommitted my life to God. I knew not what lie ahead or what season would break forth in my life. Would it be hot and trying? Would it be cold and unbearable? Would it be bright and beautiful filled with songs and laughter? I did not know, but I was anxious to find out.

I thought of all the times in the past I’ve moved from one season to the next. When I lived on the family farm as a boy, life was spring – fragrant and blooming with beauty. The six years of summer that followed were dry and hot and I wondered if I would survive. Then came the magic winter of academy where friends surrounded me and my true love came to me. But on that last day of graduation weekend, saying goodbye to all my friends, I was ready for a new season. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend even one more day on the campus of Upper Columbia Academy. My time there was precious, but I was sprouting wings and needed to fly. It was spring. And passing over those hills in the land of the Pnong for the last time, I suddenly realize that’s how I felt again. My time in Cambodia would always be precious to me. But I knew that in a few days when I got on the plane to leave I would not want to spend even one more day in the country. A new season was budding out before me and I knew my Father was calling me into it. And so I continued singing all the way home that day – asking God to walk with me into the new season of my life.

A few days later, we left Cambodia in a blur, traveled through thirteen states in one month (hoping our baby would not be born a month early somewhere on the road), told our friends in the AFM office good-bye, hugged and thanked our adopted church family in Collegedale, TN one last time, and ended our journey in Albuquerque New Mexico. Johanna’s parents graciously welcomed us into their home for the next seven months. I prepared for massage school and prayed the baby would come before classes started. He did. At 7:13 pm on January 3, Damian Tsia Pewitt entered the world. I was in school the next morning at 9 am. A blizzard was upon us. Some seasons are clear and you can see for miles. In seasons of storm, however, you move one step in front of the other by faith, unable to see before you. And for especially Johanna and the boys, January through June of this year was a blinding blizzard. We had no income. We had no home. We had no friends. We had no time. Daddy was always gone. Johanna struggled to nurse a baby born with a tongue too short to nurse and the boys cried at not having anyone to play with them. We pressed on knowing the season would pass and the skies would one day clear.

Though my heart ached for my hurting family at home, I put my heart and soul into becoming a massage therapist, for I knew that I would need these skills to start our new life in America. I learned the bones and muscles of the body by name and memorized their locations on the charts. I studied ligaments and tendons. I studied cells and tissues, organs and systems. I studied how the body communicates with all of its separate parts and how it transports all of the essential components of life to each individual cell. And most importantly I became the apprentice of experienced therapists and healers as they taught me the arts of massage therapy. For many hours a day I practiced their techniques and methods on my five fellow students. Of course that meant for many hours I let my five fellow students practice on me. I learned for myself the joys and healing nature of good massage. I came home excited each day hoping to bless my tired and hurting family. But I too felt the blinding blizzard and wondered how long I could go on.

After three months I began work in the public clinic, meeting real clients and seeing real health issues that needed to be addressed. During the 150 hours in clinic that followed, I began to see how an hour of massage can truly touch a person at multiple levels. In Cambodia, villagers sit with each other, holding hands, putting their arms around each other, or even run their hands through each other’s hair. But where is touch in our American society? Where is the time to sit with each other? Massage therapy gives me the opportunity to provide an hour of healing rest to a tired soul and place my caring hands on them in love. During clinic I found it to be a wonderful way of blessing people with peace, rest, and healing. I’d often pray for them for the entire hour as I worked. I began to see amazing results. Some said they felt healed. They used words like miracle or magic to describe the massage. I smiled knowing that we had not been alone in the room during the massage. Another One was present and I could feel His hands on mine as I worked. Sometimes His presence was so near that tears stung my eyes as I worked and I wondered what He was doing through my hands. For my clients it was truly Good News. And that’s what I’ve been trying to find a way to share here in this wonderful land of America. Massage is an amazing way to proclaim God’s ways of doing things on this earth – often without words.

On June 30 I graduated from Crystal Mountain School of Therapeutic Massage. I was the only one in the class to have finished all of my 150 clinic hours and the high scores on my transcript reflected the hard work and commitment I’d given to my sixth month intense study massage. During the ceremony I publically thanked my lovely wife for supporting me during the difficult time of school. I thanked my in-laws for opening their home to us. And I thanked my boys for letting me be gone so much and for helping mommy with the baby. I promised that I would spend more time with them. Another season was upon us.

A few days after graduation, we were driving to our new home in Walla Walla, WA. The trip was over 1300 miles but surprisingly we made it in two days. Why Walla Walla? Johanna and I have had the wonderful opportunity to once again decide what we want to be when we grow up and where we want to play “house”. Coming back from Cambodia we didn’t have any obligations or commitments. We looked across the nation and asked, “Where would we like to live?” We both love the Northwest the most but not too close to the coast where it rains. After so many hot and humid winters, we wanted a land of snow in the winter, at least not far from the mountains. But in the spring we wanted black, rich soil and bubbling springs to grow a thriving garden. We wanted an area of growth and rich with investment opportunities. We longed for the fresh air of new thoughts and young ideology. And we longed to be closer to friends and family. Where could we find all that? While still in Cambodia, we got out a map and went from town to town until we came to Walla Walla. “That’s it!” we said. “That’s where we’ll go!” We prayed about it for months while still in Cambodia and little bit by little bit God made it clear that Walla Walla was indeed our final destination.

On our trip from Albuquerque, we passed through the Blue Mountains and into Washington State. A beautiful sunset lingered in the sky nearly taking our breath away. It seemed reluctant to fade. In that moment Joie and I squeezed each others hands, there in the car, and reminisced of the night we stood looking over Sen Monorom. We knew in that moment, in the hills of Cambodia, that we were right where God wanted us to be. That moment of assurance, right from the start, kept us working in Cambodia for over a decade though the challenges were often great. And as we watched the sun set in the Blue Mountains we once again heard God saying, “This is the place and this is the time. Trust me!” And that’s enough for us. Working for God is so exciting. Whether it’s finding a job or a place to live or crossing the Red Sea, moments before miracles are always exciting.

God led us to a beautiful home here in Walla Walla. A friend of ours from UCA was moving and a landlord needed tenants for a few more months. So we have the most beautiful home with a fenced in back yard and raspberries. But only for a short unknown season. We have a microwave, hot steaming water, a washing machine, carpet, a dishwasher, a real sink, a room for the boys, a room for the baby, and a room for ourselves with its own bathroom.

Even so, this season has been dark and miserably cold. After five months without employment, I longed to start work as a massage therapist the day after we arrived. But we had to wait for the state to grant me a license to practice before I could even start a job hunt. That took six long weeks and two days. The time of waiting was dark. We desperately needed an income. We waited and prayed and cried as our last pennies disappeared, rushing each new day to check the mail box. The demons of America and the jungles of this land are just as dark as Cambodia – but in a different way. I see now why Americans come in for a massage completely worn, exhausted, and living in great pain. For this land of beauty, this land of blessings (flowing with milk and honey) is a land of darkness and suffering. We have so much but so little time to enjoy it. We are enslaved by bills that grow throughout the month. And all our tools and machines that make life simpler chase us in circles until life is a blur around us. “Oh God, we need your rest. Oh Lord, we need your peace. Oh father, we need your healing presence. Come to us in this land of darkness. For we can’t see you. Our life is blocking you out. All is growing dark. Come, rescue us. Show us your ways. Save us from ourselves!”

A friend of a friend told me I should talk to the owner of a hair salon in town. “She may be interested in starting massage,” they told me. I’d given my resume to a few spas in town, but I’d never heard from them. Who wants to talk to a massage-therapist-wanna-be without a license? So I stopped by the hair salon and met the owner, who was busy cutting hair, and handed her my resume. I briefly told her about my situation and that I didn’t yet have my license. She smiled with a pair of scissors in one hand and a comb in the other and said, “Thank you for stopping by! It’s nice to meet you. I’ll call you tomorrow, but let’s just say that if you’re interested in working here, you’ve gotta job!” I couldn’t believe it. A real job guarantee even before my license arrived? But that wasn’t the best of it. The next day she told me the details. Her numerous clients had been asking for massage for years and she felt sure I would quickly have plenty of clients. She would be willing to pay me by the hour until I did and then pay me on commission at the highest rate. And she seemed pleased that I eventually wanted to start my own business. “No one owns the clients,” she stated. “Feel free to take them with you to your new location someday.” We were thrilled!

On the first business day after my license arrived, I started work at the hair salon. For six weeks now I have set up my massage chair each day by the counter at the front of the salon and offer a discounted chair massage to the waiting clients. I give each one my card and encourage them to schedule a full-body massage. Some days are agonizingly slow but I’m learning to use the time to further my education with numerous books on the topics of massage and overall well-being. And I’m beginning to see massages added to my schedule. I work at the salon Sunday through Thursday and spend Friday at Andy’s Market in College Place offering chair massage. Andy’s has been a fantastic place to meet people and let the community know that I’m available as the new massage therapist in town. I’m seeing some of the faces from Andy’s at the salon now for a full hour massage. And every person that comes and enjoys their massage tells someone else about their experience. I believe God has given me a wonderful opportunity. The darkness is lifting and a warmth is in the air. The seasons are changing once again.

Baby Damian is nine months old now and has learned to roll around the house. Sometimes he even scoots around on his tummy and is already getting in to all sorts of things we didn’t know he could find. We recently added two new faces to our family. They have the cutest little whiskers. Jaden named his orange kitty Pumpkin, having just learned what a Pumpkin was this fall. Keenan named his black kitten Chaser since he loves to dash after anything that moves. Keenan and Jaden are taking gymnastic classes at the university two times a week. We love watching them, and their fellow gymnasts, following their teachers across the mats like a line of baby ducks. They are learning forward rolls, backward rolls, cartwheels, the balance beam, and even the uneven bars. We’re so proud of them. Keenan is also taking rock climbing lessons at the YMCA. We joined as a family and are enjoying Yoga, Palates, swimming, and basketball. These are ways of meeting people and little by little we are starting to recognize faces around town. We’re praying a close fellowship of friends will eventually come from these acquaintances. We’re enjoying this new season of our life!

But during the darkest days of this past year I have often thought, “I wish my prayer team would pray for us!” That’s the purpose of this letter. We miss you! We loved writing our reports of what God was doing in Cambodia and your prayers often lifted the darkness enough for us to see a Guiding Hand before us. Thank you for each of those prayers through the years! And thank you for your prayers now. You have truly been a family of support for us. I hope to continue writing of my adventures in life and I’d like to invite you to continue following us on this journey. Of course the stories will be different. Instead of jungle adventures in a remote village, you may read about miracles in a massage room, but God’s miracles are always thrilling no matter where He works. I will continue using www.searchingforthesea.com to post updates, though they may be far and few between for a while. Every season is different. You can continue communicating with us through this same website if you wish. But we will not be offended if you choose to unsubscribe. You can unsubscribe here.

