Elizabeth Scaife - Alumni- June '07

Dear Moms and Dads...

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 00:00:00 GMT

In honor of the June squad returning home, I felt that I should warn our friends and family of what you all might expect in the days to come. These next couple of months will be an interesting transition back into American society, both for the Racer and his/her community. You might be wondering what's happened to your sweet child and if they've been brainwashed. They may exhibit new attitudes, new behaviors and habits. Don't be alarmed...this is to be expected. For your ease of mind, I've compiled a quick list of habits, questions, reactions or odd statements you should expect. This will better prepare you all for our inevitable social blunders...

Things You Can Expect From an Ex-Racer

If they come to your house, its perfectly normal to hear...

"Can I drink this water?"

"So, is it cool to flush the TP here...?"

"There wasn't a name on it, so I used it. Hope that's ok."

"Where's the Free Table?"

"Hey do you care if I borrow your toothbrush, I left mine at home."

Routine behaviors that might raise an eyebrow, but are perfectly normal...

Excessive trips to the free refill counter, accompanied with lots of slurping and an excited "Ok, really, last trip...I promise. This is so much fun!!"

Instead of folding clothes into drawers, they are rolled tightly, military style (and MIGHT be stored in ziploc bags too)

Every month, clothes are tossed out, with the simple explanation of "It weighs too much. Get rid of it!!"

Constant blogging.

Guzzling gallons of iced tea at record pace.

Bargaining with the store clerks at Wal-Mart.

The offer to do your logistics for the family vacation.

The inability to stay in one place very long.

Gleeful laughing and clapping at the sight of a clothes dryer.

The insistence that another international trip must be planned quickly because "I still have 3 blank pages in my passport!"

Hand-sanitizing.

They're really not kidding when they say...

"Sorry, officer... I really didn't realize 10 people in one car was such a problem."

"Who wants to climb that waterfall and jump off with me?"

"How much will you pay me to eat this bug?"

"I haven't showered in, like, 3 days. I just didn't think about it."

"There's one brownie left. Let's arm-wrestle for it."

"That looks so gross. Let's taste it!"

Be patient when they say...

"$10 ?! I'm not paying that. In China, its only $2."

"When I was in the Philippines...."

"Oh my gosh, when we were in Swaziland..."

"Well, in Cambodia..."

"Ha, that's nothing. When we were in Thailand..."

"Yeah...when I was on the World Race..."

"Plan? No. Let's just figure it out when we get there."

You'll notice they're very resourceful...

"What's our budget?"

"Refried beans? Spaghetti noodles? Spinach?...Yeah, I can definitely make a meal with this."

"Just squish in!! Last time, we fit 10 people in one of these."

"Want me to ask those random people to give us a ride?"

"Toilet paper? Yeah, sure. I have a roll in my pocket."

Don't be offended if you hear a spontaneous...

"Sprrrrrrrrf."

Hope this offers you a good preview of what you can expect. Be assured that yes, we have most certainly changed, but its all for the better. We may be a bit quirky when we get home, but bear with us! Its been a remarkable year for everyone. June squad Racers will be happy to be there, and full of memories to share. May your time with them be wonderful and refreshing.

Thank You and God Bless

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Within these months here, I've grown a deep appreciation for Christian hostels. We deal with all of the same messy situations that any other hostel does, but we do it with a love and grace that sets us apart. In Amsterdam, a pot-smoker's haven, we see a lot of drug abuse and an entire generation of people searching for more in life. The ministry is founded in relationships we build with our guests through excellent service, genuine conversation and simple outreaches during the week. Everyone that checks in is handed a tract in their language that shares the history of our ministry and our purpose in Amsterdam. We have free literature available for the taking, and I'm often surprised to find these little Gospel books all over the rooms of our guests, obviously being read. We hold bible discussions every night, and host film discussions as well. In general, the atmosphere is relaxed, fun and welcoming to anyone from anywhere. People learn about Jesus, the back-packing radical, every day.

I work with a host of fun people from all walks of life, yet who serve with the same purpose in mind. Our lives are community-based and culturally rich. In any given day, I can meet people from 10 different countries at our hostel. I find that I have experiences to discuss with most of them. I pulled out some Thai phrases a couple weeks ago that broke the ice and brought a smile to a Thai girl's face. I met a group of principals from South Africa and we talked about racism and the apartheid's effect on today's generation. A group of elderly British ladies joined our bible discussion the other night and I marveled at their travel stories. What a joy! Every day, its something new, something fresh. I have loved it all.

When I go home at the end of the day, I'm still surrounded by accents and cultural distinctions. I laugh all the time at the things people say in English. This has been a very rewarding social experience for me. The time has passed so quickly that I can hardly believe it. Earlier this week, we got our new schedule and I nodded my head with a deep breath. Finally, my turn has come. "Thank you and God bless" trails behind my last shift on Monday the 29th. Whenever someone leaves the staff, they add this as a marker for the end. I smiled to myself when I saw it. The end is certainly drawing near and my Shelter friends prepare to send me on my way. Its a bittersweet ending, as usual. I look at the people around me with admiration, joy and wonder. I have so much to express, but the words just catch in my throat. Will I ever get used to saying goodbye to people I love?? Probably not. But, I will spend my last few days in Amsterdam enjoying their presence. I'll bike around town one last time...walk thru the Jordaan one last time...flip some Dutch pancakes one last time...dress in orange to celebrate Queen's Day...then I'll pack my bags and mosey on home. I take with me two very different community experiences -- one from the Race, and one from the Shelter. Both have been fabulous and tough in different ways. I am grateful for each, equally. With the year ending, and me having survived it effectively, I also want to say Thank you, and God bless. What an amazing journey...may it only lead to more, for all of us.

A Long Journey Home

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 00:00:00 GMT

   Time and time again have I considered what going home will feel like. I've played over in my mind a thousand times the things I'll see, the people I'll reunite with, and the circumstances I'll face. I've done this because I want to prepare myself as best I can for the impending re-entry. It looms on the horizon, drawing closer with each passing day. In one moment, my heart can accelerate with eager anticipation, and in the next with nervous anxiety. It's the inevitable rollercoaster of emotions that I suspect every Racer goes through in their last days on the field. Thoughts fly through my conscious asking "Will I be satisfied?"... "Will it be enough?"..."Will anyone understand me?"..."Will I be a weirdo to my friends?" I'm coming to grips with the fact that most likely I WILL be a weirdo by general standards, most likely I won't be satisfied in the old American routine, and most likely everyday life at home won't be enough if I don't alter my perspective.
     When the Race first started, I remember how chaotic it could seem. Sometimes setup fell through, or was changed at the last minute, or was so basic that groups were left with no "real plans". Culturally, Americans LIKE structure, so it left a lot of people paralyzed in ministry settings when there was none. I smile now because wisdom has taught me that God doesn't call us to live our lives by set structures. He calls us to live our lives by purpose. That purpose is simply to know Him intimately, and then to make Him known. When we live our lives by structure alone, we lose our purpose. But when we choose to live our lives by purpose, structure and setup don't really matter.
     From one perspective, I'm going home to no money, no job, and no real plans. My friends and family have been thru the fire this year in major crises, and are struggling under the weight of burdens I cannot lift. My country is facing a possible recession, tensions are high and jobs are slim. I'm coming off of a year of incredible ministry, having seen more than ever the world's need for a Savior. I'm broken over the suffering I've encountered and the people I've left behind. I recall my travels with tears of joy and heartache. I return to a community of people I love, yet who won't know me anymore...and I feel overwhelmed. I get restless and anxious and consider hopping a train to Greece instead.
     Then God speaks. And he says, "Your purpose is found in me." And I cry because even though I don't feel ready for the season to change, He says its time. I know that its simply a matter of perspective I face. My purpose is not in what my plans are or where in the world I find myself. My purpose is to continue getting to know Him intimately, so that when I get home again... I can make those things known to everyone else. I have something to give these people I love back home. I don't know the depths of it, but He does. In His infinite love for them, He will use me in new ways. For what else does Christ build Himself up in us, if not to pour Himself out again for others?

So, there are tears in the homecoming, but there is joy, too. I close a chapter of my life that has been hard, challenging, amazing and spiritually overwhelming. But I open a new one, and the story will only get better.

