This story came from Ed Eagan from e3 Partners Southeast Asia Team
Dust from the dirt road baked firm by the scorching Cambodian sun coats my sandals. The refreshing breeze on my cheeks is filled with the scent of smoke from distant burning fields. Huts on stilts stand watch on either side of the path. Mangy dogs, awakened by the approaching group of missionaries, bark only half-heartedly, preferring instead to return to their slumber. Mother hens, clucking softly to their chicks, aggressively scratch the topsoil in a desperate search for food. Pigs, ducks, and water buffalo rest nearby. We spot a woman squatting on a large wooden platform adjacent to her hut. Having been granted permission to speak, the mother invites us to join her in the shade. The women in this village are always working. Today she slices banana tree limbs with what appears to be a large, razor-sharp knife. The round tree limb is perhaps 5 inches in diameter yet she slices through it as if it were celery. Her strokes are rhythmic, graceful and strong. She holds the long limb so that it protrudes just over the edge of the large platform. Each slice falls into a large aluminum wash basin on the ground below. Her dark leathered skin speaks of years in the sun. She smiles shyly as we take our seats around her. Her smile reveals a perfect set of white teeth- something which I learn over the next week is common in this tribe. Where’s a genetic engineer when I need one? My sixteen-year old translator begins to explain the EvangeCube in the local tribal dialect. At first there is no change in the rhythm of her work. Then she slows her pace and eventually stops, captivated by the images and the story being told. She leans in toward the Cube. She points with her index finger at Jesus hanging on the cross and asks a question. Now she is enthralled.
Seated beside me on the platform is Sopheaktra- my twenty-year old translator. He will translate my English into Khmer. One of the 16-yr olds will translate his Khmer into Pnong- the tribal language. It turns out this is completely hypothetical as my translator barely speaks English. I’ve no choice but to sit, listen and pray silently. The guttural language of the Pnong is shocking in the force of its expressions. This tiny, demure mother grunts a one-word reply with such force that it startles me. As I spend more time in the village over the week, I grow to love its melodic expression, with its tremendous crescendos followed by barely audible whispers. I grow annoyed by the length of time it takes Silinh to share the Cube. Only later do I learn that it takes about four times as long to say something in Pnong as in English. When they finally stops speaking, Sopheaktra turns and says to me, “She wants to pray.”
“For what?” I reply. He looks at me quizzically.
“What does she want us to pray for?” I ask. He smiles nervously, not having understood my question.
“Does she want to get saved?” I ask. He wrinkles his face in a futile effort to understand me.
“Does she want to receive Jesus as her savior?” I plead. Nothing. No response. Only frustration- all around.
I bow my head and begin to pray aloud in English. Immediately my brethren join in with great enthusiasm. I have no idea what they’re praying for. But as I pray the Lord brings a scripture to mind:
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit” says the Lord of hosts. (Zech 4:6)
We leave without me knowing what has happened.
The next day I recognize her when she arrives at the medical clinic. Today bright, young, energetic sisters serve as the gospel presenters at the clinic. All of them speak English as well as Khmer and Pnong. I hand-pick the best of the lot to share with the banana limb lady who we visited yesterday. This time I want to be sure she can make a decision. She listens intently, another mother seated beside her. I notice her feet as I pass behind her. Weather beaten and toughened by constant exposure to the elements, I’m not convinced anything but the tiniest of thorns could penetrate her skin. When Bun finishes her presentation, she calls my name.
“Eddie! Please come pray with us. She wants to receive Jesus!”
I live for this day.
BY THE NUMBERS
757 patients seen by the medical team
966 Gospel presentations
122 new believers
1 new small IAS group met twice
1 new small IAS group met once
Dust from the dirt road baked firm by the scorching Cambodian sun coats my sandals. The refreshing breeze on my cheeks is filled with the scent of smoke from distant burning fields. Huts on stilts stand watch on either side of the path. Mangy dogs, awakened by the approaching group of missionaries, bark only half-heartedly, preferring instead to return to their slumber. Mother hens, clucking softly to their chicks, aggressively scratch the topsoil in a desperate search for food. Pigs, ducks, and water buffalo rest nearby. We spot a woman squatting on a large wooden platform adjacent to her hut. Having been granted permission to speak, the mother invites us to join her in the shade. The women in this village are always working. Today she slices banana tree limbs with what appears to be a large, razor-sharp knife. The round tree limb is perhaps 5 inches in diameter yet she slices through it as if it were celery. Her strokes are rhythmic, graceful and strong. She holds the long limb so that it protrudes just over the edge of the large platform. Each slice falls into a large aluminum wash basin on the ground below. Her dark leathered skin speaks of years in the sun. She smiles shyly as we take our seats around her. Her smile reveals a perfect set of white teeth- something which I learn over the next week is common in this tribe. Where’s a genetic engineer when I need one? My sixteen-year old translator begins to explain the EvangeCube in the local tribal dialect. At first there is no change in the rhythm of her work. Then she slows her pace and eventually stops, captivated by the images and the story being told. She leans in toward the Cube. She points with her index finger at Jesus hanging on the cross and asks a question. Now she is enthralled.
Seated beside me on the platform is Sopheaktra- my twenty-year old translator. He will translate my English into Khmer. One of the 16-yr olds will translate his Khmer into Pnong- the tribal language. It turns out this is completely hypothetical as my translator barely speaks English. I’ve no choice but to sit, listen and pray silently. The guttural language of the Pnong is shocking in the force of its expressions. This tiny, demure mother grunts a one-word reply with such force that it startles me. As I spend more time in the village over the week, I grow to love its melodic expression, with its tremendous crescendos followed by barely audible whispers. I grow annoyed by the length of time it takes Silinh to share the Cube. Only later do I learn that it takes about four times as long to say something in Pnong as in English. When they finally stops speaking, Sopheaktra turns and says to me, “She wants to pray.”
“For what?” I reply. He looks at me quizzically.
“What does she want us to pray for?” I ask. He smiles nervously, not having understood my question.
“Does she want to get saved?” I ask. He wrinkles his face in a futile effort to understand me.
“Does she want to receive Jesus as her savior?” I plead. Nothing. No response. Only frustration- all around.
I bow my head and begin to pray aloud in English. Immediately my brethren join in with great enthusiasm. I have no idea what they’re praying for. But as I pray the Lord brings a scripture to mind:
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit” says the Lord of hosts. (Zech 4:6)
We leave without me knowing what has happened.
The next day I recognize her when she arrives at the medical clinic. Today bright, young, energetic sisters serve as the gospel presenters at the clinic. All of them speak English as well as Khmer and Pnong. I hand-pick the best of the lot to share with the banana limb lady who we visited yesterday. This time I want to be sure she can make a decision. She listens intently, another mother seated beside her. I notice her feet as I pass behind her. Weather beaten and toughened by constant exposure to the elements, I’m not convinced anything but the tiniest of thorns could penetrate her skin. When Bun finishes her presentation, she calls my name.
“Eddie! Please come pray with us. She wants to receive Jesus!”
I live for this day.
BY THE NUMBERS
757 patients seen by the medical team
966 Gospel presentations
122 new believers
1 new small IAS group met twice
1 new small IAS group met once
