by Duane Stine
I remember that first time walking through “no man’s land” between the border check points from Thailand to Cambodia. My two children were with me, along with some other youth leaders and their kids. As we left Thailand, our luggage was placed on a cart and taken out of sight. We were directed another way with the hopes that we would meet up with our luggage again. We walked on a bridge over a little, almost dried up stream that marked the border. The smell of the stagnant water and the garbage rotting in the heat was powerful and unique (to put it nicely). There were very cute little kids begging for anything they could get from an American, but we had been warned to not give them anything because it would go to the person who was forcing them to beg and not to the child or his family.
The image of that moment will stick with me forever. And that is only one of many from that trip.
We were the minority there: ethnically, socioeconomically, and religiously. I had never experienced this to such a degree before. None of us had. I am sure we all looked like tourists as our heads went back and forth scanning the landscape and trying to take in all the sights. You cannot help but notice the poverty. Homes were made from any scrap pieces of wood and metal that could be salvaged. Kids would devise makeshift toys out of sticks, rocks, old cans, or whatever they could find, and they figured out how to make it fun. Food was in short supply and the little they had was usually cooked over the burning garbage from the day before.
But what was even more difficult to grasp was the overwhelming cloud of spiritual darkness. The feeling was punctuated by our senses as we heard the chants from the Buddhist temples, smelled the incense burning before the idols and in the spirit houses, and saw the monks walking the streets.
The reality of the spiritual depravity of people in Cambodia and their future destination without Christ hit me even harder than the smell at the border, and it too is an image that is impossible to shake.
We stayed in Cambodia for a week and helped to build a church in a remote village for a small group of Christians. Those Christians would ride their bikes or “mechanical cow” for hours just to get to a church service on a Sunday morning. This is so unlike the circles in which I travel in America where most people I encounter are Christians or have at least grown up in the proximity of Christians. They have multiple churches in their towns, and Christian music and messages are at the tip of their thumbs on their smart phones. This is not the case in Cambodia.
Our Christian brothers and sisters on the other side of the globe were a bright light in a sea of darkness. Amidst their struggles, exaggerated by being part of a very small Christian minority, they exhibited beautiful peace and joy! Despite our language barrier, we quickly became friends!
Since then, six additional teams have traveled to this area of Cambodia from our church. Thirty different people have gone and nine of them have returned for at least a second trip.
One thing we all have in common is that we are forever changed by the experience. Not only do we see the world differently, we see “our world” differently. Our passions changed. Our priorities changed. Of those who have gone, many are now in leadership positions at the church. Some are small group leaders, elders, leading worship, teaching classes, leading youth, helping with AWANA, and even leading other missions trips! Since returning from our trips to Cambodia, we give differently of our time, talents, and finances.
I have been back to Cambodia four times since then and I still connect with the friends I made on that first trip nearly a decade ago. I have witnessed the saving power of the gospel and also the transforming power of the gospel in those we ministered to and in the team members who traveled from our church.
So, why share this story? I am convinced that engaging in missions by praying, giving, sending, and going will have a profound impact, both here at home and around the world. Sometimes I think that we who go are blessed so much more than those we serve. But if you ever get to Cambodia and find your way to a little village call Ang Sala, there are a group of Christians there who might disagree!