British Puke and Circus Mice

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Well, for anyone who doesn't know what living in a hostel entails, the blog title is all-telling. Its really an eye-opening experience to staff a hostel, much more so to minister in one. Every day is a new adventure, with new guests and new conversations. Sometimes we have returners (like the odd Dutch kid who spent some time in an institution and can often say very strange things, or like Andy, the melodramatic British guy who's world is always coming to an end so he must spend his last few Euros on hot chocolate before the "game's over"), but most often we have new guests. This quick turnover keeps us on our toes and puts an urgency to sharing faith.

Our staff is comprised of about 15 unique individuals from 5 different countries, and 4 Dutch managers. We all share the burden of keeping the wild shelter beast under control. There's a lot of silliness involved, and a lot of prayer, too. We're all pretty close, since we began at the same time -- which has never happened before. After 4 months of extensive renovations, the Shelter Jordan opened its doors with an all-new staff -- us! Usually, people roll in and out of the shelter's ministry every month or two. It can be difficult to form in-depth friendships with such quick turnovers. So, we feel blessed to have had this time together. Only now, after 3 months, are some of us moving on.
Given my previous ministries on the field, I didn't feel very challenged in my first month here. The international community living is a breeze. Cooking and serving in the cafe is fun. The city is amazing. I was beginning to wonder if I was just going to sail thru these 3 months without any real growth when management approached me about being a Cleaner Supervisor. Cleaners are those that keep our hostel beds made and bathrooms in shiny shape. Any able-bodied person can apply to be a cleaner for up to 4 weeks. They work in exchange for food and lodging. As a result, we end up with all sorts of folks. So, I took on this special ministry of commandeering the cleaning crew, which also requires me to do a devotional with them each morning. My ideas about spiritual challenges quickly flew out the window as I smiled at the irony of God's plans.
My first crew held a very bitter Bosnian guy named Emir, a new Christian Belgian named Andre and an adorable non-religious Mexican named Erick. I enjoyed the very transparent conversations with Emir about "christians" and Christians (meaning those who call themselves Christians but exhibit un-Christlike behaviors, and those rare few that really are Christians). Despite his bitterness towards the church, he still admitted a surprising respect for Jesus, a radical man who lived in a religious society. He proposes that if Jesus were here now, people would kill him again.
My second crew held a Canadian Christian named Laura, an athiest British pot-head named Andrew, and a very outspoken blind Hungarian Christian, John. They were fun. After Laura returned to Canada, I got Steve, an Australian Buddhist. Since his arrival, our morning devotionals have really taken off. Andrew loves to debate, and Steve always has a unique "energy" or "karma" perspective to throw in. Both of them are jokesters, and poor John just gives up and sits in silence until things calm down. Basically, I run a three-ring circus at the hostel and we call it "cleaning". They have challenged me more than ever in my life to always be ready with an answer for what I believe in. Although my daily preparations are very extensive, our talks inevitably turn towards science vs faith, or hot topics that most Christians avoid. I love it because it shows they're thinking. They realize they have the freedom to converse at ease about anything, and that I'll always offer a solid faith perspective to the best of my understanding.
I do my best to serve their needs, and to show grace, love and truth in every instance. I absolutely believe this is only one small stop in their journey of discovering who God is. Most of these guys think they'll know when they die what the truth about God is, but I take pleasure in telling them that God will reveal Himself to them much sooner than that. In the mean time, we busy ourselves with making beds, mopping floors and fighting the wall-climbing circus mice in the storage room. They're always paying attention to how we deal with things from a grace perspective. When British soccer players get loaded and puke in the dorm 3 nights in a row (chunky puke, at that!), and I volunteer to clean it up for them, it's a lesson in humility. Every moment is a testimony to who Jesus is in our lives. So, I praise God for the cleaners because they truly bring out Jesus in me, and he's definitely my better half.

Red Lights

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Sunday, I was on my knees in prayer for several things when I heard the quietest voice tell me to go to the Red Light District and pray. At first, I wasn't sure it was the Lord. So I stopped praying and waited. Again, the voice said to go directly after church and pray thru the district. Well, in the past I've had my Race buddies with me when prayer walking, especially in such spiritually dark areas. I wasn't worried for my physical safety, as Amsterdam isn't such a place where one worries so much for that. I was considering my spiritual strength and whether I could battle what was there alone. I trust the Lord in all of these situations, so I knew He would take care of me. But, I couldn't have prepared myself enough for what I saw when I got there.

The area is much bigger than I could have imagined. There are over 900 windows where girls advertise themselves, practically naked. They stand in the glass, beckoning men over as they walk by and gawk. Some of them smile and wave, coyly, while others just stand and stare. Those without windows work the bars or separate establisments, by the thousands. They are of all shapes, sizes, colors and ages. The only thing they have in common is that they find themselves in the same awful situation day after day...trying to survive by selling their bodies. Information released recently says that four out of five prostitutes here are held against their will by pimps and criminals. Over half of the girls are trafficked in from other countries and forced to work the streets. When the legal age for a girl to work is 16, I simply cannot understand how the people of Holland can allow this to continue. Dutch government is finally making promises to crack down on the 750-year-old business, but refuses to abolish it. (While the prostitutes are paying taxes, the government profits.) The new regulations they're implementing don't seem to be of much value, but at least its a start.

During my time in the RLD, I walked thru narrow strips, passing window after window and woman after woman. None of them made eye contact with me as I passed and I knoew they were ashamed. I wanted to whisper thru the glass "God knows you're here and He wants to set you free." But, it wasn't the time for conversation. Even on a Sunday, crowds of young men were blazing through there, consumed with lust and desire. At one particular place, I came to an alley that had a dead end and I could feel a very deep evil, but I summoned my courage and trudged through, praying for God's protection and rebuking Satan's grip on the area. I got to the end and turned to make my way back. In that moment, I felt a shift around me as if I wasn't alone. Yet, it was a presence of holy strength and I believe I was surrounded by some of God's heavenly warriors. I knew there was a battle raging around me that I couldn't see with my eyes, but felt in my spirit. I walked in confidence, knowing that God was protecting me, wanting simply to deliver the message he'd given me. There was no mistaking the fact that I was deep in the Enemy's territory, and I had no arrogance about it. Every time I made it thru to the open street, I inhaled deeply as if I had been suffocating. Then, I turned around and went back for more.

I finished my time there with a heavy heart. I know it is only one of many times I'll pray there, but tangibly, I feel powerless. I cannot convince this country to make a stand against prostitution and I cannot put a stop to sex trafficking. I cannot bring judgment to the criminals and justice to the oppressed. I can do none of these things but, all praise to God, He can do everything and more. If I cry out to Him, He will hear me. If I put myself on my knees and ask for His mercy, I shall have it. If I proclaim freedom for the captives, I trust He will honor it. If I commit to fight for the women in the RLD, in spirit and truth, He says I shall have the victory because I have the authority given by Jesus to cast out demons and rebuke evil. Darkness will hide because the light will overcome it.

I see that it's not only for hostel guests that I'm here. It seems that God has prepared me for so much more. I am here to join the fight against the principalities of Amsterdam, and I am ready, with the heavenly host as my defenders.

The words of the prophet, Isaiah, ring out in my heart today:

"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has appointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted and to announce that captives will be released and prisoners will be freed. He has sent me to tell those who mourn that the time of the Lord's favor has come, and with it, the day of God's anger against their enemies. To all who mourn in Israel, he will give beauty for ashes, joy instead of mourning, praise instead of despair. For the Lord has planted them like strong and graceful oaks for his own glory. " (Isaiah 61:1-3)

*** Join me in praying for an end to sex trafficking in Holland, for a release of the women held here against their will, and for a revival to birth in Amsterdam. Pray for the spiritual warfare going on, and the strength of our staff. Let it be ever-present in our minds what women around the world endure every day, so that as we actively pray, we'll see hope restored and the doors of brothels close forever.

