I am the one in the box, not God. God is uncontainable, uncontrollable, and unfathomable. The question is, “Am I ok with it”? Can I love a God who I cannot grasp?
Can you probe the limits of the Almighty?
They are deeper than the depths of the grave–what can you know?
and wider than the sea.
Job 11-7-9
On Sunday morning January 28, 2007, I interrupted Danny’s breakfast by telling him, “I think my water broke, but I’m not sure because I don’t feel any contractions.” I don’t think he took me seriously because a half hour later he was still taking his marry o’time eating and chatting with John. I then told Danny, “eh, I don’t mean to rush you, but I should probably get going to the hospital soon.” Danny finally got the idea and got ready to go.
We were so thankful it was a Sunday and John and Janna could watch Silas at home. We had been telling Silas for weeks now that when the baby comes, we’ll be going to the hospital and that he’ll have to stay with the Changs. So once the time came, he was totally cooperative and kissed us “good bye” as if we were just going out for a walk.
The first hour or so at the hospital I still didn’t feel any pain so I told the nurse that I would opt out of an epidural just as I did with Silas. However, the contractions soon intensified. I was only 4 cm dilated and the pain was already excruciating. I was surprised because with Silas the pain didn’t start feeling horrible until 7-8 cm. I thought, “Shoot, if I’m already in so much pain, how will I endure the rest of the delivery?” Danny urged me to get an epidural saying, “Anita, you did it once without. Give yourself a break!”
I agreed and called the nurse and told her I was in too much pain. The nurse responded, “You had your first one without an epidural. You can do it again la! I’ll give you a shot of …. (I don’t know what she gave me). It’s a muscle relaxer and will help you dilate faster. It will also take some of the edge off the pain.”
The shot felt like 100 fire ants biting me in one spot on my butt. The nurse said that it would take about 15 minutes until the pain started to decrease. Yeah right! I waited about 30 minutes until I freaked out, “Danny, it ain’t taking no edge off!” All it did was make me feel like I had one too many drinks the night before. So for the next 6 hours I endured an increasing amount of pain.
By about 5pm it was time to start pushing. I had my own personal cheerleading squad. There were about 5 burka wearing nurses shouting, “1, 2, 3 push la! You can do it la! Good job la!” During each contraction I shouted to these nurses, “Help me! Help me!” In between contractions I would pray, “God help me get through this!” Let’s just say, I wasn’t the calm zen master like I was with Silas.
After 20 minutes, Dr. Tang said that the baby’s heart rate plummeted and we needed to get the baby out right away. Danny was scared and thought they had to do an emergency C-section. Thankfully, with few strong contractions, power pushing, and high-pitched screams, Dr. Tang was able to pull the baby out with a vacuum. Cassia was out by 5:23pm! It turned out that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. I was so relieved that she was out. More so, I was thankful that we were at a hospital that had with good facilities.
Unlike Silas’ delivery, I was able to forget about the pain pretty quickly. Danny, on the other hand, was traumatized for quite a while. He said, “I cannot watch you go through that again! I need some PTSD counseling.”
On Monday March 22, 2004 around 4:15am I woke up and went to the bathroom. Upon reaching the toilet, I felt a gush of water and proceeded to shout, “Danny, my water broke!” He didn’t quite believe me and almost convinced me that I peed on myself. I was pretty sure my water burst though; so Danny called Dr. Tran.
I told Dr. Tran that I felt some light contractions. They were not very intense but were regular so I didn’t know if they were real labor contractions or Braxton-Hicks. Dr. Tran said that I sounded too calm to be close to active labor so I did not need to hurry to the hospital. She suggested eventually making it to the hospital by 7am when she would be there.
I took a shower and went downstairs and had a leisurely breakfast. My dad came down and was surprised to see us up so early. I told him that I was in labor. I was surprisingly calm. I’m not sure if I really believed I would have the baby that day.
Around 6am we started for the hospital and by 6:30am I was in the delivery room. They checked my cervix and said I was already 4-5cm dilated. The nurse said, “You will definitely have the baby today”.