Thank you again for all of your love, support, and prayers along this road. We hope to run into you now that we’re back in your world. If you pass through Walla Walla, let us know. And when the seasons of your life get a bit stressful and you feel those shoulders tight, with tension running up into the back of your head, come in for a massage. Thank you for allowing us to be your missionaries for the past decade!

Love,

Braden, Johanna, Keenan, Jaden, and Damian

Outside the Pen

“So I guess after 10 years of working as a missionary, you feel you’ve put in enough time for God, huh?  You’re not going to continue ministry?”  My friend’s words at the mission potluck caught me off guard.  I didn’t know what to tell him.  I had just told him of my plans to become a massage therapist after returning to the states.  Why did he think I wanted to give up ministry?  Quitting because I’d put in enough time for God?  I had never thought of working for God like that.  His words hurt.  With my mind whirling, I turned away to help my son, Keenan, balance his plate of food on his lap.  I desperately needed time to think.  I asked Keenan which food he liked best and pretended to help him take a bite.

I waited as long as I dared and then slowly turned back to my friend.  Taking a deep breath I began, “Well, I guess I don’t feel like I’m giving up ministry.  You are right in the fact that I won’t be ministering to people in the church as a pastor.  Working as a pastor is what everyone expects me to do because I studied theology in college.  But after a decade of ministering to people outside the church here in Cambodia I feel God wants me to do the same in America.  If I return as a pastor, I will minister only to those in the church.  That will be my predominant task at least.  But my heart is with those outside the walls of any church.  Some are there because they’ve been hurt by those in the church.  Some are there because they can’t believe in the god the church preaches about.  Some are there because their questions have not been answered by the church.  Some are there because they think God cannot and should not be contained in a church.  But regardless of the reasons they are not in church, they are God’s children.  God made them just like he made those in the church.  And he is always with them.  His command, “Go into all the earth,” rings in my ears every day.  Certainly he’s talking about beyond the walls of the church.  I believe God has called me to ministry – ministry to those not in a church.  Jesus said, “Healthy people don’t need a doctor, but sick people do….I didn’t come to invite good people to be my followers.  I came to invite sinners” Matt. 9:12-13.

“Yeah, okay.  I see,” nodded my friend.  But I wondered if he did.  Why have we made ministry something only a pastor does?  Why have we made ministry something only a pastor does in or from the church?  Why have we made ministry something only a pastor does, in or from the church, with those who already know God?  Shouldn’t “ministry” include serving those who don’t think like us, look like us, or smell like us?  And does a minister of the gospel have to be employed by the church?  Jesus wasn’t employed by the church.  Neither was Peter or John or James.  So if fishermen can fish for men, can’t a massage therapist touch people for the gospel?

As a pastor, by definition, I would care for the flock in a pen.  That’s an important role and one many are called to.  But the Good Shepherd said, “I have other sheep that aren’t in the sheep pen.  I must bring them together too, when they hear my voice.  Then there will be one flock of sheep and one shepherd” John 10:16.  At the bidding of the Good Shepherd, I came to Cambodia over 10 years ago.  He led me to his sheep not in his sheep pen.  At first I didn’t recognize them because they looked so different from me.  But now I see that all along they too have been his sheep and he has been their Shepherd.  Now the Good Shepherd is bidding me return to America.  There too, I believe, are many sheep that belong to God but are not in a sheep pen.  I want to find those sheep.  I want to understand those sheep.  I want to spend most of my time with those sheep. And standing in their world, seeing through their eyes, I want to ask the Good Shepherd to show them Good News.  For He is the Shepherd of us all.

Books and Hurricanes

This morning I road in Savouen’s tuk tuk through hectic Phnom Penh traffic to a place we’ve chosen to print the Bible story books.  There, to my joy, I found 19 boxes of shiny new books waiting for me.  Nine of the boxes contained New Testament Bible story books of which I’ve never seen.  They are beautiful!  The Pnong Bible Story Book Project is complete!

Over a decade ago when I first arrived in this country the Pnong people didn’t even have a written language.  By the grace of God Johanna and I entered the Pnong world, we learned to speak the Pnong language, we learned to see through the lens of the Pnong worldview, we learned to write and type the new Pnong written language, and we produced 8 Bible story books with 88 Bible stories in the Pnong written language, complete with beautiful illustrations.  And a few hours ago I held the entire Bible story set in my hands for the first time.

I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.  In one way or another we have been working toward this goal for more than 11 years.  And to see the books finally finished is a dream come true.  But somehow I felt like crying also.  Two young men from the copy shop silently carried the boxes of books out to the tuk tuk.  No one cheered.  There was no applause.  No one shook my hand or patted me on the back.  Yet the boxes they carried tugged at my heart.  They held a decade of my life – gone.  Each one of the thousands of pages represented hours and hours of difficult work, days and days of struggling on, months and months of sickness and darkness, and years and years of just trying to survive away from family and friends.

As I sit here writing, in a quiet apartment at ADRA, I long to be part of community.  When I cry I wish I could cry with others.  When I laugh I long to laugh with others.  And when I rejoice, like today with the books, I long to rejoice with others.  Now, just three weeks and two days from leaving Cambodia and returning to the states, I think that’s what I’m most excited about – being part of community again.

The past month has been a whirlwind for us.  We’ve been trying to finish the books, pack up all our belongings, and sell or give away anything we’re not taking back to America.  This past week, while waiting for the books, has been a tremendous blessing to us.  We’ve taken a few days of vacation to just look into each other’s eyes and enjoy the last few moments of life in Cambodia.  We took the kids to the beach over the weekend and came back to the water park on Tuesday.  The boys and I have spent more time with Johanna’s growing belly.  We sing to the little one inside, talk to him, and just tell him we love him.  Of course he could be a she.  But that’s what makes it fun.  We don’t know who waits inside.  But we do know the little one is part of our family and will join us soon.

The next three weeks will also be a whirlwind.  We plan to return Mondulkiri the beginning of next week.  We’ll have a few days to deliver the rest of our furniture to the different people who purchased it.  We hope to pack up the last cases we plan to take home with us.  And then we’ll have to give away everything that remains or hall it to the trash.

On October 7 a student missionary arrives from AFM.  It will be his job to film a documentary of our project in just a little over a week.  We are extremely excited about this documentary.  We hope our story, in film, will bless thousands of people with what God has done over the last decade among the Pnong.  But the timing is off.  Trying to make a documentary during the last few weeks of living in the country will be a serious challenge.  There will be so many other things to do, so many other people to say goodbye to, and so many other things to think about.  Yes, a whirlwind (or should I say a hurricane) is bearing down upon us.  Yet somehow, in the midst of it, we will need to find time to sit with our Pnong friends for the last time and listen to their hearts.  For no matter how many projects we operate, no matter how many books we print, no matter how many documentaries we make, sitting with these people is why we came.  Please pray for us during these last few weeks in Cambodia.

Braden

A little light goes out

“They had the same sickness he does,” Kay whispered, glancing down at the tiny baby in her arms.  “Why?  What have I done?”  The smoky hut was silent – a silence that hurts.  I cried with Kay and Chaw when their first son died.  He was a month old.  I ached for them as they struggled to survive the grief month after month.  A year later a baby girl joined them, but Kay remained fragile, nervous, and sick.  Two years later she finally smiled again with the birth of another boy.  But he lived only two months.  During the night, just like the first one, he began to cry; he struggled for breath, and then lay still.  Now another boy.  Now another month.  Now another sickness.  Kay and Chaw were scared!

“Why are my babies so small?” Kay looked up at me.  “Why are they easily sick?  We must have done something wrong.  We must have angered them again.”  I sat with Kay in that dark hut, feeling the presence of demons.  I told her again of Chief God.  I told her of his great love.  I told her how much he longs to help us.  “He loves us as much as you love your little son,” I told her as she held him close to her breast.  I have spent years with this family.  And every time I mention Chief God, they change the subject or even laugh.  Kay looked away.

I felt a bondage of evil there in that darkness so black and so gruesome it’s hard to even imagine.  Over time, the Pnong people have come to believe that new mothers must be very careful how they eat after giving birth to a baby.  They believe that eating the wrong food causes a great sin or fault to cover them.  Because of this great wrong, sickness and death will soon follow.  Some of the elders say certain types of fish will tarnish a new mother with guilt.  Some of the healers teach that most fruits and vegetables cause blame to fall upon new mothers and their babies.  Since no one knows for sure what is safe to eat, most new mothers eat only white rice for at least one month after having a baby.  Some continue this practice until the baby is six months old.  Most of these women drink only a small cup or two of water a day.  They become weak, pale, and sick; the babies struggle to thrive.  And the mothers cry out, “Why is my baby sick?  Why am I so weak?”

As I sat there with this terribly weak woman, watching her baby struggle for life, I became angry inside.  Someone, something, was holding Kay in bondage.  She was killing her own tiny one all the while believing she was protecting him.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to strangle that thing, that unseen demon of darkness deceiving this precious woman.

I asked Kay if I could pray.  All she would say was, “I don’t know.”  She looked around, scared.  I told her of Chief God’s power and offered to pray again.

“I don’t know.”

I knew I couldn’t force her.  I knew I shouldn’t pressure her.  But as I looked down at that precious little one I felt desperate.  I kept silently praying, “Lord, is there anything I can say or do?  Please break through to her.”

Daniel was with me that day and he stepped into the hut in the middle of this powerful struggle.  He didn’t know what was happening and began talking to Kay’s mother at the other end of the hut.  Suddenly, quietly, so soft I didn’t even understand at first, Kay said to me, “Talk.”

She then motioned up with her eyes.  I whispered, “Talk to Chief God?”  She glanced at her mother, still talking with Daniel, and then silently nodded.

And there in that hut I very quietly talked with the Author of all Life, the one who gives each of us breath.  I touched the baby’s head and presented him to his Maker.  Tears threatened to spill out as I plead for his life.  Though never speaking a word, Kay’s eyes told me she was thankful.  She smiled slightly and squeezed her lips tightly together as if to say, “I feel better.  I feel Him here.”

Two days later Johanna and I had the opportunity to visit again.  It was the first time we’d been to the village together on our motorcycle in over six years.  Our friend Kara, a student missionary in Cambodia, offered to watch our boys.  We were able to sit with Kay and talk of God.  This time her mother, father, and husband were out of the house.  Only her younger sister was there.  The younger sister began to laugh as we spoke of Chief God.  But this time the laughter faded away as she too listened to the stories of the Creator God.  We freely spoke of Chief God’s love and his power.  Kay listened with great interest.  Then I offered to speak with Chief God again.  This time she hesitated only briefly.  I placed my hand on the baby’s head and the tears threatened to come as I prayed.  I’m not sure what I said out loud but inside I was screaming, “Lord, please break through to Kay and her family.  Don’t let the forces of evil hold them in this darkness.  Spare this child’s life, Lord, if at all possible.  I love him though I don’t know him.  Save him Lord.  Save him!”