The Road Less Traveled

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Although this news is old to most, I feel I must be clear to our faithful blog readers. Over a month ago, while in Manila with my Race squad, the option to leave the race was presented to me. Seth has always been clear that his vision for the Race is that we would find our role in the Kingdom, and pursue that with abandon. He wants to see us realizing who we are in Christ and reaching for our own potential. He acknowledges that the Race is just a means to an end, a launching pad for our personal journey of faith and trust in God. All that being said, I never imagined that, when I prepared for a year of travel and refinement within one small body of believers, I would find myself saying my goodbyes early and marching off into the great unknown with only my faith in Jesus to lead me. Truthfully, I had been looking forward to Central American ministry as a great way to end a great year. It would have been a marvelous blessing to my Latino-loving heart, but it most certainly wouldn't have been a challenge. Instead of rebuilding hurricane-ravaged areas in Nicaragua, I find myself across the world rebuilding the Church.

People constantly wonder how I got here and what put this in my heart? All I can say is that God's plans are out of our hands and always better than we can imagine. I've been dreaming of Europe this year, and more recently, of what a Christian hostel ministry would look like. Now, I'm living my dream, working for the Shelter Youth Hostel Ministry in Amsterdam. I can look back through my journal entries and see how God was preparing me for this. I marvel at how He makes all things good and orchestrates all things to prosper us. Again and again, I see how circumstances over my life have been training for the ministry I've done this past year, and the ministry I'm doing now. Yesterday, God told me that even now He's training me for ministry in another city, one that will require a bolder step in evangelism. What an awesome thing to know and look forward to!!

So, here I am, in a city that once thrived on Christianity, but has become a town that legalizes prostitution and drug use. Instead of caring for the poor, the sick & the orphans, I'm ministering to world travelers from all walks of life and all sides of religion. My life is the multi-cultural extreme. I live in an international community of believers -- staffing the hostel alongside Belgians, French, Germans, Dutch and Americans. I flip burgers and teach bible to folks from everywhere you can imagine. I lead tours through the historic Jordaan neighborhood, hoping to unravel life and truth for my listeners. I build relationships with our guests and share my hope, faith and love for a God that's made me who I am today. I walk the Red Light District, crying out for freedom and restoration. I ask God to do mighty things here... and I wait, expectant.
It's never been easy to close chapters in my life and start new ones. I'm not a fan of goodbyes or puffy, red faces. But I took my chances and chose this path, one that entails the same journey with different surroundings. On my last night, the team took me to dinner and gave me a fabulous "sending off" that still makes me smile. I have memories to last a lifetime and friends to accompany them. When I think about them all, I wonder what it would be like to be there, still. I may never know which path was best, which was most exciting, or which required the most of me. But, I do know that both are good and both seek the same prize at the end of the race. When I made my leave, I considered what I was doing and an old poem came to mind, one that speaks of forks just like this. I have a peace and joy for where I am now, and a growing excitement for what's in store. My wisdom, should you also come to a fork and not know which way is best, is to trust in God's sovereignty and His purposes for your life. Both ways are good, and maybe one is best...but you will never know. You simply must choose. May God bless your journey with all sorts of terrain, both rocky and smooth, and may He bless your little feet, which carry the Good News.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.

--Robert Frost

How can you teach a parent to Love?

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 00:00:00 GMT

People say that when you have a baby, you just automatically love it. They say its natural. They say your motherly instincts would cause you to do anything to protect its tiny life. They've probably never taken a walk down a rural dirt road in a 3rd world country to visit some of its poorest inhabitants. They've probably never stepped off into the brush, gone down the muddy path and looked behind the banana trees. They've probably never met the Rosales family...living in a tiny bamboo shack, 10x10ft, with holes in its roof and floorboards missing. I'm sure they've never seen parents choose who gets to eat vs. who can wait another day. I'm positive they haven't, because when you experience life from this angle you come to realize that what they say isn't true for everyone. Sometimes you have to teach a parent to love.

I was asked by Cory, my missionary contact for the month, to check in on the Rosales' while I was in Ubay. She wanted me to spend some time getting to know them and teaching the family better hygiene. Cory had met Cecilia and Josing (the parents) a couple months before when she had helped rush their son, Jerick, to the hospital on the verge of death. He was full of worms and they were literally killing him. He survived the incident, but Cory had been too busy to check back on the family. I gladly accepted the task, knowing that it would be my special ministry for the month. Cory volunteered to accompany me and make the formal introductions.
When we arrived at the tiny house, we found ourselves in the midst of a crisis. Jerick, 5, and Jelly, 10, were outside hanging around while Cecilia was inside with 3 very sick kids. We fumbled our way in, stepping carefully on the unstable floor, and squatted down to investigate them. Cecilia fussed with her hair, nervous and embarrassed. Jessalyn, 7, was swollen and seemed to be in great pain. She was too weak to cry, her mouth covered in sores. Flies buzzed all around and the look in her eyes cried for help. Jenjen, 3, was held by her mother, limp as a rag doll. She was so thin that I could see her heart beating through her skin, and all of her bones. She, too, was too weak to cry. Ginnie, 1, was fussy with diarrhea, equally malnourished as the others.
We advised the mother that the girls needed to go to the hospital and quickly made arrangements. Within a couple hours, I found myself riding in the back of a pick-up for almost 3 hours into town. It took another 3 hours to get the kids checked in and settled into rooms. We had to purchase all of the medications in advance, along with food and diapers. None of these things are provided in Filipino hospitals. (It's quite an ordeal!) All of the kids were classified as severely malnourished. Jenjen was found to have pneumonia and worms (one of which she coughed up later -- 12inches long). The other residents and medical staff couldn't stop gawking at the condition of the children. We left them in the ICU and headed home.

The next day, we returned to check on the rest of the family. Josing (father) arranged for a ride to Tagbilaran to join his wife in caring for the girls, leaving his other kids to fend for themselves. Cory and I quickly decided to bring 4 of the kids to her house where we could "fatten them up" as quickly as possible. They were excited for the warm bed, the food and, of course, the TV. Our plans changed rapidly when the first night found one child vomiting and another with explosive diarrhea. So, next day, I headed back to the hospital with Jelly on my lap and disappointment in my heart. (Jerick rode backseat with a friend.) Several hours later, I stood staring at half of the Rosales kids hooked up to IVs, wondering how a family can get to this point. They have 10 kids and one on the way. Only 2 of the kids are in school and at least 5 of them are so malnourished that they're years behind in growth.

The leaky roof has given them all bronchitis. Jelly is deaf in one ear, the result of an injury. Jerick's front teeth are black with decay. Jessalyn's legs are so swollen she can't stand or keep control of her bowels. (Her edema comes from severe protein deficiency.) She had bedsores when we found her and utters a pitiful cry of pain when touched. Jenjen never smiles, her eyes have no joy, no life. Baby Ginnie doesn't speak, crawl or walk. Yet, still, Josing is healthy enough to have a beer belly, and lazy enough to find excuses for not working every day. I can see that Cecilia cares for her children, but isn't moved to do more or ask for help. Josing could spend his time fixing the house, fishing, planting a garden or working odd jobs. Instead, he spends it drinking, gambling or wandering around.

So, how do you convince someone that their selfishness will cost the lives of their children? How do you show them that years of neglect have stunted the growth, health and happiness of innocent babies? How do you tell them that help is there if they're not too proud to ask? How do you inspire them to WANT a better life? These things seem simple to communicate, and simple to prove. Unfortunately, it's not an issue of capability or money, its an issue of love...and that goes much, much deeper. But, how do you teach a parent to love their own children?....

Jenjen-3, Jerick-5, Jessalyn-7, Ginnie-1

And this was the ministry God chose for me in the Philippines - to Love my neighbor as Jesus has loved me. So, every day, 3x a day, I walked to the Rosales house. We brought food for the kids, to continue our plan of "fattening them up." We spoon-fed them until they could feed themselves, and dished out medicines & vitamins every meal. I made 2 more visits to the doctor and gave countless hugs and smiles. I got Jelly into school for the first time, and saw Jerick walking by himself. I heard Jessalyn and Jenjen speak, finally. I became friends with Cecilia and shared a lot of laughs. By the time I left, I felt good about their recovery, and positive they'd felt my love. I put up a brave front when saying good-byes, but wavered when little Jerick cried. Like a good ending to a movie, I pulled away with all the neighbor kids running behind, waving. I waved back, praying that their lives would continue with joyful adventures, unblemished by neglect and misfortune.