Within the next couple hours the contractions became more and more intense. Throughout labor the nurses repeatedly asked me if I wanted an epidural. I told them I was too afraid. The thought of a needle poking my back totally creped me out. Also, I had heard it could prolong labor and I really wanted a “quickie” delivery. I didn’t want any interference. Most of all, a sick part of me just “wanted to know what it would feel like”. After all, millions of women all over the world don’t have the option of meds. I guess it was my twisted way of feeling some sense of solidarity.
By the time I was about 8cm dilated, the pain was almost unbearable. Yet the urge to not push was even harder to overcome. By now it was about 10am and Dr. Zuckerman was now the Dr. on call. I remember a nurse telling him that I refused the epidural. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Tough girl!”
Around 11am I was fully dilated. Now I understand why they call it labor. I didn’t realize how much physically it would take to do the job. All my muscles were sore for days afterwards. The nurse instructed me to crouch forward and use my hands to pull my legs back towards my chest. Whenever I had a contraction, she would instruct me to take a big breath and push for 10 counts. I remember during this phase thinking it would only take about 15 minutes or so. At one point I asked the nurse how long this would take, she said, “It could be 30 minutes to a couple hours”. I couldn’t believe I could possibly go through this for another hour or so.
The next two nights in the hospital I couldn’t sleep. The whole delivery experience kept flashing through my head. I was somewhat traumatized and to some extent still in disbelief of the whole experience. At the same time, I was filled with joy. Although the pain was unreal, I felt proud of myself for enduring so much to bring Silas into the world. I felt accomplished, like I was initiated into motherhood.
It was October 1997. My church was having a fall retreat. Like usual, we were taking forever trying to arrange who should go in which car. I was lingering outside with a friend when this guy comes up and joins our conversation. I didn’t really know him except that his name was Danny and that he was the guy who did the announcements every Sunday. I ended up sitting behind him in the van and we talked the entire 3 hours to the retreat center.
That night we talked non-stop for another few hours. I don’t remember what we talked about but at some point I remarked, “I can’t believe we’ve been going to the same church for a year and we’ve never talked to each other before”. The rest of the weekend we continued our random conversations. Again, the content is blurry but I do remember there being a lot of laughing involved.
When I went home after the retreat I told my roommates that I made a new friend over the weekend. I also told myself that there were no romantic thoughts; I just thought Danny was super cool and was excited to get to know him better. The truth is I couldn’t stop thinking about him the whole week. I couldn’t wait for Sunday when I would see him again at church.
But when Sunday came and I saw him, all I managed was, “Hi”. I don’t know what happened. All week I was dying to talk to him but once I did I totally froze. Sunday after Sunday, the same thing happened–nothing. We were in this leadership class together in which we had to split up into small groups. Each week I hoped we would be in the same group, but we never were. Each week I would pretend to pay attention to the folks in my group, but I was always eavesdropping on Danny’s. To make things worse, I felt like Danny was ignoring me. This went on for 3 months. It was torture!
Then on New Years Eve, Danny calls me out of the blue. It was a complete surprise. He said, “I know you probably already have plans for tonight but…my friend Carl and I are going downtown to look at the ice sculptures and were wondering if you wanted to meet up with us.” I told him I did have plans but maybe I would see them down there.
Later that night, when I met up with my friend for dinner, I convinced him to go see the ice sculptures instead. It was probably the coldest night of my life trying to pretend the sculptures were cool when all I was doing was looking for Danny. I didn’t find him.
That Sunday I mustered up some guts to go up to Danny. I told him I went to see the ice sculptures but didn’t see him there. I tried to play it cool like, “Not that I was looking for you or anything. I just happen to be there too.” Anyway, he looked at me and responded, “Oh, well I saw you”. I was kinda ticked and thought, “Then why didn’t you stinkin’ come up to me? I was freezing my butt off hoping to bump into you!” Of course I didn’t say it out loud though. (Although, months later when I confessed, Danny told me that he didn’t come up to me because I was with a guy and thought perhaps I was on a date. He didn’t realize that this guy was just an old friend. At that time, Carl offered to beat him up. Danny thought about it for a second but then declined the offer.) Although the New Year attempt was a bust, at least it got us talking again; not a lot but we didn’t ignore each other at church anymore.