We left shortly after for a trip to the capital.  Three weeks later we returned, wondering what we’d find.  Kay and Chaw came to see us and their little one was with them.  “After you talked, his diarrhea went away,” Kay explained.  I wondered at her words.  Was she giving Chief God credit?

Later Chaw added, “As soon as you spoke with Chief God, he started getting better.  And the whole time you’ve been gone he’s been well and happy and nursing so much.”

“Will you speak with Chief God again?” Kay asked with a worried look.  “Since yesterday he hasn’t been nursing.  That’s when I became hot.  I’m afraid my fever is making him not want to nurse.  See?”  She pulled up her blouse and placed the nipple in her infant’s mouth.  He slowly began to suck.  Then he paused and stopped as if he didn’t have the energy to continue.  “Please talk with Chief God again.”

Johanna and the boys came out on the porch and we gathered around the baby together.  Each of us prayed for the baby.  “Please make the baby better,” Keenan prayed.  Jaden just squeezed his eyes tightly closed and moved his mouth as if talking.  After a long silence he proclaimed, “Amen.”  Kay and Chaw smiled.  The boys went back inside with Mommy and came out with a baby blanket, several sets of clothes, a little stuffed doggy with a Santa cap, and a baby rattle.  Keenan and Jaden handed each one to the baby with little words of love.  Both Kay and Chaw seemed deeply touched.  “They care so much,” Kay exclaimed, cutting her words off with emotion.

After a long visit Kay seemed uncertain when her husband said, “We’ve got to go now.  It may rain.”  She sat there hesitant to leave.  I wondered what she was thinking.  Finally, as her husband stood, she looked up at me and said, “Would you talk one more time?”  I smiled and once again placed both hands on the baby and presented him to his Father and Maker.  I reminded them that they too could talk to Him at any time.  They both nodded.  Then we all waved good-bye as they left.

My phone rang sometime after eight.  “He’s terribly sick Mbut Keenan.  He can hardly breathe.  We’ve been talking to Chief God – both of us.  I don’t think you can make it to our village in the rain.  We can’t get out now with our motorcycle.  But we wanted you to know.”

I called Daniel.  We jumped in the truck.  We crawled along the treacherous wet roads in the dark.  At the top of the last hill before descending into the village we prayed about what to do.  Going further could mean not being able to come back up.  But could they walk up the slippery slope in the rain.  We finally decided to risk it.  Moments later, after nearly sliding into two deep washouts on either side of the truck, we slid to a stop, unable to go further and unable to turn around.  Rain began to pour on our roof.  We had made it into the village, but we would not be returning soon.  We knew we were stuck.  Discouraged, worried, and confused we got out of the truck and walked into the dark village.

“Mbut Keenan, did you hear?” a voice called out of the night.  “The baby is dead.  He stopped breathing.  There’s nothing we can do.  His soul is gone.  He didn’t want to stay here anymore.”  The sky was dark.  The cries were sore.  Words were few and hard.  I offered my presence.  The night was long.

The fire begins to burn

For over a decade I’ve struggled to understand God’s ways here in the mission field.  He’s not a God we can fully understand.  He cares more about life eternal then momentary death.  He cares more about the heart then the body.  He performs fewer miracles Than I ask for but miraculously works in spite of me.  He uses darkness to reveal light, death to breathe life, and doubt to grow faith.

Even so, it was hard listening to Kay and Chaw cry that night as I swung in my hammock. As they sat looking at their tiny baby, lying there like he was asleep, they kept saying, “He didn’t want to stay with us. We don’t know how to be parents.” I hurt too. I kept seeing my own baby lying there. Once again I realized our hearts weren’t designed to hurt that way. We weren’t designed to experience death. That night, in the dark thatched hut, Death laughed in our faces.

I left the next morning discouraged and confused. Yet I also felt certain that God knew what he was doing. My mind went back to Koin. I cried when he left us. I cried for months. I hadn’t understood. I felt God was wrong. I’ve never fully recovered. My heart still hurts. But I do now see that God had a plan. And I’m learning to trust him. So I squeezed their hands goodbye and left, leaving them with God.

That next week I continued translation work with Plong. Knowing that our time is short in this country, I had told him I would work as long as he wanted to work each day to finish the New Testament books. He said he could come at seven each morning and work until nine at night. I told Johanna what he had said and she agreed that we needed to get the books done. So for nearly two weeks we worked between 12 and 50 hours a day. Even so my mind kept going back to the village. I could hear Kay’s muffled sobs and see Chaw’s blank stare. I kept praying for them, but I didn’t know what to pray. All I could say was, “Lord, do what you want to do. Show them yourself.”

Seven days later I made my way to the village again.  This time Me Ta was with me.  Me Ta works for AFM in a closed country.  We stopped at Yau’s house.  She was making baskets again.  Her toothless smile, as she glanced up to see me, filled my heart with joy. “Mbut Keenan, it’s a good to see you.  Why have you been gone so long?”  We sat together like old times while Yau smoothed the bamboo reeds for her basket.  As Yau worked I told Me Ta of our years with Koin and Yau.

“Have you come for the funeral today?” she asked us.

My mind began to whirl.  “What funeral?”

“Can’t you hear all the people?” she asked, tipping her head towards a house further down the hill.  “It’s the seven-day ceremony for the baby who died last week.”

Suddenly I remembered.  It had been seven days.  Chills raced up and down my spine.  For I had surely forgotten about the seven-day ceremony, but I knew Someone else had remembered.  Shortly after, I dismissed myself, leaving Me Ta to work withYau, and made my way down through the village to Kay’s house.  I could hear many voices inside.  Some were laughing.  I knew some had already drunk too much.  I wondered what I would say to the mother and father.  So there, not far from the hut, I paused and looked up to the sky.  “Father, please walk with me now.  Please show me what to say.  Please show them yourself through me.”

Taking a deep breath, I ducked through the low doorway into the thatched bamboo hut.  Almost instantly I could hear people calling me throughout the hut.  They were excited.  They were happy to see me.  “Oh Mbut Keenan, it’s so good to see you!”  they shouted.  “It’s so good you’ve come.  It’s so good to have you here.”

Someone escorted me through the mass of people, mingling in the little hut, and offered me a place on the raised platform at the other end of the hut.  I felt like a guest of great honor.  Deu, Kay’s father, came over and offered me a cup of pop.  I knew everyone else was drinking Rice wine, and I smiled a thank you that he had remembered to give me pop instead.

Then Kay was sitting next to me.  She shook my hand as if deeply touched to see me.  “I knew you would come,” she said.  “I had a dream last night.  In my dream I saw you come today.  I’ve been waiting for you.  I knew you’d come.”

Once again I felt the chills tickling my spine.  I knew God wanted me here and I knew he wanted me here now.  I squeezed Kay’s hands.

“My baby has forsaken us.  He didn’t want me to care for him anymore.  But I want Chief God with me now.  You came when no one else came.  You stayed with us when no one else would stay with us.  You cared when no one else cared.  Many, even in this village, haven’t come to see us.  But you came even though it was raining.  You came even though it was night.  I want Chief God to be with us now.”

Then Rote found me with a loud cry.  She sat down beside me shaking my hand excitedly.  “I’m so happy to see you Mbut Keenan.  I want to tell you what happened today.  The Koreans visited our village.  They visited each of our homes.  They asked us if they could talk to Chief God for us.  We told them that we already know Chief God.  We told them we wanted them to talk with Chief God for us.  And so they did.  They prayed in Khmer and I could understand but they said.  They prayed that God would be with me.  They prayed he would keep me safe keeping healthy.  They prayed he would be at my fields and help them to grow well.  They prayed he would be with my children.  I could understand him.  I was so happy they wanted to talk to Chief God.  They are just like you.  They know Chief God.  And they were surprised that we know him to.”

“Yes, yes!”  Liu added.  “The Koreans came to my home too.  They asked me if they could talk with Chief God for me.  I told them I wanted them to.  They prayed just like that too.  I was so happy!  Mbut Keenan, they are just like you!”

Others from around the hut agreed with loud cries.  “Yes, yes!  They came to my home to.  They prayed for me to.  They are just like you.”

Not once in the past 10 years have I heard so many Pnong people talking about Chief God at once.  When we do talk of Chief God, it’s always in someone’s home.  Usually people seem nervous that another villager might be listening.  They ask questions in hushed tones.  Our conversation ends when a visitor steps in.  But this time was different.  The village was together in one place and everyone was talking about Chief God at once.  I wondered what had happened.  Whatever it was, I knew something had changed.

As the villagers shared with me one by one what had happened, I began to piece the story together.  19 Koreans had come the day before to share their faith with the villagers.  One couple spoke Khmer, but the others only spoke English.  They handed out clothes and medicine.  They handed out little hand-held signs with a picture of their group on the front.  At the top it said “God loves Cambodia.”  They sang and danced for the villagers and freely offer their prayers.

Grandfather Maat, sitting with several other elders, called me over to sit by him.  “What does this little sign say?” he wanted to know.

The elders were watching me.  I realized that finding out what the sign said was important to them.  I felt honored to help them.  “Grandfather, the sign says ‘chief God loves Cambodia’.”

“Oh!” they all yelled together.  They were nodding their heads as if to say, “That’s very good!  That’s very good!”  I smiled.

Just then Daniel arrived.  He too had forgotten about the seven-day ceremony.  I’d sent a message and as soon as he got it he made his way to the village.  The villagers received him in the same way they had received me.  Everyone began to yell for joy and reach out to touch his hands.  I sat back watching with interest.  I was glad to see them receive him so warmly.  They don’t know him well yet, and can’t communicate with him clearly, yet they love them.  Soon two tipsy old men and an old woman were trying to teach to how to speak.  Unfortunately, they were all speaking at the same time and I could tell Daniel wasn’t catching much.  I chuckled to myself as I watched, remembering my language learning years.

Then Ndaop made his way to me.  Ndaop is Kay’s older brother.  I haven’t seen him for years.  During the first few years of our time and Boan to Village, Ndaop had gotten married and moved to Raveh Village.  Several months later though, his wife died suddenly.  He moved back in with his parents for a period of time after that, and then disappeared again.  I asked his family about him, and they told me that he had found another wife in Raveh village.  Now he came over to me to shake my hand.  He was shy.  It he seemed intent to speak with me.

“This is my family,” he said pointing to the woman beside him.  “This is my son and this is my daughter,” he said pointing to the children in the woman’s arms.  “My first wife died but now I have a family.  This is the wife you brought the buffalo to.  If you had not helped me I might not of been able to get married.  But you cared for us.  You always have.”

I’d almost forgotten.  But a distant memory came to mind as he spoke.  I’d been at work one day on the Bible story books when his father called me.  He asked if they could use my truck.  He said a young buffalo would die if I did not come quickly.  I hadn’t understood his words and I didn’t want to go.  I remember grumbling to Johanna about how irritating it was to have to stop my work on the books.  But I went.  Ndaop and his father wanted to use my truck to transport a young water buffalo from their village to Ndaop’s new village.  I remember feeling sorry for the creature as I bumped along the road.  But I also remember the joy on Ndaop’s face as we unloaded that Buffalo at his new house.  I hadn’t realized it was for us wedding ceremony.  And I hadn’t realized how much it meant to him for me to help him.