Now, as my journey carries me across the world,... far from a little barrio named Casate, in a little town called Ubay, on a little island in the Philippines,...I often think about the Rosales kids. I think about how easy it is to love them, and I wonder if my example made any difference at all to their parents. I wonder if my time with Cecilia was well spent, and if I was able to teach her to love with grace and selflessness. I wonder if they'll remember me as well as I'll remember them. I pray that their lives would be an example of how God always makes good out of the bad, no matter what.

Pray for the Rosales family --
1) that Josing becomes responsible for his children, gets a job and puts his family's needs before his own. 2) that Cecilia would take more ownership of the situation, see the health of her kids as priority, and STOP having babies. 3) that Jelly, Janice and Jinky would stay in school as long as they can. 4) that Jessalyn, Jenjen & Jerick would make a full recovery. 5) that Cory and her staff would have wisdom in what to do with the family in the future as they continue to minister to them.

Jinky-12, Janice-9

Facts on Rosales Kids:

Jinky - 12 yrs old, fed by neighbors, good size, good weight, goes to school
Jelly -10 yrs old, size of 5 yr old, malnourished, never been to school, 34lbs.
Janice - 9 yrs old, bigger than Jelly, good size, good weight, goes to school
Jessalyn - 7 yrs old, size of 5 yr old, severe edema, malnourished, never been to school
Jerick - 5 yrs old, size of 3 yr old, 20 lbs, severely malnourished
Jenjen - 3 yrs old, size of 1 yr old, 12lbs, severely malnourished, pneumonia, worms
Ginnie - 1 yr old, size of 3 months, 12lbs, severely malnourished

Merry Christmas!

Sun, 23 Dec 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Well, China's weather certainly suited Christmas time much better, but the spirit in the Philippines far outweighs the spiritual depression of last month. We have officially arrived in the Manila area, after having suffered through a long delayed flight and a 2am pick-up. Our contacts are awesome, and our house is perfect. I haven't seen much of the area yet, but that will have to wait, too. At 4am, we head off to our Christmas on the Island, Filipino style. We're all thrilled to have a few days of total relaxation, combined with a short debrief. I feel at home in the humidity (shorts on Christmas day!), but regret to share that I've been sick for a week now and still haven't recovered. Pray for me! I need to kick this sinus infection and fever. Its no fun to be down for the holidays and a beach retreat.

I have plenty to share about China and our time there, but it will have to wait until I can compose things. So, hang on for a little longer. In the mean time, I want to highlight a few blogs i posted a month ago that didn't get much attention. They were blogs from Thailand, not listed in my most Recent posts. Please take time to read the information about our ministry there. Look under Thailand (ch 4) and select:

Bar Ministry -- which shares what it was like ministering at the bars in Bangkok

Come to the Fountain -- which shares about the Well's ministry to prostitutes

the Ultimate Brideprice -- which shares more of my heart about sex for sale in Thailand

the Brokenness of Man -- which shares what I see affecting men today

When I looked in her eyes, I knew she was Natasha -- my experience with the global sex trade

These should keep you busy until you hear from me again. We're all doing our best to get time on the internet for calling and emailing for Christmas, but things are a bit slower here. Everyone has enjoyed the packages, letters, presents and candy they're receiving. The Philippines is a great place to spend the holidays -- the whole country seems to be decorated in lights. (I almost have a mind to go Christmas caroling around our neighborhood). It's nice to be here, but I'm still dreaming of home and Christmas on the Bayou.

I'll get my thoughts together on China as soon as I can. In the meantime, ck out Allison Johnston's blog for a fun Christmas Video, compliments of the June World Race team. (I'm not on it, I was pretty sick that day). Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas, one and all.

Love, Elizabeth

Top 10 Things I Miss Most at Christmas

Sun, 23 Dec 2007 00:00:00 GMT

10. Smelling the Christmas Tree, and decorating it in old-school COLORED lights

9. Christmas Caroling with best friends

8. Annual Family Dinner Mishaps (ie: turkey on fire...drop dressing in driveway...etc)

7. Christmas Eve tradition of lighting luminaries (white bags with candles lining the streets of my town)

6. Seeing my family -- ALL of it

5. Mrs. Thompson's Pecan Pie

4. Mom's Cornbread Dressing

3. Dad's smoked duck

2. Aunt Vina's deviled eggs (Nobody makes eggs like Aunt Vina)

1. LEFTOVERS

Fern's Testimony : Forgotten Woman no more

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

I met Fern on my first day at Narimon. She's a gentle, kind woman who I'm proud to call my friend now. She's funny and good-natured, selfless and dedicated. She works hard, studies hard and busies herself empowering people around her. Her faith is unwavering. It's been a joy to work alongside her and it would give me no greater pleasure than to see her succeed as a missionary, which is her heart's desire. I know it is the Well staff's desire that all of their disciples will reach this point, too, where they choose to serve God no matter the cost. I've promised to use my great networking skills in her honor, missionary supporting fellow missionary. Please take a minute to read her story, and then another minute to pray for her. Reach into your pockets and bless this girl. She deserves it!!

From FERN (22 yrs old):

When I was 8 years old, a World Vision employee came to my school and signed me up for their sponsor program. I soon found out that someone from Spain, a teacher, would be my sponsor. He wrote me letters twice a month for 6 years, sending money to cover schooling, supplies and uniform. Each time my sponsor sent letters and gifts, the WV employee would have to deliver them to my house in the mountains. Then, he would stay and teach me for an hour about Jesus. I didn't know what to think about Jesus, but I thought a lot about the man who was sponsoring me and why he wanted to help me. My own father didn't give me the things my sponsor did. He didn't care for me in the same way. Now, I can understand why this man loved me - because he loved God first. I didn't feel loved in my family, but I felt loved by this man across the world in Spain who would write me letters twice a month. At the time, when the WV employee told me that Jesus loved me, I didn't believe him because I thought he just wanted to encourage me. It wasn't until much later, when I had nothing else in my life to hope in, that I was able to realize how much God does, and always has, loved me. He was always there, caring for me.
Although everyone else in the world has forgotten me, God has never forsaken me. Boyfriends have abandoned me when they learned about my past, but God has never left me and I want to honor him with my testimony. It's not important who comes and goes in my life. What I know is that God will never leave me. There is a song in Thai about a forgotten woman. In the song, she tells someone, "If you love me, don't ask about my past. Love me for my heart and forgive me for my past. If you love me, don't think about my past. Forgive my past because I didn't want those things to happen to me." In Thailand, every woman is thinking about this. They all have bad pasts and they can't forget them. Thai men have a hard time forgiving women for their past. My husband never forgave me. When I heard that song for the first time, I cried, realizing my life mirrored the life of the woman in the song.
I grew up with no warmth in my family. My dad and mom were separated and I had to stay with my dad because my mom didn't want me. Dad was an alcoholic and he didn't care much about me. I stayed at home alone most of the time. When I was hungry, the neighbors had pity on me and gave me food. I longed to be loved.
Eventually, my dad moved to a bigger town called Ayutthaya to work. He left me to stay with my mom, but she didn't care about me at all. She only cared for her son. One Saturday, my mom took her son out for the afternoon, leaving me alone with my step-father. He came into my room, drunk; he pushed and raped me that day. I never told my mother. He raped me numerous times within the 3 months I stayed with them. It became a bitter root in my life. I finally told my mother about what her husband had done to me and she yelled at me saying that I deserved it because I might have flirted with her husband. I was hurting. Instead of protecting me, my mom protected her husband. So, I told my dad about it and he took me to the police. They sent me to be examined by a doctor, who found evidence of numerous rapes. Because I had waited so long to report it, they were unable to check DNA samples. My step-father would not receive any punishment for his rape and abuse. I swore to myself that I would never talk to my mom again. Today, just the mention of her name brings great pain. It was in the wake of all this that I became addicted to drugs.
Also, at this time, while dating a guy, I became pregnant. Although my friends suggested abortion, I chose to marry the guy and have the child. I thought he would give me love and warmth, but it was nothing like I dreamed. He drank, gambled and was very unfaithful to me.While drunk, he would say terrible things to me and confess my past to everyone else. He often beat me. I finally ran away from him when he had an affair with my cousin.
While I was crying at the bus station, I met a woman who prayed for me and gave me her phone number. I came to Bangkok and stayed with my aunt for six months, working in a factory and a hotel. I wasn't happy with my life and had no guidance. At this time, I met another guy whom I loved very much. He said he loved me, so I wanted to spend my life with him. We had been dating for a year and a half, when I heard that he got married to another woman. My heart was broken and I had nowhere to turn.
I called the woman that I met at the bus station. She took me to The Well. Even though I didn't have a bargirl background, they accepted me because of the abuse I suffered from my husband and step-father; they knew I needed a place of refuge to rest my heart. While staying at The Well, I learned about Jesus, but my heart wasn't open to him yet. All I could think about was the guy that I loved who'd married another woman. I went back to him and he led me to believe that we could be together. In the end, he only embarrassed me in front of my friends and laughed at my pain.
I didn't want to live any longer. I grew despondent and took many sleeping pills. I returned to my room at The Well, locking myself in there. Then one of my friends saw smoke coming out of my room. Thinking there was a fire inside, she called the staff. They opened the room, but there was no fire. There was no smoke. God was simply showing them that I was in danger. Two staff members took me to the hospital and the doctor pumped my stomach just in time. If we had not arrived when we did, I would have died that day. This incident brought me to repent and turn totally to God. I gave Him all of my sins. God gave me love, love that is so different from this world. My own mom disowned and denied me, but God has not. God loves me with an unlimited, forgiving love, regardless of whether I am a good or a bad person. My life's so different now. It's fresh. God gave me new life and new love. He is my constant, consistent friend. I find warmth in Him. I know that He's walking with me all the time. God remembers me. He's writing my name on his palm. I'm not the forgotten woman anymore.