Begging is not unusually in Cambodia. Beggars are almost as common as flies and often treated as such. After all, they swarm around their prey nipping at clothes and limbs. It’s easy to dehumanize them, swat them away and think of them as annoying pests.
In Phnom Penh there are several types. Some are folks coming from the countryside but find that they neither have job skills for the city nor opportunity to get a job. Other beggars tend to be handicapped, amputees or disfigured. They tend to congregate in touristy places where it is easy to elicit pocket change from pitying foreigners. There are also the women with sick babies. The babies are not necessarily theirs. They are often rented. They tend to hang out at markets, especially the ones where foreigners, rich Khmer or their house helpers do their shopping. At most gas stations street children band together and try to “help” people in and out of their cars and then ask for a tip. These kids usually don’t work for themselves but for a pimp-like figure.
Beggars do not only target foreigners. During Khmer holidays hordes of them pour into Temples and other places of worship where devotees feel obliged to give alms to the poor. The temples that are particularly popular even have areas designated for beggars in order to maintain some crowd control.
Thus, in Cambodia we have what is called “professional begging”. Begging is seen as a job, a viable career. And in fact, it is a quite lucrative one. The average factory worker earns about $45 a month working 8 hours a day, 6 days a week, $70 if they work overtime. But beggars can oftentimes make double that.
First time visitors are usually rightly overwhelmed and disturbed. You would think that after living in Cambodia for almost 3 years that I would be use to it and know how to respond. No, I just know how to avoid it, or rather them. I find that even though I try to be conscientious and compassionate, it’s hard for me to remember that there is a soul behind each pitiable face.
The following is a journal entry about an encounter our family had with a pair of beggars in Siem Reap:
We woke up hungry and decided to go to the local market for breakfast. We ended up eating at one of those outdoor noodle and coffee places where sanitation is non-existent but at least you know your soup was boiled. While we were fishing around in our bowls, trying to dodge the liver and innards in our noodle soup, an old man and grandson hovered over us begging. Usually we ignore the beggars or simply say, “somdoh” (sorry). So I was surprised that Danny handed over a 100 riel (about 3 cents) note. I thought it was to appease the guy so he would stop harassing us. Later Danny told me that he prayed, “If Silas respects the old man I’ll give him some money”. Silas did respect him with a smile and sumpeah (a sign of respect by putting your hands together and bowing).
After we finished what we could muscle down our throats, our family got up to leave the grease pit. As soon as we stood up the old man and boy were back at our table. This time they were not begging. I watched what they were doing for only a couple seconds, but what I saw has been replayed in my mind at least a hundred times since.
The old man gulped the left over soup from my bowl and devoured the rubbery innards in Danny’s. The little boy licked up the few sips of milk left in Silas’s cup. They ate like dogs eating out their dish, as if it was their first and last meal of the day, or perhaps days.
What I saw is not an uncommon occurrence. Beggars eat others leftovers all the time. I honestly don’t know why this particular encounter affected me more than others. I do know that when I watched the old man and young boy for that 2 or 3 seconds the following passage from Mark was brought to life:
Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet he could not keep his presence secret. In fact, as soon as she heard about him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an evil spirit came and fell at his feet. The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.
“First let the children eat all they want,” he told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.”
“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”
Then he told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.”
She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. MK 7:24-30
I never really understood this passage, and probably still don’t fully grasp its significance. Honestly, I just don’t get Jesus and why He responds to the lady the way He does. I do know that in the end He does treat her like a human being, one deserving of respect and finally gives her what she is begging for.
I think the only person who treated the old man and boy with dignity was Silas. I, on the other hand, still have a lot to learn about how to respond to beggars and see them through the eyes of Christ.
