just writing...

‘For the Lord hears the cries of the needy; he does not despise his imprisoned people.’ Psalm 69:33

Over the weekend, I met a young woman who shared her story with me. She saw the cross tattoo on my foot, and asked me if I was a Christian. Me too, she said. And so we began to talk…I learned she has been a Christian for 10 years. She first learned about Jesus when she was living in her home village, as a child. She has a two-year-old son, and is already widow; at twenty-six years old. Her son lives with a relative a few hours away. I didn’t understand why, but perhaps she isn’t around enough to care for him. She works from 9am to midnight; everyday of the week, every day of the month- with one day off each month. She earns $40 a month, giving massages to foreigners. She has worked this job for the past two and a half years. It’s difficult though, she says, because she is the only provider in her house, and rent is $35 a month. The only way she can provide for her family is through her tips. On an average day, she says she has 3-5 customers. She is the sole provider for her mother and young brother, whom she shares the house (one room) with. Her father was killed during the Khmer rouge.

She wasn’t looking for pity. She wouldn’t say she was going without and she actually has many good things in her life, she said. She communicated with me not feeling sorry for herself, just openly sharing the facts, and seemed more than happy to chat with an interested stranger.

I am still thinking about her. Her story is not unusual. It is all too ordinary. Long hours. Low pay. Working every day. Poor and often illegal working conditions. Children being cared for by someone else. Families separated. Loss of a spouse. Day to day survival. No money saved; no extra money at all…

I wonder what it means for her to follow Jesus. I wonder how she understands His promises differently than I do. I will never understand why I am in the place I am, and her daily life often seems like a half a world away; even as we converse in the same room. Hers is a life I can’t even fathom, honestly. I do know, though, that I am deeply responsible and accountable for how I love and care for her and those like her. And I want to learn and understand more about what this responsibility means, and what it looks like practically. This is one of the difficulties and yet indescribable privileges to living in Cambodia for me. What a joy it was for me even to be able to have this conversation. What a joy it is to get to meet and know people here, and listen to their stories. And I will continue to struggle though the thoughts and questions and prayers, which don’t often have answers. But I want to be aware. And I want to remember those I am surrounded by who have struggles that I may never understand.

‘He will rescue the poor when they cry to him; he will help the oppressed, who have no one to defend them.

He feels pity for the weak and the needy, and HE WILL RESCUE THEM.

He will redeem them from oppression and violence, for THEIR LIVES ARE PRECIOUS TO HIM.’
Psalm 72: 12-14