“You’ve always cared for us,” he said.  “When my brother was without milk, you provided formula.  When my other brother had TB, you helped him get medicine.  When my father broke his toe, you helped him get to Phnom Penh.  When Kay’s baby got sick, you came in the middle of the night even though it was raining.  You care.  You care.”  Then Ndaop shook my hand.  He nodded his head and continued shaking my hand.  I could tell you wish to honor me greatly.  I could tell how sincerely thankful he was that I loved his family.

I felt a bit uncomfortable receiving so much praise.  I got up and made my way back through the mass of people for breath of fresh air outside the hut.  I called Johanna told her of the events in the village.  I asked her to pray.  Then Kay’s mother, Chote, approached me.  She’d followed me outside the hut.  “Please, Mbut Keenan, stay and eat with us today.  I have made you a special meal.  I wish for you and your friends to eat with us today.  The food I will serve you is special.  None of our other guests are going to eat it.  I made it just for you.  I wish for you to eat with us today.”

At this she seemed choked up.  I could tell her tears were about to spill out.  “Oh Mbut Keenan, you have cared for us so much.  When my baby had no milk you brought formula.  He would’ve died.  When my young son had TB, you helped him find medicine.  He too would’ve died.  When my daughter cut her leg deeply, you took her to the hospital.  When my husband broke his toe, you helped him get to Phnom Penh.  You helped him recover.”  A tear trickled down her cheek and she reached up awkwardly to wipe it away.  “When my grandson lay dying, in the middle of the night, you came through the rain on the muddy roads because you cared.  Mbut Keenan, I wish for you to eat with us this day.  If you have one friend with you, I will feed that friend too.  If you have two friends with you, I will feed those two friends too.  So please call your friends.  Today you eat with me.”  Then she turned and walked back into the hut leaving me speechless.

Something special was happening and I didn’t know what exactly.  I just knew the chills were still chasing each other up and down my spine.  I also knew God was at work.  I realize I was a small part of some great plan.  So I walked back up the hill to Yau’s house and told Me Ta what was happening and invited her to the meal.  When we arrived back at the hut and ducked through the low doorway the crowd inside again received us with excited shouts of joy.  Liu came up to me and said, “Mbut Keenan, it’s to eat.  Come this way.  It’s already ready for you.”  She then took me by the hand and led me through the crowd of people.  They parted before us letting us through like royalty.  Stopping at the edge of the raised platform, Liu pointed toward the mat that had been prepared for us.  Three bowls of steaming Pnong rice called to me from the middle of the mat.  As I seated myself the far side of the mat I could smell the delicious Pnong soup before me.  I could see the green soup was made from cubed eggplant, sliced stems from the jungle, and some pumpkin leaves.  My mouth began to water.

Liu had returned back through the crowd to escort Daniel to the mat.  She did the same for Me Ta.  Then Liu told us, “Please eat now.  This food was made just for you.”  I scanned the faces around me to find Chote.  I finally found her not too far away nervously watching us as we tasted the food.  When I nodded and said, “This is delicious!”  she smiled shyly.  A few minutes later I noticed her walk over to Ndaop and whisper something to them.  He nodded and glanced at me.  He turned in our direction and made his way closer to her we sat.  I could tell he was thinking of what to say.  I wondered what his mother had told him and what he was now about to tell me.  He sat down on the raised platform in front of me and glanced up as if still thinking of how to say what was on his mind.  His mom began to whisper in his ear this is what he said:

“Mbut Keenan, you have always cared for us.  When my sister’s baby was sick you came even though it was raining.  You came in the middle of the night even though you are already asleep.  You came even though the roads are terrible and you didn’t know if you get stuck.  You came because you cared.  You stayed with us because you cared.  But you have done so much more than that.  When our youngest brother didn’t have mouth you brought formula to keep them alive.  When his older brother had a hurt leg for so many years you helped him find medicine.  When my younger sister cut her leg with an ax it took her to the hospital.  You cared.  When my first wife died and I had to remarry, you cared.  You came all the way out to my village carried the young water Buffalo all the way to my wife’s village because you cared.  When my father cut his toe and couldn’t walk, you paid for them to go to Phnom Penh and find a Dr.  You cared.  You always care.  You’re always willing to help.  It doesn’t matter if we call you in the day or the night, it doesn’t matter if the sun is shining or the rain is falling, it doesn’t matter if it’s cold or hot, you are always there for us.  You care.  You always care.”

Tears stung my eyes.  I didn’t know what to say.  Daniel commented, “It sounds like he’s talking about God.”  In that instance I realized that was exactly what he spoke of.  Ndaop was explaining my acts of love in amazement.  I realized he had never seen this type of love.  And I realized he was talking about Love Himself.  As he reminded me of each good deed I had done for the family I felt the sting of guilt.  For I hadn’t always help them out of love.  Their phone calls often came at bad times for me.  I’d had to leave my family behind, irritated and frustrated, and go to the village even though I didn’t want to go.  But each time I prayed they would see a love beyond myself – a love that only God embodies.  The family had never seemed terribly thankful.  I assumed they’d forgotten much of what I’d done over the years for them.  And I didn’t mind.  For I hadn’t loved them to get something out of it.  I loved them because that was my duty.  But I prayed they would see One who loved them for more than duty.  He loved them enough to give his life for them.  I prayed they would see Him through me.  Perhaps they had.

Ndaop glanced at his mother, uncertain of how to finish.  She nodded.  Then Ndaop reached out and shook my hand, nodding several times with a smile.  I didn’t know what to say or do.  So I shook his hand back then took another bite of rice and green soup.  I reached up to wipe a tear that had made its way out.  I felt awkward with everyone looking at me.  At the same time I felt affirmed beyond words.  For I felt this family was saying, “You’ve touched us deeply.  By coming to live here with us for the past decade you’ve shown us God’s love.”  I felt all my struggles and hardships for the past decade were worth it.

For the next half an hour we enjoyed the Pnong feast.  People crowded around us talking, laughing, and getting to know Me Ta.  Even Kay and Chaw were smiling.  For the Pnong the seven-day ceremony is a day to forget the sorrow and pain of death – a day to rejoice and move on.  Villagers, friends, and family come to help the family laugh again.  And they did.  I hoped our presence filled the family with joy.

At the end of the meal, I think the family and prepared to leave.  Ndaop motioned for me to follow him out the back door of the hut.  I followed him through the crowd of people and ducked through the back door.  He walked several paces and stopped his back to me.  I stepped up next to him and put my hand around his shoulder.  He shook his head and pressed his lips together as if he didn’t know what to say or how to say it.  He began the long speech over again.  He thanked me for helping his little brother who didn’t have milk.  He thanked me for helping his little brother who had TB.  He thanked me for helping his younger sister who had cut her leg.  He thanked me for helping his father who had cut his toe.  He thanked me for transporting the water buffalo he kept shaking his head and sighing.

“When you first came,” he said, “I didn’t know you cared so much.  I didn’t know you at all.  But over the years I’ve seen how much you care.  I’ve seen how much you love us.”  He had been drinking and his speech was slurred.  He seemed almost cry.  Again I felt uncomfortable.  I didn’t know what to say.  So I said nothing and continued to squeeze him close to myself.  But his mother came and stood next to us without a word.  We stood there together in silence.  “We’ll miss you so much when you go,” Ndaop finally blurted out.  I glanced up to see Chote biting her lip and nodding her head.

“Chief God asked me to come,” I explained.  “I know he will continue to watch over you and care for you.  He loves us like his own children.  Even though I won’t be here, he’ll never leave you.  You can talk to him any time.  He loves you so much!”  Ndaop and Chote nodded their heads but said nothing.  I prayed for them silently in that moment.  For remember, this family has never before asked for prayer.  This family has never before seemed interested in Chief God.  In a short time before, Kay told me, “I want Chief God close to me now.”

Just Liu and Pumrok approached me leading another woman by each arm.  I recognized her as Pri.  Pri is one woman I’ve never really to know in Boan Village.  She and her husband and family have never needed me to take them to the hospital.  I’ve visited them in their field a few times, but we’ve never talked about Chief God.  I’ve always hoped to have a chance to get to know them better.  I was surprised when Liu said, “Pri wants you to talk to chief God for her.  We’ve been telling her all about Him.”  Pumrok nodded with a big smile.

“Yes,” Pri said, “I do need Chief God to help me.  A jyak is after my daughter.  I’m so scared for her.  He’s angry with her because she married a Khmer man.  He loved her when she was younger and asked to marry her.  We didn’t give him permission and he became angry.  Now that she’s grown and married, he’s jealous.  He has come to eat her buffalo soul.  He won’t stop until she’s dead.  Liu and Pumrok have been telling me about Chief God.  Pumrok said she hasn’t seen a single jyak in her home since her husband died.  I want Chief God to be with me and help me protect my daughter too.  Will you come to my home and pray for my daughter?  When can you come to my home?”

I told Pri that I could come the next Monday.  Then I waved goodbye to the group and walked back up the hill to my truck.  But I kept wondering what had just happened.  Why had everyone been talking about Chief God at once?  No one seemed concerned or worried to talk about Him out loud.  Everyone seemed to be excited about praying to Chief God.  What was going on?  And why had Kay still been interested about knowing Chief God even though her baby died.  The events of the day were great mistreat to me.  And once again I realized I was part of a mysterious plan much bigger than myself.  Only God knew what he was doing – Chief God.

First steps

The following Monday I went in search of Pri.  I found her on the trail coming back from her field.  She explained that her daughter had had to go to another village that day.  She asked if I could come back another day and pray for her.  “Well, I can pray for her now,” I explained.  “We can talk to Chief God anywhere and anytime.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes, God’s Spirit is everywhere and he can hear us anytime and anywhere.  So if you don’t mind, I’ll pray for her right now.”

Pri smiled.  “Yes, that will be fine.  I’d like you to pray now.”

So right there on that trail leading back to the village, I lifted my voice to the Creator of the universe.  Pri watched me with open eyes.  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  She was fascinated to watch me talk with Chief God.  She’d heard so much about Him.  Those she knew well in the village had already asked him to be in their homes.  And they told her how much different their life was now that they’d asked him to be with them.  She wanted him to.  And this time she wasn’t basing that decision on her relationship with me.  Instead, she had heard of this God from her fellow villagers.

“Oh chief God,” I prayed.  “Please be with Pri’s daughter right now wherever she is.  Please protect her from anyone trying to hurt her.  If a jyak is after her, please protect her.  Make the jyak run away when he sees your presence with her.  If there are any evil spirits, witches, or other jyaks after her, or anyone trying to hurt her, please make them run away when they see you.  Please bring her back to this village safely.  We thank you that we can talk to you anytime.  Thank you for loving us as your children.  Thank you.”