On the morning of August 23 we finally arrived at the Pochentong Airport in Phnom Penh. It was a long flight. I was tired, hungry, and a little airsick. I didn’t have enough energy to really gage how I felt at the time. All I thought was, “Wow, so this is home now?” We quickly maneuvered into line for immigration. It was in that line that we had our first encounter with a Cambodian. A security guard stood a few feet from us. He just stood there bored not doing much of anything really. Then he saw Silas. Immediately his dull face lit up. Silas smiled at him and the rest is history. This grumpy man suddenly seemed more like an excited uncle, smiling and playing with Silas until we were done in line.
Since then, it’s just been more of the same. Wherever we go with Silas, scary people suddenly become warm and friendly. Whenever we go into a restaurant, the waiters hold and play with him while we eat. In the markets, all the women start laughing and goo gooing over him. Moto drivers stop to smile. Sometimes we’ll be walking down the street and a complete stranger will yell out, “Sua siday Sila! (Hi Silas!)” No one knows Danny and my names. We’re just known around the neighborhood as, “Ba and Ma Sila”.
What’s surprising is that I kind of expected the women to love children but not the men. Yet, everywhere we go, we see fathers holding, playing with, and loving their children. Even young men smile and speak tenderly to the little ones. It is amazing experiencing how much Cambodians love kids; how baby friendly this country is.
Yesterday, during a time of prayer, I reflected on the experience with the airport security guard. It was a wonderfully unexpected “Welcome to Cambodia!” But more so, it reminded me of Jesus in Matthew 19:13-14:
Then little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
As I continued to reflect on this passage and our first week here in Cambodia, I pondered, “The way Cambodians love children really reflects Jesus’ love for them.” Then it hit me, “Why do I spend so much time and energy being afraid of Cambodians? Why do I look for issues and sins that need to be corrected?” I was caught. My arrogance and patronizing attitude soon morphed into deep conviction. I felt God say, “Cambodians are made in my image just as much as you are. Instead of looking for faults in the Cambodian people, look for how they reflect me. What can you learn from them? How can they teach you? Look for these images of God in the people of Cambodia.”
I’m realizing more and more that I’m someone who likes to boast. I talk as if I’m tough, someone who likes adventure, who’s carefree and hard-core. I say I like to take risks, go out on a limb, and be wild at heart. One example is our honeymoon. I told Danny that I had always wanted to learn how to scuba dive. I thought it would be fun and of course it would give me the chance to boast about my bravery. So we went to Belize and signed up for a diving class. I was pumped and ready to go. This was a dream come true! After a couple days of instruction in a shallow pool we were ready to go out. We got on a little boat and went out into the open ocean. But there, on this little boat, I had my rude awakening. For some reason, during the instruction, it escaped me that “open ocean” meant being completely surrounded by water with absolutely no land in sight. I looked down into the bottomless waves and was shocked, “You mean I have to go down in there with nothing but a mask and tank strapped to my back?” All of a sudden I didn’t care about being brave anymore; nor did I care about having something to boast about. I just wanted out of there! I wanted to be on land. I wanted to be dry, safe, comfortable, on the beach sipping a margarita. Suffice it to say, I panicked!
It’s times like this that I realize that I’m really not all that. As much as I like to think and talk as if I am, God always has a way at giving me a rude awakening.
There’s a person in the Bible that came to mind the other day. I can’t stop thinking about him because I feel like I’m him. He was a rich man, a ruler in fact. Yet he seemed to have some humility about him. After all he went to Jesus and asked, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” I believe this guy was sincere, truly eager to know how to please God and find favor with Him.
I’m guessing that Jesus’ initial answer didn’t really surprise him, “Why do you call me good? Jesus answered. “No one is good-except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘Do not commit adultery, do not murder, do not steal, do not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.’” I’m sure the guy was probably relieved and pleased with Jesus’ answer. “All these I have kept since I was a boy,” he said. I kind of picture him saying this with a bashful, yet confident grin. But when Jesus heard this, he said to him, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor…”
“Whoa, hold up! Jesus, what did you say? I liked the Part I of your answer, but Part II…don’t you think that’s a little overboard? I can do Part I, but Part II…I worked hard for what I have and you want me to give it up? I like living in comfort, having things…forget it. I just can’t do it. I can’t give up what I have.” Perhaps the rich ruler was so taken aback that didn’t hear the other part of Jesus’ statement “and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” Or perhaps he did hear but, in light of what Jesus was asking him to do, it just seemed impossible. In any case, “When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was a man of great wealth.” Apparently Jesus didn’t give the answer he was hoping for. Instead God gave him a rude awakening.
