Tomorrow.
Eventually tomorrow arrives. Sometimes the day breezes into our present, sweeps through us and moves to yesterday with hardly a blink. Other tomorrows linger in the dusk of countless days of preparation, anticipation, planning, and waiting. They materialize slowly. My tomorrow is both. There was a season of raising three pre-school boys where Monday, Tuesday or Thursday meant little as the fog of sleepless nights and demanding days created one elongated space. Teaching manners felt terminal, and diapers the only sign of change. Cliché as it may be, those days were long, but somehow the years flew by. Potty training gave way to bikes, school, hikes, soccer and walking across the graduation stage. Tomorrow marks a new stage. The “long awaited, can’t believe it’s already here” day is upon us. Tomorrow our youngest son marries his love. Tomorrow he becomes a husband and she a wife. Our other sons will have a sister and we a godly, beautiful daughter. Tomorrow. Come quickly. With love and gratitude, Shelaine
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She is close to my age but our lives differ greatly.
In 1998, when Mrs. Laech Phoeun’s family left the Khmer Rouge, they owned no property and lived in a tiny house. They hand-hoed soil to plant rice and vegetables and raised a few chickens, yielding barely enough to survive. Over time she bought a sow but disappointment reigned with each arrival of piglets. Eight to twelve would be delivered; only two or three survived. Mrs. Laech Phoeun lacked technical expertise to solve this issue. In 2008, Food for the Hungry Cambodia entered partnership with Mrs. Laech Phoeun’s community and her village voted her to be one of five on the Village Development Committee (VDC). She says, “As a VDC member I have attended training and learned a lot from FH Cambodia such as health – body hygiene, household hygiene, typhoid and malaria; and agriculture – vegetable planting, compost, chicken raising, pig raising (how to take care of them, feeding and giving vaccines).” Those are the facts*. Easy to breeze through. Hard to comprehend the magnitude of change for this woman and her family. But I met her. Yes, her new home is lovely and the old house is now the pig’s quarters. We walked through her collection of robust, healthy sows and rejoiced over suckling newborns, toddler piglets, teenagers and those fattened for market. She proudly described how she de-worms and vaccinates her animals, mixes her own master food (a scientifically formulated, all-natural mix that increases immunity and pig well-being), and runs her own rice mill. And that’s what caught my attention. This woman is a success story. She is regarded by villagers as a model citizen and lovingly called “the pig lady”. Financially her family has experienced a reversal from subsistence to abundance. But she hasn’t lost sight of how she got to this place. Mrs. Laech Phoeun knows that local rice farmers need their product processed, a cost many struggle to fund. So, she set up a mill where husk and bran layers are separated from kernels. She provides this service free to her fellow villagers in exchange for keeping the husks which become feed for her pigs. Brilliant, innovative and generous. I find myself asking, “How am I giving back to my community?” Am I looking for ways to come alongside others, not so far on life’s road, and share from the abundance God has lavished on me? With love and gratitude, Shelaine P.S. Mrs. Laech Phoeun’s story will be featured in an upcoming edition of Christianity Today. *Facts for this blog taken from report by FH Community Facilitator Mrs. Chan Sophal, July 22, 2015 “I’m tired of my people drowning.”
Torrents of warm rain pelted our shoulders as we dashed from van to Food for the Hungry’s office in Tropeang Prasat. We welcomed the shelter of the open-air meeting room as we watched the monsoon put on a show. Linly, the FH Country Director and guide for our week-long vision trip to Cambodia, phoned a staff member to ask about the weather’s effect on our plans. “It’s bad, but you must come,” Bong Phenna insisted. “These people have been waiting for you and the Canadians to come!” Linly debated our safety travelling on clay-mud roads to the community in such harsh precipitation, but Bong Phenna countered, “No, you must come!” And with that, the rain stopped. So off we went. But the village road proved to be the tropical version of a skating rink. Even slight acceleration resulted in the van sliding precariously close to the ditch. Our driver put the vehicle in “park” and looked to us for direction. “How far is it? Can we walk?” we asked our leader. “It’s maybe a mile. But if we walk, you better pick up a stick to knock the clay off your shoes or your feet will get too heavy.” We didn’t need coaxing, and she wasn’t kidding. Each step added pounds to sandals as we slogged along. “The staff are coming!” shouted Linly. Three motos (the common term for small motorcycles) pulled up and drivers motioned us to hop on. I got to be first and, as lady-like as possible in my full-length skirt, straddled the seat behind my helmeted knight. (Sitting side-saddle with clog-feet - while culturally appropriate - didn’t seem wise.) We dodged puddles and potholes, skidding periodically, and all too soon the adventure ended. I climbed off and stood before 75 smiling, curious people. My teammates arrived and we began following the crowd toward the first bridge. The story unfolded. When Food for the Hungry staff began walking with this community, the village leader shared his heart. “If you will partner with us, we will do everything for you to get to our village.” They built the clay road so staff could get into the community. The chief had described how, when rainy season hits, the road became impassable as three gullies turned to rushing rivers, cutting their village off from the world. Women gave birth on river’s edge and died of infection because they couldn’t get to a doctor. Some children had died trying to cross to get to school. “I’m tired of my people drowning.” Bong Phenna responded, asking the chief what he needed, to which he replied, “Bridges. We need bridges but we have no money. We don’t even have enough food to eat.” “What are bridges made of?” “Wood,” the chief replied. Bong Phenna pointed to the surrounding hardwood trees. Now, months later, there we stood, the first Caucasians to see fruit of the villagers’ labor. The community had pulled together and worked under the direction of a Food for the Hungry engineer. Locals sawed and hammered and fashioned three exquisite foot bridges to span the angry, muddy waters. We were told upon arriving in Cambodia not to be surprised if our smiles went unreturned by people. This village didn’t get that memo. The first bridge women laughed, children ran back and forth and men motioned us onto the next bridge. And then onto the third. I can’t recall another time I felt so welcomed into the heart of genuine rejoicing and celebration over something incredible accomplished together. We had no spoken language in common but the dancing, singing and clapping needed no translation. We ended our time by blessing the structures and its builders and Bong Phenna shared more of the story. This community, once fragmented by the fear, mistrust and pain leftover from the Khmer Rouge era, had met on the bridge early that morning to make and share rice together awaiting our arrival. Eventually they ate lunch there as well. So much excitement and anticipation. And since that communal effort, people are looking out for each other. They share in care for the sick and aging. They are, in the truest sense, a community. When we arrived, the chief confided in Bong Phenna. “When the rains came today, we lost hope that the Canadians would come. We thought, ‘We are not worth it for them to come.’ We could not believe our eyes when we saw the white people arrive.” Not worth it. Thank God we went. Perhaps those bridge builders were blessed and I pray they grow in their understanding of their intrinsic value as created in the image of God. But I also hope they can, in some small way, know the impact their pure joy had on us. With love and gratitude, Shelaine |
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