My visit in Boan Village that morning was very short.  But I left a kind mother on that trail with a smile on her face.  I love watching someone turn to God for the first time.  He’s so wonderful isn’t he?  Is one never forget what it’s like turning to him for the first time.  Every time we talk to him should be like the first time.

About a week later I returned to Boan Village again.  I wasn’t prepared for what I faced.  People asked me to pray with them – in nearly every home.  Jyam begged me to come to her home and pray.  “You prayed from a long time ago when I was angry at my son.  He’d been drinking and I found myself so angry.  But after you prayed I felt so much better.  I found the anger in my heart had disappeared.  But recently I began to feel angry again.  This time I’m angry at my daughter.  She gets angry at me too.  We argue a lot.  We talk with Chief God once again?  Ask him to take the anger in my heart away again.”

Jyam wanted her teenage daughter present before we prayed.  Pumrok came to visit about that time.  So the three women I sat together and prepare to talk with Chief God.  “You hold your hands like this to talk with him,” Jyam said placing our palms together.  “I saw the Koreans did that when they prayed.  And you close your eyes too.”

The other two women looked at me.  “Yes, many people like to talk with Chief God this way,” I explained.  “But Chief God listens to us all the time no matter how we talk or when we talk or where we talk.  Sometimes I place my hands together too.  Sometimes I close my eyes.  But other times I don’t.  It’s really up to you.  He hears you no matter what.”

After we prayed together, Jyam said, “I’m so glad you’re praying in my house today.  Last time you prayed in Liu’s house.  I’m just glad today you’re praying here.”  I could see the women trying to figure out what it meant to pray to God.  As Animists they wanted to know how to pray to God.  Why?  Because the details of their ceremonies are important.  If they get the details wrong, one of the spirits may kill them.  And to an animist, location is important.  All spirits are territorial.  Praying in one place is not like praying another place.  But they were asking important questions – questions that would have to be answered for them to become followers of chief God.

Pumrok said, “I’d like you to come to my house and pray also.  I still haven’t seen any jyaks.  I know chief God is protecting me.  Can you please come back and pray again?”  Shortly after I was crawling the steps up into her house.  She opened the mat on the floor for us to sit on and placed a bowl of bread and pastries on it.  “These are from my son.  He came home last night.”

I was excited to hear that Lokru had come home.  He’s the young man I sent back to school after his father died.  I can send a couple in the states has agreed to sponsor him through this next year also.  He desperately wants to finish his last year of teachers training.

Pumrok then opened a bottle of pop.  She poured me a cup and then poured herself a cup.  I instantly recognized her actions as a small ceremony.  This is what she would do if a healer came to her home.  She was preparing for us to talk with chief God.  She knew I didn’t drink rice wine, so she was providing the next best thing.  She wanted to do everything right the way she would a normal spirit ceremony.  I smiled, knowing that God knew the intentions of her heart.  Soon I was talking with the God of the universe again.  I don’t think I’ve ever talked with chief God that many times in Boan village in one day before.  I certainly didn’t mind.  But there was more to come.

I stopped by to see Pri and she said she could call her daughter back from the field.  Shortly after, I saw a young man get on the moto and head out to the field to call his sister in.  By the time Pri’s daughter returned, she had everything set up for the ceremony.  She placed a mat out.  She placed a bowl of Rambaton in the middle of the mat.  She had opened a bottle of pop and placed out several cups.  She invited me to sit down as her daughter walked in the door.  Her daughter was obviously eager to get back on the moto, so she hurriedly told me the story.  Once again she explained that a young man had wanted to marry her many years before.  She was sure he was a jyak.  She was sure he was now trying to eat her in revenge for marrying another man.  She asked if God could protect her from a jyak.  I assured her that chief God could protect her from any evil spirit, which, sorcerer, or demon.  Then I prayed again.  After the girl left, we sat and drank our pop, ate our fruit, and visited together.

My Pnong friends in Boan village are asking the right questions.  They’re making an effort to communicate with chief God.  They have never watched anyone else worship this God before except for few foreigners.  Thus they are turning to him in the only way they know how.  And my heart skips a beat too.  For I know God is just as excited to watch them take their first steps to him as I was watching my babies take their first steps to me.

Future plans

Please continue praying for the people of Boan village.  This is an exciting time.  Johanna and I also ask you to pray for us during this time.  We plan to leave the country permanently on October 22.  That means we’ll have to leave here several days before.  The Bible story books are now fully edited.  But before we can print them Johanna still has to put in the pictures.  We also have to pack.  After 10 years, we have a lot of things to go through.  We are handing things out, selling things, debating whether or not to take them, and throwing things away.  But if that’s all we were doing, we’d be busy.  Unfortunately, we also have to decide what we’re going to do when we get home.  Since we’ll soon have a baby join us, were still trying to find the right place to live.  And we are trying to put a plan in place of what our lives will look like when we get home.

I know many of you are praying for us.  Thank you so very much.  We crave your prayers.  Though our life right now is filled with extra stress, we are also very excited about the future.  For God is leading us across the ocean once again.  This time he’s leading us home.  During our first month in the states, we will travel to AFM in Michigan.  We will also travel down to Tennessee to see our friends in Collegedale.  We want to thank our adopted family for a decade of prayers and support.  We will spend Thanksgiving with my parents in Washington State, and then will travel down to New Mexico to be with Johanna’s parents.  That’s where our precious midwife lives who will be with us when our third child enters the world.  In January, I will start a seven month course of massage therapy.  After much prayer, I’ve decided to become a massage therapist.  I’m really excited.  I feel that this job will allow me to connect with people deeply.  There are people in America searching for chief God also.  I want to find them and bless them.

But I still have a month and a half to work here.  This is an exciting time.  Please pray.

The Stories of Salvation

“We don’t have anything to read,” villagers cried out to my friends, the Bible Translators, last week.   Since there are hundreds of books for the Pnong to read in their own language now, my friends were puzzled.  They even have several books of the Bible in print now.  But the villagers said, “No, we’re talking about the big Bible Story Books.  That’s all we want to read and we’re all out.  Can you get us some more?”  Children are buying the Bible story books with their own money.   And the adults too are eagerly buying the Bible Story Books we’ve worked so hard on, excited to read the Bible stories in their own language.  Last week I sent out several hundred more books.  But the villagers are already asking for more.  Johanna and I leave this week for Phnom Penh to again print the Bible Story Books in the Pnong language.

Last week I met with the Bible translators again and they are thrilled to see so many Pnong people reading our Bible Story Books.  They have a dream to see hundreds more printed and distributed.  They say that so far the Pnong aren’t as eager to read the translated books of the Bible in the Pnong language.  It’s too difficult and the words are too small.  Most of them are just learning to read.  They get very little out of the actual Bible.  But they are eager to get their hands on “Those big books from the Bible”.  The Pnong churches are ordering at least one set of books, some two, for their libraries so their members can read the Bible stories in their own language.

Johanna and I are truly touched to see how God is using our work and time among the Pnong.  According to the Bible translators, the Pnong people will use our books for their Bible for many, many years to come.  We have created a foundation for others to build on.  And thanks to a single Sabbath School group in Collegedale, we have money to print these books as fast as villagers want them.  Please pray for the Pnong People as they read the story of salvation.

Passing on the Baton

Alone.  For over a decade Johanna and I worked alone.  There were people all around us, but not from our own culture or language.  And if you’ve ever been to another country where people think, act, speak, and behave differently than you’re used to, you may understand why I say we were alone.

What is it like to be alone?  In every social gathering you attend, you’re the only one different and strange.  People often laugh at the funny way you say things.  They enjoy telling stories to each other about silly things you’ve done and your numerous faux pas.  And they always end in hysterics adding, “Please don’t be upset.  You just always make us laugh.”  You laugh too, knowing they love you, but sometimes you long to be normal.

Not one of your acquaintances or friends has ever used a computer or sent a message through a cell phone.  For them graduating from high school is only for scholars.  None of them can read a book for enjoyment or personal edification.  “Doing a search” means looking for something in the jungle.  “Twitter” is the sound a bird makes.  Being friends or “liking me” means you have to know the person first and has nothing to do with the internet.  Words like Skype, Ebay, Google, Megabyte, highway, elevator, mall, McDonalds, school bus, semi truck, train, or even Saturday night games mean nothing even if you could translate the words somehow.  Why?  Because you are living in another world and by living in someone else’s world you are alone.

Over the past few years we’ve been making plans to finish our projects here and return permanently to the United States.  In the process we also prayed for teammates to join us.  We dreamed of having a young couple from Adventist Frontier Missions start their work here, among the Pnong people.  We knew that if they arrived a year or so before we left, we could guide them through the language learning process and help them avoid some of the mistakes we made along the way.  We could introduce them to our Pnong friends.  In this way, we could escort them straight into the unique world of the Pnong right from the start.

God answered our prayers by bringing Daniel and Cara Greenfield here at the beginning of this year.  They are full of energy and come with fresh ideas and goals.  They have eagerly charged into the difficult task of learning a remote hilltribe language.  And each day they seek to understand more of the Pnong world around them that is so foreign to all who come from a land across the sea.

Our family has enjoyed breakfasts with their family every morning since they came.  We take turns and make a meal for each other every other day.  Their son Andrew is a few months younger than Keenan and their daughter Autumn is only a few months older than Jaden.  So our kids play together with excited squeals and shrieks while we’re trying to eat and as long as they can after breakfast before we split up to start the work day.  We enjoy American food – cornbread and beans, biscuits and gravy, burritos, lentil loaf, and even sandwiches with veggie meat.  Our Sabbaths are fun because after church we make a real Sabbath feast.  Sometimes we take a Sabbath walk together or just talk as the kids play.  Cara is greatly gifted in the area of children’s ministry and plans a fabulous English Sabbath School for our four kids in the afternoon, complete with felts, crafts, stuffed animals, and stickers.  Our kids talk about it all week always asking, “When will it be Sabbath again?”

And Saturday night includes popcorn and games, laughter and fun.  Sometimes we even throw in an Asian twist with mango banana smoothies.  The Greenfields catch our jokes.  They understand our stories.  They empathize with our challenges and rejoice in our victories.  No longer are we alone!  God has blessed us with friends who understand us during our last year in the field, and that is truly a gift!

But the heart is a strange thing; a mystery beyond understanding.  Why do I feel like crying as I see Daniel sitting with Yoh making a basket?  Why do I feel a jealous twinge to see Cara eagerly taking notes as Grandfather Maat mumbles the words “chicken”, “duck”, and “pig”?  I know these are not my people.  I have no ownership over them.  Yet the experience I’ve lived with them alone over the past decade is precious to me and one that’s strange (maybe painful) to share.

As Daniel and I stood in Chay’s field earlier this year, my heart began to ache as I pointed to each plant and said the word in Pnong.  As he wrote in his notebook, the early morning sun seemed to set the red earth ablaze around us, setting off the tiny green shoots of corn and pumpkin like flames of green.  Both Chay and Yoh came over with smiles to watch their strange white friend teach a newcomer the words of their language.  And I said to Daniel in that moment, as my hand swept across the scene around us, “This, my friend, is your new job.  I’ve never shared it with anyone before.  And now it’s my honor to invite you to be part of it too.”