I've been working at the well for almost 2 years now. God has taught me so much about Himself, real love and positive relationships. Besides making jewelry, I've been helping with outreach and translating for volunteer teams. I soon realized that God's calling me into missions and will be serving with YWAM, beginning January 2008. Even though I have no money, little education and no experience, I'm very excited and can't wait to see how God can use my life to honor him and bless others. I used to want to be a soldier in Thailand, but then I found out I could be a soldier for Jesus and thought this was even better. I'm only 22, but I know I am willing to endure anything to serve the Lord. So, I head out in a few months to begin my life as a missionary. I'm raising support. It's not easy, but I know God will provide because He always has. I have to raise appx $2,000 to cover my 6 months of training and living expenses in Thailand. I will be sad to leave Bangkok, which I love very much, but I can't wait to start DTS (discipleship training school). If you're interested in supporting me, please donate online to the Grace Fund at The Well's website, including a note that it's specifically for Fern. God bless you!

Jo's Testimony: Missionary in the Making

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Jo (29 years old) has been working with the Well for awhile now. She's married to Supon and they're expecting their third child in January. She has a great burden to share the Good News with the people in her home village, Pliweng, in Burilam province. With the support of The Well, she has decided to return to her village and begin a ministry there, and a church. It will function as a daughter church of The Well of Good News church in Bangkok. Jo has no idea how to start a ministry, but she'll do the best she can with what she's learned at the Well. She'll use her tools - discipleship, love, grace, patience and personal investment. These are all things that she experienced first hand, so she will duplicate them in Pliweng. Through the Well's ministry to her, she learned how to walk with Christ in spiritual discipline. She learned to give people a chance, and forgive them when they do wrong. She has grown in knowledge and understanding of God's word, which she'll teach to women and children in the village. Despite her apparent spiritual preparation, she is worried. She feels lacking in experience and wonders how she'll manage to pastor other people, how she'll effectively start a new church, and how difficult it will be to minister in a village of 300 families, none of which are Christian. She worries that the villagers will only remember her past, and refuse to see her changed heart. I, on the other hand, look at who she is and can't help but smile. She's got a huge heart, great patience and limitless mercy. She's built to be a pastor, a mother to the lost. I see everything that God has done in her life and everything that He will do through her dedication to Him. I see a difficult road ahead, full of spiritual warfare and constant attack. But I also see the blessing of new life, and a church that will plant light in the darkness. As sure as she plants a seed, will salvation spring up. I'm thrilled and filled with love at having known her. She's invited me to Burilam, and I pray that I get there one day. I asked Jo to share her story with you, as a product of the Well ministry, and this is what she said

I had a life just like other village people. I had a family, husband and kids, but I was very greedy. I wanted to be accepted by the neighbors. I collected money and started to build a house. We didn't have enough money to finish the house so we took out a loan. I sent my husband to work abroad. After asking for another loan, we owed about $11,500. While my husband was working abroad, I worked in the rice fields and took care of my mom and kids. My husband was gone for about 3 years. The distance between us caused our relationship to go downhill. A rumor began to circulate that I was cheating on my husband, but it wasn't true. The rumor made me distraught, and mistrust entered the relationship. After this rumor I didn't take care of my family; I started drinking and slept with other guys. My husband slept with prostitutes abroad too. With my family broken, I left and worked in Kangkoi for a year. I passed the time in a drunken stupor while I drifted from guy to guy. I returned home for 2 days, and made a decision to work in a bar in Pattaya. I went there alone with no idea what kind of life was in front of me. I had $57 with me, and stayed in a hotel that night. I met 2 guys down in the lobby. They volunteered to take me to apply for a job in a bar, but instead they raped me numerous times over the course of a few days. They sent me to work in a bar. While working there, I remember staying with 3 other women. I slept in front of the bathroom in the crowded room. My roommates were using amphetamines and marijuana. I worked from 5 PM to 5 AM. It was exhausting. Everyday I walked on the beach searching for a Buddha idol to pray with. My life had no hope. I didn't get enough customers to survive financially, so I went to work in Bangkok. I got a job working in a beer bar on Sukhumvit. Since there were less customers, I made no money. I didn't have enough money to buy food each day or pay for my rent. The landlord finally kicked me out of the apartment. One day, the staff from The Well came to my bar and told me about their program. I desperately wanted to quit, so I joined The Well. I received Christ, learned about Jesus, and repented from my past. I tried to quit drinking and smoking, but I couldn't. One day I prayed and asked God to help me turn away from the bad stuff in my life: drugs, smoking, drinking, and sex with guys. He changed me. Now I have a new life with Jesus. I love to work with Him, study His words, and pray to Him. Now, I'm born again. I'm ready to return to my village and share Jesus with everyone. Old Jo has died. I'm a new person. Thank God for His cleansing love. The world had forgotten me, but God gave me another chance for a new life in Him.

I hope Jo's story has touched your heart as it touched mine when I heard it. I love this woman so much. If you desire to be part of supporting her with a one-time gift, or monthly for her first year of ministry, please contact The Well in Bangkok. She and her husband, Supon, have virtually no money. They are true missionaries and tent makers. Please take a moment to pray for Jo, Supon and the Well. God will provide for their needs, no doubts. Ask yourself if He wants to do that through you. You can give online to the Well, designating your gift for Jo in the Grace Fund at www.servantworks.com/donate

Joy to the World !

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Hey, real quick, like everybody else has said...here's our address for Christmas.
Keep in mind, there are over 50 of us at the same address and I know the post office will hate us if you ALL send packages. So, please, limit yourself to a card-sized gift if you MUST send something, or a really great letter. Please don't waste your money on cards with no letters attached. And, quite honestly, a better gift would be a donation to my support account! Or... a personal check mailed to my home address in Louisiana. I'd rather you put that extra postage money towards something besides post, know what I mean?? :)

Happy Thanksgiving and MERRY CHRISTMAS to you all!!!!

Love, Elizabeth

Elizabeth Scaife AIM
c/o Jeff Long
Faith Academy
PO Box 2016
0706 MCPO
Makati City
Philippines

OR.... (personal checks made out to me)...

