Since the mirror cannot tell me anything comforting, I cannot bear to look too long. So I go downstairs to make coffee. Coffee=momentary comfort, does it not? So in the midst of a Saturday morning when the boys are home and making their own noises, I still manage to steal a moment to myself on the couch with coffee in hand. As I look outside at our beautiful green garden (I love living somewhere where it's green year round!) my mind goes back to a phrase that I clung to in another difficult experience..."I don't understand, but I will trust you."
It was 1997 and I had just celebrated my 21st birthday on an airplane headed from Oklahoma to Cambodia. I was surrounded by classmates from college and at the hour when we crossed the international time zone, my friends sang "happy birthday" to me. It was the shortest birthday I ever had...and my 21st nonetheless! We were heading to Cambodia to teach English for the summer between our junior and senior year of college. I was excited and nervous. I had never been to Southeast Asia, but we had spent the last month learning about Cambodia's history and reading books. Cambodia's history from the years following the Vientam war was unstable, and so the books we had read spoke of the horrors of the Khmer Rouge. But we were all assured that it would be okay. In fact, our original destination had been a small province in China, but then we were told it would not be "safe" to go there. So the destination was changed to Cambodia. (There's a lot of irony in all of this...)
We arrived to Cambodia on July 3 and got settled into our guesthouse (full of cockroaches that walked across us in our beds). The next day was July 4--strange to think that it was America's day of independence, and we were all the way over in Cambodia. Worlds apart in so many ways. Outside it rained (poured) and we watched children come outside and play soccer, even in the big puddles that were forming in the mud. Our eyes were taking in so many new sights that were unfamiliar but beautiful because it was like opening our eyes to see for the first time. That is what visiting a new country will do for you--help you to see again.
On July 5 we toured many of the important sights in Cambodia. We visited a sight where many Khmer had been tortured and killed during the Khmer Rouge. It was heavy to be in a place that spoke of death of so many innocent children. Each person had been photographed, and their pictures hung on the wall--children, women, men. It was a lot to take in for young American college students. Then we drove over to the palace. A place of beauty. We were walking through casually listening to our tour guide when we noticed that tourists were running towards the exit. Our guide spoke "don't worry, it's okay." But the tension in the air was noticeable. Quickly we were escorted to our van, and we immediately noticed that the streets were eerily vacant. There were army trucks in the street, and we quickly drove back to our guesthouse. We still had no idea what was going on, but it was obvious that this was serious. Though my memory is a bit piecemeal on all that happened next, what I recall is stopping in front of our guesthouse where we thought we would be going in, but instead we were told to stay in the van and go to the local American host's home. At this point I believe we had heard some loud booming noises and knew that something bad was happening. But no one was telling us anything yet. The van hurriedly made its way to the home of an American family whom had helped arrange our trip to Cambodia. The family's home of 3-4 bedrooms became a guesthouse for 30+ college students for the next three days as we waited out the shelling beyond our walls. I shared a pillow on the tile floor with my friend for the next 2 or 3 nights. It was intense, and hard to understand. It was during this time that the words came to me "I don't understand, but I will trust you." Strangely I felt peace even in the midst of a high stress time.
During an intense three days, we somehow managed to keep our spirits up. Several of us got sick to our stomachs (the loud rumbly kind of sick), but we pressed on. The young men on our team (we later found out) were trained on how to defend the home should anyone come to attack. They would take turns sleeping outside where they could guard the home. Meanwhile, we still managed to eat good food as the American family had just been to the market to buy food. And we had plenty of clean water to drink. We never went hungry or thirsty (though some of us were not hungry for stomach reasons!) We had a guitar and would sit around singing songs and talking to pass the daytime hours. We also had drills on how we would all fit into a room should we need to retreat and take refuge--trying to fit nearly 40 people and water and supplies into one room would definitely be tight. I think we were all hoping it wouldn't come to this.
Though my memory is a bit sketchy--I believe it was July 7 or 8 that we heard rumor that there was an emergency airplane to evacuate foreigners in Cambodia. We were told that each person would only be able to take one carry-on item, meaning we would be leaving most of our belongings behind. I had brought my guitar over to Cambodia (looking back I am not really sure why I did this?!) and so I chose to bring it back. This meant not having much space for clothing. I asked a friend if I could stuff a comb and contact solution into her bag, and I managed to stuff a shirt and underwear in with my guitar. When it was time to go we drove through the city for the first time since it had all started. We could see signs of the shelling and looting as we drove through. There was still smoke in the air, and the streets were eerily silent. Everyone was hiding in their homes, while the civil war raged all around. The airport was all shut down and had been one of the places targeted by the shelling. We arrived to a scene of hundreds of others waiting to board the emergency airplane. Everyone was sitting outside (the airport was closed up) and waiting to see if they would be able to get on. We had managed to secure just enough seats for our large group--we could see this as a miracle when we arrived to the large gathering of people, all equally desperate to leave Phnom Penh behind. I'm not sure how long we waited, but the time came when the doors opened and we began to board the plane from outside. I'm sure that many of us were holding our breath as we boarded the plane. After the doors closed and everyone was seated and buckled, we began our lift-off. As the wheels left the ground and we found ourselves in the air, everyone broke out in simultaneous cheers. Clapping and cheering all around. Breath held became breath exhaled. We were safe. We had made it out!
The plane took us to Bangkok, Thailand where we would spend the next few days processing the intense three days in Cambodia...
So how does thin hair and a civil war in Cambodia even begin to compare? That's a good question. But what spoke to me this morning was the very same words that brought me comfort nearly 20 years ago "I don't understand but I will trust you."
There are more opportunities than one would hope for in life to trust God during an otherwise uncomfortable experience. I have struggled with anxiety for so many years, and yet the same invitation is out there...to lean into God and trust him. To stop trying to figure it all out with my head and step into the unseen where hope and love and peace exist. When I grasp for explanation I am left with anxiety and turmoil. Because honestly, there are so many experiences in life that just don't make sense. And even if they do make sense, we are not comfortable with the explanation. I still have plenty of opportunities to worry and be afraid and try to fix the "problems" I am faced with, but when I step into the worry arena, I am beginning to lean on my own understanding. I am leaning on my human ability (inability) to solve the problems, to find solutions. But when I step out of the worry ring and step into God's invitation to trust, I find that I am in a place of wonder, peace, and a different kind of living. One where my physical senses do not guide me to what is true. One where I must lean on what is unseen and gather up the courage to trust that there is no fear in love. And if God is for me, then who can really be against me? That is where I want to live. That is where I will find rest. That is where I will find my beauty and worth. "God, I do not understand, but I will trust you."