I don’t know if he understood what I was saying.  I’m not sure if he could sense the preciousness of the gift I offered him or the tears that welled up somewhere deep inside my heart.  Why is it hard to let someone else walk this trail with me?  Why is it difficult to let someone else continue down the trail when I turn back?  Perhaps it’s the thought of what I’ll miss around the next corner.  Or maybe it’s the fear that I’m letting my Pnong friends down by leaving.  Maybe I’m scared that I’m leaving them with someone who won’t go where I would go.

I long for Daniel and Cara to love these people as much as I do.  I long for them to honor the Pnong and cherish them as much as I do.  I long for them to respect the Pnong and learn to appreciate their ways as much as I do.  But in the same way, I want the Greenfields to be themselves and follow the path God has given them to follow.  I know they are different from me – with unique personalities and gifts.  Thus, in time, they will create a project different from ours – one that neither Johanna or I could have ever made.  They will touch other people that we may never have seen.  They will go to other places we may never have gone.  And they will bless the Pnong people in ways we never could have blessed.

But there is something painful about passing on the baton.  I’ve done my part, but why can’t I go on?  I’ve seen this part of the race, but why can’t I see the finish line as well?  I’ve been a team player and set a good pace for others to build on, but why stop now?

The reason, I tell myself logically, is because this never was my race – this never was my project.  In fact, Chief God chose me to play a small part in His project, in His race.  He has been here all along, before I was born, before the Pnong people even existed.  And He has walked with them from the beginning.  He has loved them, held them, nurtured them, guided them, and sheltered them.  And He has constantly been at work to show them His love.  When I reached the right maturity, He asked me to come and love them too – but only for a time.  He has others He wants them to meet.  He has more He wants them to see, more He wants them to understand, and more He wants them to know.  And my time with them is nearing an end.  But the race has only begun, the project is far from complete, and the trail the Pnong walk along stretches on into eternity – with Him by their side.

Daniel Visits Boan Village

Thus this week I once again invited Daniel to accompany me to the village.  I’m determined to share.  I’m determined to pass the baton on.  I’m determined to encourage Daniel and Cara in every way I can, for the trail before them is steep and difficult.  Daniel was thrilled to ride his newer Honda SL 230cc motorcycle behind me as we made our way to the cutoff to the village.  He knew before us lay great adventure for the rainy season had begun and this would be our first trip to the village on the treacherous hard-packed roads of clay.  A light rain glistened off the trail before us.  I whispered a prayer into my helmet as we turned off the pavement.  “Lord, please be with him.  The exhaust is so hot on these bikes.  Help him to keep his bike up.  Show him how to drive on these roads in these conditions.  Just as you have been with me so many times in the past, please now ride with him.”

My back tire lost traction and I placed a foot down to steady the bike as I veered to the right.  Then, before I could even regain full control, the bike slipped to the left, this time the front tire loosing traction as well.  I let off the gas and let the bike coast, then touched the throttle with the slightest punch.  Instantly I was back in control and smiled, feeling the excitement of rainy season again.  I glanced in my rearview mirror in time to see Daniel sliding across the same patch of road.  I understood his tension.  I remembered his fears.  Wasn’t it only yesterday I was trying to get a feel for the SL on the road to Boan Village?  “Please assist him now,” I prayed.

After 40 more minutes of intense driving, at a snail’s pace, Daniel and I were at the top of the hill above the village.  “Should we leave the bikes up here and walk down?” Daniel asked with intension.  I could tell he was worried about the last steep hill.

“Nah,” I replied with a bit of overconfidence.  “This is the first big rain.  There isn’t even any green moss yet.  The roads can’t be that bad.  I’m going all the way down.”  And with that I started the steep descent.

Moments later though both tires had broken free and I was in a freefall, sliding down the rutted-out trail completely out of control.  I pumped the brakes to no avail.  I popped it into second gear and let out the clutch.  Nothing. I was still picking up speed.  I finally squeezed the clutch handle taking the bike completely out of gear to let the tires catch up.  Then easing it back into gear I tried stopping again.  This time the knobby tires caught on something and I came spinning to a quick stop sideways in the road.  But the top-heavy bike continued on down and I struggled with all my might to keep it from going over.  My foot held though and with a final heave I was able to get the bike back up.  With my heart pounding, I turned the bike back up the trail to warn Daniel not to try it.  He’d been right.

We then walked down into the village barefoot, holding our useless flip-flops in our hands.  The trail was just too steep and slippery for anything but bare feet.  “Rainy season is here,” I smiled at Daniel.  He’d done such a great job of handling his yet unfamiliar motorcycle and hadn’t laid it over once.  He now smiled back and said, “I’m just glad I can be here with you.  The Lord sure was with us on the roads.”

Our first stop was Jyang’s hut.  I wondered if her feet were better.  The large rice wine jar in the center of the room though told me she was not .  They were still obviously doing their ceremonies.  My heart ached.  But remembering my visit with God on the hilltop I knew my message was more than a message of health.  My message was that Chief God will always hold us close until he makes everything new.  And I knew that message was needed here in Jyang’s hut.

I sat next to her on the wooden bed frame she’d placed her sleeping mat on.  She was sitting there with her tiny infant daughter swinging in the hammock over the bed just behind her.  Jyang smiled up at me as I sat down.  “How are you?” I asked in a concerned voice.

Kutsak heard me from the other room where he was eating large spoonfuls of rice, “Oh Mbut Keenan, so good to see you.  Who is with you?”

“This is Mbut Andrew,” I said.  “He wants to learn to speak Pnong as well.”

“Is he the husband of the girl who came last week with Met Keenan?” Jyang wanted to know.

“Yeah, he’s her husband.  They have come to work with my organization as well.  They’ll continue on when we leave.”

Daniel then greeted both of them with the Pnong greeting of, “Weh Lang?”

“Well that will be nice,” Jyang said with a smile, glancing back at Daniel.  “At least we’ll be able to call someone to help if we get really sick and need to get to the hospital.  But we don’t know them very well.  They don’t come out here as often as you do.  Tell them to come visit us more.  Tell them to spend more time with us like you and Met Keenan did when you first came.”

“Well, they’re learning to speak Pnong in the provincial center.  They’re working really hard at it.  But I will tell them that you want them to come here more often.”

I then translated her words to Daniel, who then smiled and nodded his head with assurance that he would try to come see her more.

Just then Jyang’s father, Jyaar, came into the room, who is Koin’s younger brother.  He came over and shook both my hand and Daniel’s, in the traditional Pnong way.  He was smiling and was obviously interested in my guest.  Then Kutsak, with a mouthful of rice, came in from the other room smiling a warm greeting.  “Have you eaten yet?  Please have some rice.”  I assured him that we had both eaten.

“What did you eat?” Jyaar suddenly demanded of Daniel, looking Daniel straight in the face.  The room got quiet and Jyaar’s smile grew.  He was obviously enjoying watching Daniel squirm.  I knew his question was also a test.  Did Daniel speak his language?  “What did you eat?” he repeated in exactly the same tone and speed without a hint of helpfulness.

“Uh, well… Uh” Daniel glanced up at me awkwardly begging for help with his eyes.

I smiled too realizing the humor in watching a newcomer squirm.  Yet I also felt Daniel’s awkwardness and understood his discomfort in being placed in the spot light.  I quickly came to his rescue by translating the words one by one.  “He’s asking you what you ate,” I explained.

Daniel then turned to the old man and said in the Pnong language, “Uh, well, I ate bread.”  The whole room erupted with joy.  “He does speak Pnong!  He does.  He does.”

Even Jyaar was laughing.  Daniel had passed the test.  A few words of Pnong meant he was willing to learn, he was willing to place himself in their world and not ask them to come to his.  Now beaming with joy Jyaar said in his best English, “I smoke si-ga-ret.”  Everyone burst into laughter again.  A new connection had been made – a new friendship begun.

In the spirit of the moment Kutsak said, “Mbut Ndrew, huh?  That sounds like our word for cow.  We’ll call you Father Cow.”  Everyone laughed again until their sides hurt.

Still laughing I turned to see how Daniel was doing.  He was trying to laugh along too but whispered to me, “I hope that one doesn’t stick.”

“Oh I think it’s a good name,” I joked with him.  “I’ll encourage it.”

But Kutsak wasn’t finished.  When he recovered from the latest outburst of laughter he said, “And if he’s Father Cow than you must be Father Water Buffalo.”  At this the room went into hysterics.  “Ha, ha, ha,” they laughed.  “Father Cow and Father Water Buffalo.  Ha, ha, ha.”

We talked for over an hour, often laughing when someone would remind us of our nicknames.  Jyaar eventually left and Kutsak’s father arrived with the chief.  They joined in the laughter and joking.  I hoped Daniel could see the beauty of the moment even though the old men were blowing smoke in our faces, the pigs were squealing outside, and the banana’s Jyang had given us to eat were dirty.  I hoped he could see their hearts, and their willingness to have us in their world.

At one point the chief came over grabbed Daniels hands in his with a huge smile.  “I want you to come to my home often and visit me a lot.  We can be friends you and I.  We can be friends.”  I quickly translated the words so Daniel could respond properly.  He smiled and nodded his head towards the chief.  The chief continued, “You can learn our language like Mbut Keenan and come to visit us often.”  Then he turned to me and said, “And you need to buy more knives from me.  I’ll make you ten new ones to take back with you to America.  You’ll need them when you get back to America. You can sell them and make lots of money.”  Everyone laughed.  “So how about it?  Will you buy the knives if I make you ten more?”

I laughed and said, “Well you do make wonderful knives.  If you make them as good as the last ones with hard black handles and brass bands with bullet shells on the end of the handles, I’ll take ‘em.  You’re right, people in America like your knives.  The Pnong are such good knife makers.”

The chief beamed with pride and said, “Then I’ll make them for you.  I’ll get started right away.  I don’t want you to forget us.  And you only have a few more months with us.”

When the house cleared out a bit, I once again held Jyang’s feet and prayed with her.  She was so thankful.  Just after my prayer Kutsak said, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about the different religions.  Some are Muslim, some are Buddhist, some are Christian, some are Pnong.  The Muslim’s aren’t so good.  They also have to give their spirits sacrifices and do ceremonies.  The Buddhists aren’t so good.  They too have to do certain rituals and offer certain sacrifices.  And ours is really difficult.  We have to give all our chickens and pigs and ducks and cows.  But yours is different.  You just talk with God.  You don’t have to give him anything to make him do what you want.  You don’t have to give up all that you have.  You just stop and talk with him.  Wow, yours is certainly better than anything I’ve ever seen before.”

I smiled and answered, “Well you just have to remember that Chief God is the one who created the world and created all the people of the world.  Of course he loves us.  Of course he feels sorry for us.  And of course he wants to help when we ask him too.  He doesn’t want us to be poor by taking all of our animals away.  He loves us even when we are wrong.  He loves us even when we don’t love him.”