For those who know me, they know how I like to talk big about giving it all for Jesus. Spiritually speaking I like to think I’m not only a good Christian but a great one. I’m like this rich ruler who thinks they got it all together. After all I pray, have quiet time, tithe, and serve faithfully in church. Since I became a Christian around age 15, I’ve talked about being a missionary, going off to exotic places with nothing but a Bible. Two years ago when Danny and I went to Cambodia for six weeks, I came back pumped. I thought, “Wow, how cool…yummy food, different people, new sounds. Wouldn’t it be fun, adventurous, hard-core to live here?” For some reason when we got back to the states, I forgot about the heat, the trash, noise pollution, mosquitoes, lack of sanitation, dirty water, and cold showers. All I told people, including myself, was how excited I was to go back there and how privileged I am to be called by God to serve among the poor. Perhaps I even felt like becoming a missionary would give me a few spiritual brownie points.
However, this past trip to Cambodia was different. It was supposed to be a logistical trip to arrange for our long term stay. But as soon as we landed I had a “scuba diving” experience. I looked at my surroundings and thought, “What the hell am I doing here? I’m completely out of place. Home is on the other side of the world. I don’t feel safe or comfortable.” That very first day we visited the neighborhood we were to live it. This “dream come true” was now turning into a nightmare. Everything I thought would be cool about living in Cambodia was not cool anymore. There’s nothing glamorous about poverty, poor health care, lack of sanitation. There’s nothing romantic about subjecting myself and baby to TB or Dengue Fever. It’s definitely not cool having no AC in the sweltering heat. And there is definitely nothing attractive about living among the poor in the slums. I felt angry with God and depressed that He is asking me to “sell everything and give to the poor”. For me this may not mean so much literally selling material things, but rather leaving the comforts and safety of life in America. I started to feel more cursed than blessed, stretched to the point of snapping. The privilege of moving to Cambodia began to feel more like a sacrifice that cost too much. This was yet another rude awakening.
Turning to His disciples Jesus said, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” Although Jesus was speaking to the rich man, I know He’s directing this reality check to me as well. “How hard it is for you, Anita, who grew up in nice suburban D.C., never went hungry, went to good schools, expensive college, never worried about finances…” As silly as I feel for being a “poor, little, rich girl”, I refuse to believe Jesus is saying this to me in ridicule. I refuse to believe he’s taunting me or putting me on a guilt trip. I truly believe Jesus is saying this to me, as to the rich ruler, out of compassion and genuine trust that I, like the rich guy, really want to do what’s right…but just can’t.
And that is why I believe Jesus didn’t leave it at that. I mean, even Jesus disciples were astonished at what He said and asked, “Who then can be saved?” In the same vein I ask Jesus, “How then can I move to Cambodia and live and serve among the poor?” Jesus simply replies, “What is impossible with men is possible with God.” That’s it! I can’t do it. I can’t give up the creature comforts of home. I can’t live in Cambodia. I can’t love the poor and I definitely can’t live among them. But God can make possible what I can’t. I need to trust that. I have no choice but to believe God. As much as I want to be excited about moving to Cambodia, as much as I want to believe I’m courageous, sacrificial, and joyful…I’m just not. But what I do know is that God takes the impossible and makes things happen. And I choose to trust that He’ll even make it possible for me to be not only willing but wanting to be in Cambodia.
I hope this adventure in Cambodia will be like my scuba diving experience. I was scared, I got sick, I wanted to hijack the boat back to shore. But in the end I stuck it out. I’m far from professional but I did get my certification and am now a PADI member. Hey, at least I have that to boast about!