Elizabeth c/o Mike Scaife
58 Lurline Dr.
Covington, LA 70433

the Enemy attacks

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

    A couple weeks ago in Siem Reap, I was sleeping in the room I shared with Julie, Jenny and Jane when I was awakened to a presence. I had no idea what time it was, or what was going on, but before I even came fully awake, I was whispering prayers. It was an immediate spiritual reaction to what I realized was an unwelcome visitor. Terrified to open my eyes, my heart pounded in my chest as I fervently prayed against the dark presence in my room. I was so terrified that I didn't move a muscle or call out to my friends, but just continued to pray. I felt that it was hovering directly over me for several long minutes. Then, I felt a pressure on the bed on either side of my body, as if it was leaning over my face, propping itself up with hands placed next to me. I began to quietly sing lines of praise songs. My mind was fogged and I felt weak in fight, but I couldn't give up and I couldn't stop praying. When I felt a little safer, I reached over and turned on my ipod to blast some worship music into the darkness, breathing deep and speaking with more authority against the demon. Finally, I felt that it had left me. Julie stirred above me and I prayed for her, afraid that it was bothering her. Eventually, I fell asleep again.
   The next day, I woke with hazy memories of the encounter, wondering if I'd created something out of nothing, or had a bad dream that caused me to believe there was something in the room. Over coffee, I told Jane about my night and she asked if I'd spoken to Sean about his visitor the previous night. I had not, so I approached him later. He recounted his experience, which had taken place the night before mine, mirroring my own. He, too, was woken to an evil presence, terrified. He, too, couldn't open his eyes or move a muscle. And he, too, prayed and worshiped until it left. I was amazed. I decided to take inventory of the team. Cristie had been experiencing some bizarre demonic activity, as well. Steve, a missionary buddy living downstairs, had actually seen someone sitting next to his bed in the middle of the night. Sokley and Roselette, his partners, had seen things in their room, too. It was time for battle.
   We gathered as a staff three days later to worship and pray over the property and house. The family hosting us said that the place had sat empty for a long time before they rented it, and they had no idea what went on beforehand. We anointed the grounds and doors, covering everything in the Word of the Lord. This is not the first time we have experienced anything demonic as a team, and will certainly not be the last. I share this with you all to reinforce the fact that our travels take us to places where the Enemy roams freely. His presence is welcomed by the religious practices of the people in these places. He seeks to steal, kill and destroy. He hates us and will do anything to put fear in our hearts and cause us to fail. We need your prayer covering more and more every day, especially as we travel now to a country that does not welcome Christians. I go in confidence, trusting that every step I take has been ordained by God. I fear nothing but my own potential. I challenge you all to pray for us every day, trusting God with our lives. And I challenge you to believe that we move with the Holy Spirit as our Guide, our Protector and our Helpmate. If we truly seek the heart of God, we will not fail.

Commit your work to the Lord, and then your plans will succeed.
Proverbs16:3

Shout with joy to the Lord, O earth! Worship the Lord with gladness. Come before him, singing with joy. Acknowledge that the Lord is God! He made us, and we are his. We are his people, the sheep of his pasture. Enter his gates with thanksgiving; go into his courts with praise. Give thanks to him and bless his name. For the Lord is good. His unfailing love continues forever, and his faithfulness continues to each generation.
Psalm 100

Praise the Lord, all you nations. Praise him, all you people of the earth. For he loves us with unfailing love; the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever. Praise the Lord!
Psalm 117

Revisiting Thailand

Fri, 9 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Ok, everyone. This is my warning blog... where I'm warning you that I've finally composed all of my blogs from Thailand. While its over a month behind schedule, there were so many things I experienced there that I want supporters to know. Hope you find time to read them and see what it was like for our team. At the time, it was too much to write about. Now, I regret that I didn't force myself to do it, for your sake.
I'll be posting about 10 new blogs on Thailand, and will come back later to change the dates.
These blogs actually occurred in September, but they'll be dated for November.
Make sure to read the ones about Fern and Jo. Their stories are important.
Thanks, and Happy Thanksgiving to you all!!! I praise God for your faithfulness in our lives.

Children of Cambodia's Killing Fields - a survivor's memoir

Thu, 8 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

What follows is an excerpt from Children of Cambodia's Killing Fields, a collection of memoirs by child survivors. Youkimny Chan was sponsored in 1980 by Catholic Social Services in MN. He received an education in the states following the Khmer Rouge and is now a social worker in Long Beach, CA. This is his story