The room was quiet as Jyang and Kutsak thought about my words.  “Thank you so much,” Jyang beamed at me.  Thank you so much!”

Face-to-face with a Shaman

That’s when we said good-bye and made our way to other huts in the village.  The mud was terrible and our flip-flops made it worse.  After finding most people gone to the fields, we turned back to Jyang and Kutsak’s home.  We passed Yau and her sister Rote heading to the fields with their back pack baskets.  They immediately came over and greeted us warmly before continuing on.  I wondered if it was the right time to leave the village and prayed silently for direction.  I sensed His presence.  Then just in front of us, about to enter Jyang’s hut, we met an older man.  He smiled and greeted us warmly saying, “I’m just going in here to check on this young lady who’s been sick.  I feel so bad for her.  She’s been sick for so long.”

I didn’t recognize him.  I wondered if he were a family member.  I followed him into the hut and sat down.  There were several others there this time.  Kutsak’s father was there again.  He smiled at seeing us again and then continued visiting with the newcomer.  I glanced at Jyang across the room on the bed and she called out with a smile, “He’s the shaman who came to heal me yesterday.  He’s had trouble getting back home today because of the roads so he came to check on me again.”

I was amazed.  Before me sat a Pnong traditional healer.  I’ve always wanted to talk with one.  When Koin was sick, I stopped in to visit him once when the shaman was still there, but Yau seemed hesitant to have me in the room.  I had followed her out and missed the chance to speak with the healer.  I know in some countries they call these shamans Witch Doctors and some of them probably are.  I’ve heard of some Pnong healers that use charms and fetishes to kill and destroy people.  I know there are sorcerers among the Pnong who plot and scheme of ways to eat the souls of human beings.  But I’ve always wondered, “Might there also be traditional healers who use herbs and simple love to heal?”

As I sat down the healer looked my way and smiled.  I greeted him warmly and then added, “So you are a healer, huh?  Where do you come from?”

“Oh, my village is on the road to the big waterfalls.  It’s called the Village of Trong Weh.”

“Oh yes, I’ve there,” I said.  “It’s a nice place.”

We visited for several minutes before I had a chance to direct the conversation back to the topic of healing.  “So how long have you been a healer?” I began.

“Oh I’ve been a healer for over 20 years now.”

“Really.  Wow, that’s a long time.  How did you learn to be a healer?  Who taught you?”

“Oh I just learned by watching the healers.  When someone had a fever, I watched carefully when they went into the jungles and memorized which trees they took the leaves from and which trees they took the bark from and which trees they took wood chips from.  When someone had a stomach ache or when a woman had just had a baby, I again watched to see which plants and leaves the healers used.  I wanted to know how to help people who are sick.  And since that time I’ve been helping sick people as often as I can.  You know, when people go to the hospital, the doctors don’t always heal them.  Sometimes the doctors won’t even look at them.  They say, ‘Ah, you’re not sick.’  But I ask, ‘Won’t the sick person know if they are sick or not?  Shouldn’t the sick person be the one to say if they are sick?’  So when I see people come home from the hospital with a few pills and I know the doctors have done little to help them, I feel so sorry and want to do something to help.  I try to remember which plants are good for healing and which ones might help the person.  Then I go into the forest and collect the right ones and come back and treat them so that they will get better again.  I use dried wood chips from a variety of trees to makes different types of tea.  My teas can help people with a stomach ache to feel better and also people with a headache, people with a fever, and people who have just had a baby.  I help the women know what foods they should avoid right after having a baby.  I make all sorts of medicines from the different plants.  I do all I can to help people.”

I listened with eagerness, trying to understand this man.  At the same time I prayed, asking my God to be near.  Everything the healer said made me feel that his heart was right and he helped people out of love.  But I knew everything he did would make me uncomfortable and I knew that of myself I could never know which powers he used.  Since I was confused I simply gave it to my God and asked Him to be near.

After our conversation, the healer stood up and made his way over to Jyang, who was still sitting on the wooden bed-frame.  He took off his shoes and then stepped up onto the bed frame next to Jyang.  Kutsak then brought him a metal bowl of water and some incense.  The healer turned to me and said, “I’m now going to work on this young woman and try to help her to feel better.”

I watched his every move.  First he opened the package of incense and drew out four sticks.  Then he took the long beeswax candle that Kutsak handed him and cut it into sections.  The top section was about a foot long.  He took that section and held it in his hand with the incense.  Then he took a lighter and lit both the candle and incense with fire.

He carefully used the incense and candle to stir the water in a bowl around and around while he chanted something too softly for me to hear.  Then he stood up on the bed frame and stepped over to Jyang who had taken off her shirt and pulled her sarong up to cover herself.  He shoulders were bare.  Standing behind her, he then used the non-smoking side of the incense and candle to write something on Jyang’s back.  I couldn’t tell if he just made patterns or if he was spelling something.  He also began to chant.

While holding the bowl of water in one hand and the incense and candle in the other, he took a sip of the water.  I thought he’d swallowed it until he suddenly spat it out in a fine mist all over her.  In the same instant he used his foot to powerfully shove her forward with a swift kick.  I couldn’t tell if it hurt her or not.  He did the same on her right side and then her left.  Then to my surprise, in one swift movement, he placed the candle all the way in his mouth and closed his lips over it and then took it out and blew over it onto Jyang.  He did this several times without the flame ever going out.  Then still holding the incense and candle, he used his fingers to spread an herbal solution of ground up plants over Jyang’s legs.  He especially focused on the soles of her feet.  He did this to both legs.

He then did the writing motion with the end of the incense and candle on both feet.  Then he blew on her legs over the incense and repeated it again over her head and on the sides of her head.  Standing up he again wrote on her back with the incense before placing the incense high up on the wall in a small container hanging there.  While he did this he began chanting other phrases too quietly for me to hear.

I wished I could be closer and was thrilled when the healer looked my way and motioned for me to come and sit next to Jyang on the bed frame.  I quickly moved and continued watching.  The healer then washed his hands using the water from the bowl.  He offered some wine to Met Liap with both hands while chanting a blessing.  Then he took the candle off the wall and placed it in a bowl of rice.  He had extinguished the flame.  I then noticed that beside the bowl of uncooked rice he had also placed a bowl full of what appeared to be gifts.  I figured the couple must have given the gifts, but who were they too?  The healer?  The spirits?  Or were they from the healer to Jyang and Kutsak?  There was a brand new sarong there, still in its package.  I saw a package of unopened cigarettes, a new package of incense, the lengths of beeswax candles he had cut off, and two 20,000 riel notes.  I also saw what appeared to be 4 or 5 handmade leaf cigarettes wrapped around paper.  But they were empty with no tobacco.  I didn’t know what they were for sure.

The healer sat and talked with the couple very seriously about going up on the hill above the village in the future.  I couldn’t quite tell what he was telling them, but it sounded like he was explaining what type of ceremony to have there.  He then lit the candle that he had placed in the bowl of rice.  He offered a cup of wine to Kutsak and the two of them chanted something together. I couldn’t make out the words.  The healer then placed his finger in the wine and wiped it on the rice and the gifts while again chanting something.  He then picked up some of the rice in the bowl and threw it at the flame of the candle chanting something about making everything well and happy again.  I made out the words soksabay in Khmer and the words weh lang in Pnong which both mean to be happy and healthy.

He then rearranged the gifts and wrapped them up in the unopened sarong, still in its package.  He then tied the sarong around them with a string.  He then placed the tied up gifts in a plastic bag and hung them up on the wall above the bed where Jyang was sleeping.  He said, “Place this on the wall wherever you sleep.  If you sleep upstairs, then place this with you on the wall upstairs.”

Following this he told the couple about future ceremonies they should do with chicken sacrifices.  Kutsak then offered him a cup of the wine and a cigarette.  The healer then held them up above his head and chanted another blessing.  Then he handed them to Kutsak to take while still chanting a blessing.  Kutsak tasted some of the wine and then tossed the rest on the ground.  The healer then did the same to Jyang who also tasted the wine.

After visiting with the couple the healer then reached out and extinguished the flame of the candle with his finger.  Then he said to Kutsak, “Give some wine to Mbut Keenan.”

Both Jyang and Kutsak explained, “Oh he doesn’t know how to drink the wine with us.  He never does no matter how often we offer it to him.”

“Well, offer it to him again now,” the healer said with authority.

Kutsak then turned to me awkwardly with a cup of wine and said, “Here Mbut Keenan, some wine for you.”

“Oh I don’t know how to drink wine,” I explained.

“Take just a sip,” the healer encouraged.

“No, I don’t know how to drink the wine,” I insisted.

“Take just a sip and spit it out on the ground then,” the little man told me.

“No, I’ve never tried the wine.  I don’t know how to drink it.  I just drink water.”

The little man seemed puzzled and a bit perturbed.  He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t even put it in my mouth.  In the Pnong culture, offering someone wine and a cigarette is the greatest form of hospitality.  You always offer your guests these to honor them.  But I felt the principle went beyond just the health issue or hospitality.  I didn’t understand all that he had done in the healing ceremony and I didn’t feel comfortable participating in a spirit ceremony that I didn’t understand.  I prayed silently, asking God to guide me and hoping that I had done the right thing.

Then the healer encouraged Kutsak to offer me a cigarette.  “No, I don’t know how to smoke either,” I said.

To my joy Kutsak let me off the hook this time by saying, “Well, I don’t smoke either.  It makes my lungs hurt and I cough.  Don’t worry.  I don’t smoke either.”

The little healer smiled at me and I smiled back.  There was so much happening that I didn’t understand.  But I hoped he felt my sincere love.  I could sense his.  As I stood to leave he said, “Let’s meet again together sometime.  You can give me a shoe.”  I glanced at Jyang for help since I had no idea what the healer’s words meant.

“He just means maybe you can buy him some shoes next time you see him,” Jyange explained.  But I knew there was more to the meaning and I didn’t know what.

“Let’s definitely meet again,” I told him shaking his hands.  “It’s been so nice meeting you.”

And then Daniel and I were walking back up the slippery roadway out of the village.  I was in deep thought.  I shared some of my thoughts with Daniel as we walked.  For to me the healer’s ceremony had been scary and witchlike.  But isn’t everything we don’t understand scary?  I don’t know the man’s heart.  Only God does.  He may be doing everything he knows to be right.

I thought of our own culture and our own religion.  We often say divorce is ok while Jesus says it’s not (Matt 5:31-32).  We ignore Jesus’ warnings to the rich, though we in America are the richest people on the planet (Matt.19:23-24).  We scoff at atheists who scream “Save Planet Earth” often forgetting our God-given commission to care for His creation (Gen. 1:28).  We travel the earth preaching the soon coming of Christ but often forget the message Jesus also preached that the Kingdom of God has already come (Luke 17:20-21).  We often give our pastors and leaders positions of authority and power over us, forgetting that Jesus said, “You are not to be like that” (Luke 22:25-26).  If we are so confused and yet find Him near, blessing us and blessing others through us, couldn’t he also be near that little, confused, Pnong healer?