*********************************************************************
   When I was just a little boy I would sit with my sister Sinuoen in our swing under a coconut tree. She would read stories to me about amazing places. We would talk and sing songs together and sometimes listen to soap operas on the radio. I loved my sister and I loved those happy times we spent together. In the evenings we would sit under the full moon and listen to the crickets and the coconut tree leaves rustling in the breeze. We would talk about what we wanted to do when we grew up. It was good growing up in Cambodia.
   In the afternoon, while the adults napped, the children would go down to the river to swim. The beaches of the Mekong River were wide and sandy, and the river was blue and sparkling. My friends and I would splash and yell and then run onto the beach and start a game of soccer or hopscotch or volleyball. If we got hungry, there were always fruit trees nearby, heavy with mangos, coconuts, and bananas. The Cambodia I knew as a child was a beautiful place. Things grew quickly there. Hibiscus and roses of all colors filled the air with fragrance. My grandmother would bring armfuls of flowers into our house every day. We lived in a garden. When I close my eyes I can still see the blue skies and the tropical flowers. I can still see the laughing faces of my friends and family.
   My family was very close. My father, who was a captain, in the Cambodian army, had died of malaria when I was three years old, but my grandparents took me, my mother, and my brothers and sisters to live with them. They became my second parents. I always thought of my grandfather as my real father. Although he was gone often, when he was at home he made time for his grandchildren. I respected him and loved him deeply. My mother was a professional nurse and was very respected by people who knew her.
   My oldest sister, Sinoy, was already married and had three children. My brother, Kimhour, who was seven years older than I, was a student at the University of Cambodia and a well-known soccer player. My favorite sibling was Sinuoen, who was five years older than I. She was always patient with me. The youngest in my family was my little brother, Sombo. With my grandparents, we lived in a very large house that had been in the family for generations. It was a beautiful house and it had wonderful black hardwood floors. My grandmother was so proud of those shiny floors. She waxed them every day with coconut skins, kerosene and candle wax to make them glow.
   In 1974, the Khmer Rouge took over all the small villages surrounding Phnom Penh, as my grandfather predicted. Soon after that, the bombing of our city began. When the shelling of Phnom Penh started, we were frightened, but we were also a little relieved. We knew that the war would soon be over. Many people from the small towns around us had fled to Phnom Penh as their villages were attacked and destroyed. Many of them had nowhere to live, and so they slept in the streets.
   On April 17, 1975, when I was fourteen years old, the Khmer Rouge army came into Phnom Penh with tanks. A man in a slow-moving car shouting into a loudspeaker ordered all the police and military leaders to put down their guns and surrender. He told all the people to leave their houses. My grandfather didn't want the Khmer Rouge to know he was a military officer for their enemy, so he hid his uniform and weapons. We wouldn't leave the house. It was our home, and we were free people. We were not about to let anyone tell us to leave.
   Then soldiers came to our house with their guns and ordered us to leave. They said we would be gone for only three days, and during that time the Khmer Rouge would clean up the city so that it would be safe for us to return. But the soldiers came again and said that the American B-52 bombers were going to attack the city and that we would have to leave in a hurry or be killed by their bombs. The soldiers assured us that they would defeat the Americans and that then we could return to our homes.
   These soldiers were our countrymen. We had no reason not to believe them. They weren't going to let us get hurt. So we packed our car with clothes, some gold and jewelry, and some food. Everyone in my family left together. Some crowded into the car and the rest of us walked. Leaving Phnom Penh was an adventure. Thousands of people were leaving at the same time. The streets and sidewalks were covered with people carrying bags, and cars crept along slowly in the congestion. There was so much noise.
   The next day, soldiers came and searched us. They took our jewelry, our car, and most of our clothes. Now everyone in our family had to walk, and we had to divide the remaining food among us to carry it on our backs. It was the dry season and it was very hot. There was no water. People began to get heatstroke and fall down on the road. The soldiers wouldn't let us stop to help those who were sick. I couldn't believe what was happening. We walked for days, then weeks. Pregnant women gave birth under trees by the road. Old people died from exhaustion and lack of water. Everywhere was the sound of babies screaming and people crying for loved ones who had died and had to be left on the road.
   There was no time for funerals. Soldiers threw the bodies into empty ponds and kept everyone moving. Guns were pointed at us, and tanks forced us to keep moving. I saw two men with their hands tied behind their backs. Soldiers were questioning them on the side of the road. The soldiers cut off the men's heads, which fell to the ground as their bodies slumped. There was nothing I could do. People were being murdered before my eyes. These were my friends, my neighbors. The rest of us kept walking.
   Finally, after almost two and a half months of walking and stopping, walking and stopping, we arrive outside the province of Battambang, where most of the small villages in the jungle had been burned to ashes during the fighting. We were told that we must live in those burned-out villages. We were civilized people. We had never lived in the jungle without houses and electricity and running water. We still believed that we would be allowed to return home. My grandfather asked the soldiers when we would leave and was told, "In a few days." After many days, I saw him beginning to lose faith.
   Our family had to survive even though we had almost nothing. My grandfather, older brother, and brother-in-law built a small hut out of bamboo they cut down. It had a bamboo floor to protect us from snakes and palm leaves for the roof. Thirteen of us lived together in the hut.
   All of us started to get sick from malnutrition. Many were getting malaria. There was no medicine and no doctors. Finally we began to eat banana and papaya trees - not the fruit of the trees. We would peel off some layers of the bark, then cut off pieces of the tree and boil them with salt. It gave us something to eat, but it also made some of my family very sick. My sister's ten-year-old son got diarrhea and died after three days of suffering. Then her seven-year-old daughter died. My sister went crazy with grief. She would not move from the spot where we buried them. She never recovered.
   After we had been in our hut for about a year, the soldiers came to take my grandfather. They grabbed him and tied his hands behind his back. "We know you were in the military," they said to him. Grandfather did not struggle. But as he left, he turned to my grandmother and said, "Would you take care of my family?" The soldiers slapped him in the face and marched him out. Many minutes went by. We heard a shot deep in the jungle. We knew Grandfather was dead.
   The Khmer Rouge continued their killing. If someone was suspected of having an education or of being an intellectual, the soldiers would pull him out of his hut at night and shoot him or cut his throat. None of us could ask questions or cry out. We were weak and sick. We had no weapons. And if we made the soldiers angry, they would kill us.
   Three months after my grandfather was murdered, the soldiers took my brother and brother-in-law. They were tied up and taken two or three miles into the jungle. This time I followed, sneaking through the undergrowth so that no one would see me. I watched as my brothers were forced to dig a large hole while the soldiers held guns to their heads. I remember one soldier saying to the other, "We will save our bullets." Then they took big bamboo shoots and beat my brothers again and again until they were dead. Their bodies were kicked into the hole. Their grave was not far from where my grandfather was killed.
   Those who were not murdered by the soldiers were dying a slow death. We traded what little we had been able to hide for food from a government family. An ounce of gold would get us a cup of rice. Soon we had nothing left to trade. We were always hungry. We were always sick. My oldest sister, Sinoy, could no longer talk or move. After about a year of living in the jungle, one of my mother's sisters, who had been living with us, died early in the morning. Sooner after, my other aunt died. We found her body already stiff when we woke one morning. The neighbors helped us bury them but we had no grave makers. So many had been buried around the village that it was impossible to keep track of the burial places. By the next day, we couldn't tell where their graves were.
   Within about three months after the deaths of my aunts, my grandmother died, and then my older sister. She had already buried her husband and children, and she had nothing to live for. The rest of us continued to struggle to survive. Whenever we got some food, we would divide it. My mother would always give me part of hers. I was her favorite child, and she wanted me to live. But now my mother was very sick. I was afraid she was dying.
   She spoke to me quietly. "Son, if you ever get away from the Communists, go to school. They can take away your possessions, but they can't take your education. They can't take what you know." Soon after that, my mother died. I wanted to die, too. She had always taken care of me and I had depended on her. Now there was no one to take care of me. Soon my little brother died. The neighbors helped me bury him. Now only my sister and I remained.
   My favorite sister, Sinuoen, continued to get weaker and weaker. Her skin was sticking to her bones, and she had lost her long black hair. I think this was the hardest time of all for me. It was my responsibility as the oldest male to protect my sister. My mother would be counting on me. But there was nothing I could do. And one day, as we sat together in the hut, Sinuoen put her head on my lap and said, "Kimny, I don't know if I can live any longer. Can I have a spoon of rice?"
   My heart was breaking. It was such a little thing she asked. But we had no rice. I got up and brought her our last cup of water. "Sister," I said, "I have no rice to give you. Drink this water." She looked into my face for a moment, and then she sipped the water. She put her head down on my lap. And then she died.
   I don't know why I didn't die, too. I didn't want to live any more. I was so tired and so hungry. I wandered around for months after that begging for a bit of rice from anyone who had some. I never went back to our hut. Sometimes I slept outside. Sometimes I crawled into the hut of another family. But most families had suffered like mine. No one had enough food. No one had hope.
   Then the Khmer Rouge decided they needed more young people from the villages to work for them. They took all the teenagers from our jungle village to a concentration camp in the jungle about thirty miles from where my new hut was. I wasn't afraid to go. My family was all gone. I thought, "If I walk and drop dead, I'll drop dead. It's not so bad."
   The concentration camp was just a clearing in the jungle. The other young prisoners and I built a makeshift hut with the bamboo we found. We worked from sunrise to sunset, fourteen or fifteen hours a day, in the rice paddies. It was the rainy season, and the work was hard. After a whole day's work we would be fed a few bites of dry fish and a little rice. Then, before we could sleep, the Khmer Rouge would lecture us about how to be good Communists. They said that Pol Pot was our Angka. Pol Pot was our new family. If any of us found that our parents were not obeying the Communists, we should turn them in.
   We could not escape. The camp was encircled by barbed wire, and the thousand or so of us were all afraid for our lives. Sometimes they would pull a boy out of his hut at night and we wouldn't see him again. Sometimes they would take a boy into the jungle and we would hear him scream. Sometimes they would throw the body parts of a boy they had cut apart into the rice paddies as we worked. "Fertilizer," they would say.
   When I was about seventeen years old, I remember trying to sleep at night but the sound of bombing in the distance kept me awake. Each night the bombing got closer and closer. We found out later that the Vietnamese were pushing the Khmer Rouge out of our area and up against the Thai border. The Khmer Rouge guards never said anything about the fighting.
   Then one day the Vietnamese soldiers entered our camp. At first, we didn't know who they were. But when they began speaking to us, some of the boys recognized their language. We discovered that the Cambodian soldiers had all deserted the camp. The Vietnamese were kind to us but they told us to leave. We had hoped and prayed to leave for years, and now that we had the chance, we realized that we had nowhere to go. I left the camp with Savath, my new friend. We headed toward Battambang and luckily my friend met up with his family. Houses did not have electricity or running water. The hospitals, schools, and markers were closed. Food was still scarce.
   When I was eighteen, I felt I had to return to Phnom Penh to see if any of my cousins or friends had survived Pol Pot. My house was more than one hundred twenty kilometers from Battambang, and I didn't know the way. I started walking in that general direction. I got on an old train, got rides on wagons, and walked some more. Eventually I arrived in Phnom Penh. As I entered my old neighborhood, my spirit crumbled. My house was burned and my friends' houses were burned. Everything that had once been so familiar was gone. I knew that my life was changed forever.

*********************************************************************
Youkimny's story is one of millions. Every day, somewhere in the world, someone else is struggling to survive genocide, oppression and hopelessness. Children watch their families die around them on a daily basis, left with a lifetime of pain, suffering and healing. It's time for us to wake up. It's time to start really seeing what Sin is doing to our world. It's time to fight. It's time for the Kingdom of God to be restored here on earth, as it is in heaven. I say RISE UP, CHURCH. Be who you're called to be. Discover your authority. Bring truth. Bring life. Give hope. Show grace. Heal the world with your love.

Is your God angry because you're speaking to me?