Tash vs. Aslan

I leave you with this story that has touched me deeply by C.S. Lewis.  In the land of Narnia, Lewis tells the story of the end of the age.  Time in Narnia has come to an end.  The last king is surrounded by the invading Calormene soldiers.  The last battle is fought in front of a thatched stable where the evil god Tash is said to be lurking.  Tash is a fearful monster – the God of the Calormene.  The Calormene captain doesn’t believe in any god.  Yet he claims, to the Narnian captives, that Tash is one and the same as Aslan the lion, the Great God of Narnia.  He invites them to step into the stable and meet their God face to face.  It’s all a hoax to scare the conquered into submission.  Thus the captain is shocked when one of his own Calormene soldiers steps forward.  The story continues:

He was young and tall and slender, and even rather beautiful in the dark, haughty, Calormene way.

“My father,” he said to the Captain, “I also desire to go in.”

“Peace, Emeth,” said the Captain.  “Who called thee to counsel?  Does it become a boy to speak?”

“My father,” said Emeth.  “Truly I am younger than thou, yet I also am of the blood of the Tarkaans even as thou art, and I also am the servant of Tash.  Therefore…”

“Silence,” said Rishda Tarkaan.  “Am not I thy Captain?  Thou hast nothing to do with this Stable.  It is for the Narnians.”

“Nay, my Father,” answered Emeth.  “Thou hast said that their Aslan and our Tash are all one.  And if that is the truth, than Tash himself is in yonder.  And how than sayest thou that I have nothing to do with Him?  For gladly would I die a thousand deaths if I might look once on the face of Tash…”

Then… Emeth came walking forward into the open strip of grass between the bonfire and the Stable.   His eyes were shining, his face very solemn, his hand was on his sword-hilt, and he carried his head high.  Jill felt like crying when she looked at his face.  And Jewel [the unicorn] whispered into the King’s ear, “By the Lion’s Mane, I almost love this young warrior, Calormene though he be.  He is worthy of a better god than Tash.”

Later, Emeth tells what happened in his own words:

“For always since I was a boy I have served Tash and my great desire was to know more of him and, if it might be, to look upon his face.  But the name of Aslan was hateful to me…”

“I said to myself, Surely the true Tash, whom they called on without knowledge or belief, has now come among us, and will avenge himself.  And though my heart was turned into water inside me because of the greatness and the terror of Tash, yet my desire was stronger than my fear, and I put force upon my knees to stay them from trembling, and on my teeth that they should not chatter, and resolved to look upon the face of Tash though he should slay me.  So I offered myself to go into the hovel; and the Tarkaan, though unwilling, let me go.

“As soon as I had gone in at the door, the first wonder was that I found myself in this great sunlight (as we all are now) though the inside of the hovel had looked dark from outside….

“Then I looked about me and saw the sky and the wide lands, and smelled the sweetness.  And I said, By the God’s, this is a pleasant place: it may be that I am come into the country of Tash.  And I began to journey into the strange country and to seek him.

“So I went over much grass and many flowers and among all kinds of wholesome and delectable trees till lo! in a narrow place between two rocks there came to meet me a great Lion.  The speed of him was like the ostrich, and his size was an elephant’s; his hair was like pure gold and the brightness of his eyes like gold that is liquid in the furnace.  He was more terrible than the Flaming Mountain of Lagour, and in beauty he surpassed all that is in the world even as the rose in bloom surpasses the dust of the desert.

“Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him.  Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him.  But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, ‘Son, though art welcome.’  But I said, ‘Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but of Tash.’  He answered, ‘Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me.’  Then by reason of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, ‘Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one?’  The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, ‘It is false.  Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites—I take to me the service which thou hast done to him.  For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him.  Therefore, if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him.  And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted.  Dost thou understand, Child?’  I said, ‘Lord, thou knowest how much I understand.’  But I said also (for the truth constrained me), ‘Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days.’  ‘Beloved’, said the Glorious One, ‘unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly.  For all find what they truly seek.’

“Then he breathed upon me and took away the trembling from my limbs and caused me to stand upon my feet.  After that, he said not much, but that we should meet again, and I must go further up and further in.  Then he turned him about in a storm and flurry of gold and was gone suddenly…”

(The Chonicles of Narnia “The Last Battle” page 727-728, 755-760)

New Life Threatened

Last month, four babies entered the world in Boan Village.  The two midwives (Yau was one of them) couldn’t keep up.  They had to call a midwife from another village to help.  I love to sit and watch these little ones as they look up into their mommy’s face.  The mystery of life always overwhelms me during those moments in the village, watching new life.  Those tiny ones are so helpless, so dependent on their mommies and daddies.  The earth turned, the sun came up, the wind blew, the birds sang before these little ones entered the world.  But now here they are to change our lives forever and it’s already hard to imagine a time when they weren’t here.  Each of them impact the planet very little now, yet the love that grows in their mothers’ hearts shines brightly and that love lifts the darkness inside the huts.  Already these tiny infants are changing the world.  And as they grow, they will blossom and bloom filling the earth with their own unique fragrance of life.

I guess it’s especially fun to watch these tiny ones thinking of a day, not far away, when I will hold my own tiny newborn.  Yes, that’s right.  Johanna and I are expecting another baby.  But in this case, we’re not sure if our baby will be born this year or the next.  Most are certain of the month their baby will come and many are sure of the day.  But all are sure of the year, right?  No.  Our baby is due to be born on December 28, 2011.  So will he or she enter the world this year or the next – only God knows.  But one thing is for sure, I’ll soon be holding another mysterious creation of my own, in awe of life.

But in Boan Village the new life is threatened by a bondage of evil so dark and so gruesome it’s hard to even imagine.  Over time, the Pnong people have come to believe that new mothers must be very careful what they eat after giving birth to a baby.  They believe that eating the wrong food causes a great sin or fault to cover them.  Because of this great wrong, sickness and death will soon follow.  Some of the elders say certain types of fish will tarnish a new mother with guilt.  Some of the healers teach that most fruits and vegetables cause blame to fall upon new mothers.  Since no one knows for sure what is safe to eat, most new mothers eat only white rice for at least one month after having a baby.  Some continue this practice until the baby is six months old.  Most of these women drink only a small cup or two of water a day.  Thus they become weak, pale, and sick; the babies struggle to thrive.  And the mothers cry out:

“Why do we feel so awful?
Why do we feel so weak?
Why is my baby so small?
Why is he easily sick?
I must have done something wrong.
I must have angered them again.”

Jyang is one of the women with a new baby.  Her feet are now almost completely well.  She told me a few days ago, “Chief God is truly with me.  I feel Him here.  I’m no longer afraid at night.  I’m no longer scared of the spirits.”  With her new awareness of His presence, she tried avocados for the first time.

“None of the elders or healers told me I can’t eat avocados,” she said me with a smile.  “And I know Chief God is here.”  I assured her that Met Keenan had eaten a lot of avocados after the birth of our two sons and Chief God had protected her.  I was thrilled to see Jyang gain strength after that.  Now, every trip to the village I take her another bag of avocados from our tree.  One day she said, “You told me that Met Keenan also ate bananas.  So I’ve been eating them and I feel a lot better.”  By God’s grace she’s slowly gaining her strength back again.

I’ve given all four of the mothers multivitamins, which they are thrilled to take.  I’ve also given all four of them energy drinks, which also contain many vitamins.  I tell them to dilute it well with water, hoping that this will help them to drink more liquids.  It seems to be working.

At first only Jyang would eat the avocados and bananas though.  Then one of the women finally said, “Well, if Jyang can eat them, I might as well try too.”  I prayed with her for the first time and then left her a bag of avocados as well.  I came back to find her much more healthy.  But the other two women refuse to eat anything but rice.  It breaks my heart to see them losing weight and too weak to even leave the house.  But watching the tiny ones suffer is nearly beyond what I can handle.  Kay’s baby has diarrhea and is coughing terribly.  Kay has lost her last two infants and told me with a trembling voice, “They had the same sickness as this baby has.  Why?  What have we done?  Why me?”

I sat with Kay and told her of Chief God.  I told her of his great love.  I told her how much he longs to help us.  I told her that he loves us as much as she loves her little son, who she held close to her breast.  Though I have spent years with this family they always change the subject or even laugh when I mention Chief God.  As I sat there with this terribly weak woman, watching her baby struggling for life, I became angry inside.  Someone, something, was holding her in bondage.  She was killing her own tiny one all the while believing she was protecting him.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to strangle that thing, that unseen demon of darkness deceiving this precious woman.

I asked Kay if I could pray.  All she would say was, “I don’t know.”  She looked around, scared.  I told her of Chief God’s power again and again offered to pray.

“I don’t know.”

I knew I couldn’t force her.  I knew I shouldn’t pressure her.  But I have cried with this family twice already as they buried their babies.  I felt desperate.  I kept praying, “Lord, is there anything I can say or do?  Please break through to her.

Daniel was with me that day and he stepped into the hut in the middle of this powerful struggle.  He didn’t know what was happening and began talking to Kay’s mother at the other end of the hut.  Suddenly, quietly, so soft I didn’t even understand at first, Kay said to me, “Talk.”

She then motioned something with her eyes.  I whispered, “Talk to Chief God?”  She glanced at her mother, still talking with Daniel, and then silently nodded.

And there in that hut I very quietly talked with the Author of all Life, the one who gives each of us breath.  I touched the baby’s head and presented him to his Maker.  Tears threatened to spill out as I prayed for his life.  Though never speaking a word, Kay’s eyes told me she was thankful.  She smiled slightly and squeezed her lips tightly together as if to say, “I feel better.  I feel Him here.”

Two days later Johanna and I had the opportunity to visit again.  It was the first time we’d been to the village together on our motorcycle in over six years.  Our friend Kara, a student missionary in Cambodia this year, offered to watch our boys.  We were able to once again sit with Kay and talk of God.  This time her mother, father, and husband were out of the house.  Only her younger sister was there.  This younger sister began to laugh as we spoke of God, as the family always has.  But this time the laughter faded away as she too listened to the stories of the Creator God.  We freely spoke of Chief God’s love and his power.  Kay listened with great interest.  Then I sat with her once again and offered to speak with Chief God.  This time she hesitated only briefly.  I once again placed my hand on the baby’s head and once again the tears threatened to come as I prayed.  I’m not sure what I said out loud but inside I was screaming, “Lord, please break through to Kay and her family.  Don’t let the forces of evil hold them in this darkness.  Spare this child’s life Lord if at all possible.  I love him though I don’t know him.  Save him Lord.  Save him!”

Please pray for the villagers of Boan Village.  We’ll be traveling to Phnom Penh for the next couple of weeks to print Bible Story Books.  But the unseen struggle will rage on.  Please especially pray for Jyang and Kay.