Wed, 7 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

    I have discovered in my recent studies that the birth and life of Buddha had strange similarities to the life of Christ. Buddha was a good man who did his best to teach men how to live right, believing he had the keys to relieve suffering. But, he wasn't God. He couldn't erase sin from the hearts of men. He didn't come into the world to save and restore it by giving up his own life. I gently told this to my friend, Roussaru, when we met again to swap back our books.
    I was having a busy day, preparing to leave Cambodia the next morning, and barely found time to get to the monastery. I'm ashamed to say that it was a bit of a hassle to get there, and I originally didn't intend to stay more than a few minutes. But, not long after I got there he ushered me into his room and shut the door. We sat together as he began to tell me what was on his mind. I forgot my rush, my to-do list and my selfishness. I just sat with my friend and talked about Jesus. He told me he'd been taking turns with his fellow monks, reading my history of Jesus. He said it was a good story, and that he liked my God very much. I could sense that his heart was changing, that truth was being revealed to him. Then he asked a question I'll never forget..."Is your God angry because you're speaking to me?" I looked in his eyes and said in a soft voice, "No...not at all. He's happy." Then, I held my breath and bit my lip so the tears wouldn't fall, letting my words sink into his mind. He said he was asking because he's Buddhist, not Christian. Then, I had the wonderful opportunity of telling him all about how much my Father loved him, how much He wanted Roussaru to believe in him, but how He also wants men to choose Him. I told him why Jesus came, why we needed him, and how to talk to him. He was so attentive to everything I said. He asked if I could send him a bible from America when I returned, and I promised to get him one sooner.
    I realized that it was time to go, but I still hadn't seen Buna. We found him quickly and I gave back his Buddha books. We chatted for a few minutes about what we'd learned and staying in touch, etc. As we spoke, monks began to gather around, curious about me and why I was there. Within 5 minutes, I was answering questions about English grammar, tongue twisters, and Southern expressions. They all begged me to stay in Siem Reap and be their teacher. I laughed at the idea, imagining what that would be like! HA!
    Roussaru and I walked to my Cambodian ministry contact's house, where I was able to introduce him to the family. They invited him to return on the weekends, and he was looking forward to spending more time with them. Things were falling into place perfectly and I felt at ease to leave him. He got me a ride with his friend and we began our good-byes. I fought to keep myself together as he said that he'd never had a friend like me before and was going to miss me very much. I told him too prepare himself because God was going to do something in his life. He smiled quietly in return. Unable to hug him or even shake his hand, I simply waved as I rode away. Then I prayed for his life, his salvation and deliverance.
     That night, I unloaded my story to my friends, crying freely. (I can't stop the tears lately as God continues to form Himself in me more every day). I wondered aloud where I would find bibles because they do not sell any in Siem Reap. Immediately, two teammates volunteered their bibles. They happened to have 2 extra and wanted to donate them. I was thrilled and called Roussaru right away with the good news. He promised to pick them up at the hotel the next day.
    Since we were leaving at 6:30am, I didn't plan on seeing him. But just as I was loading my bags on the bus, he appeared. It was bittersweet, knowing that I would have to say good-bye again. But it was a pleasure to put those two bibles directly into his hands, encouraging him to meet with our contacts when he had questions. Then I faced him and said (through more tears) that he was a special person and I was so happy to have met him. He couldn't look at me. I promised to email and got on the bus. As we pulled away, Brooke called me to the window. I looked out on the street, and there stood Roussaru, smiling sadly back and waving one last time. It was the saddest good-bye I've had thus far, but I rejoice in our encounter, thankful that the Lord saw fit to use me in his life.

**Pray for Roussaru and Buna -- that they find freedom in the truth, that they put their faith in Jesus, abandoning Buddha forever. Pray that those two bibles make their way around Wat Polanka, until everyone understands the everlasting love of God.

With a Lump in my Throat and a Little Homework Note...

Tue, 6 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

This past Friday was my last official day as an English teacher. I gave a pop test the day before, covering all of the information I've taught. I found myself nervous as I roamed the classroom, concerned that my favorite students wouldn't understand or wouldn't remember what we've been practicing. Then, I spent the rest of the evening groaning over the fact that I had to grade so many long tests, but still delighted to see that they'd done well. Amidst the test papers was a stack of homework to grade as well. To my surprise, I discovered a note that Raksa, a student, wrote to me on the bottom of his paper. I, myself, have been in the habit of writing little notes of encouragement to them on their homework, so you can imagine what a pleasure it was to receive one in return. It said, "I wish teacher good luck every time and everywhere. Please forgive me for every grammar mistake, teacher. You're a beautiful, great teacher and kind person." My heart soared at my little note, and the thoughtfulness of one of my favorite students.
Friday evening finally rolled around. As I stood with my final class ahead and the inevitable big good-bye, I prepared myself emotionally, put on a happy face and went in. I was greeted with the familiar "Hello, Teacher!" that always evokes a smile from me. I responded with a hearty "Hello, everyone!" and set myself to handing out tests. We reviewed their mistakes for the last time together and wrapped up all loose ends. I handed out old homework, cutting my note off of Raksa's before giving it back. Then, taking a deep breath and a long look at their beautiful faces, I recalled all of my conversations with them, all of their dreams and all of the details I knew about their lives. I gathered my thoughts and mustered all of my strength into keeping emotions in check, before launching into what would be my last words to them. I told them what a joy it had been to teach them, what bright students they were, and how proud I was of them. I told them that their dreams were wonderful, and that I knew they would all be successful in whatever they wanted to accomplish. I told them I loved them, and that they had made my visit to Cambodia very special. My voice wavered, dangerously close to revealing the emotions within. Unable to speak, for fear that I would cry, all I could do was end with a sompeah (a local's expression of respect and honor, usually given to elders, exhibited by placing hands in front of face-as if in prayer-and bowing head slightly). By doing this, I humbly expressed my gratitude to them and acknowledged that I didn't believe myself to be of any higher status. Then, something happened that I didn't expectimmediately, in unison, my students responded with a sompeahevery head bowed towards me. I was moved beyond words, and humbled beyond measure. And so it was, with a lump in my throat and a little homework note, that I said good-byenot knowing if I'll ever see them again, or what hand life will deal them. But, I leave Siem Reap carrying no regrets, knowing that I did my best as their teacher. I poured myself into them as much as I knew how, making little investments for the future. This certainty, along with my precious note, will suffice to remind me that I've been a part of something great in this little country. And that, my friends, is a remarkable feeling.

Letters from Home

Mon, 5 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Dear friends,

Memories, compliments, encouragement and prayer, under the guise of letters, have paved my way through the Race thus far. History's ancient form of communication has successfully outweighed the value placed on email and Skype. It is this lonely backpacker's escape, carrying me to far away places and times forgotten. What began as a going-away present has quickly become a weekly treasure of infinite worth.

Long before I left home, my dear friend, Sharon, was putting into motion a project that would endure the Race with me. She contacted countless people and asked them to write letters for my trip. After collecting the entire lot (one for every week I'm away), she separated them into envelopes based on the month, with certain ones meant for Christmas, birthday or specific continents. (Otherwise, the envelopes are unmarked, save for the month they are destined.) She presented the package on the eve of my departure, to be opened within a few days. So, since then, each Sunday, I reach in and pull out a letter to read - not knowing who it will be from or what it might say. I only know that I will cherish every single word, no matter who it's from.

I confess that, even 5 months into the trip, it's hard to be patient as the weekend draws near and my anticipation builds. (I'm always tempted to read more than one, but never do.) I pick my letter and tuck it away until I have a moment alone, where I pull it out and devour it completely. I read each of them at least twice, and some of them I hold onto permanently. The words on those pages are life-giving. They build me up, remind me of who I am, and humble me with undeserved praise. I cannot express what a gift this has been on my wayward travels, far from New Orleans and anything familiar.

I want you all to know, back home, that I think of you often and smile when I read your letters. I'm blessed and honored that you think enough of me to be a part of this life-changing trip. I carry your words with me (literally) around the world, and I continue to press on, inspired by what you see in me. Thank you for your love, your support and your encouragement. Thank youso, so much.

With unending love,

Elizabeth Scaife

ps. To answer your curiosity, I've read letters from the following people so far: Sharon, Casey, Mike R., Mike D., Kristen M., Kristen B., Greta, Tiffers (a LOT), Daniel Martinez, Ken, Brian Greer, Colbey, Martin Luther, Israel C., Leah, & Robin.

pps. No, Heath, I still haven't read yours.

What's under that orange robe, anyway??

Mon, 5 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Since our arrival in Cambodia, I had hoped to have the opportunity to speak with a monk. Sean had the blessing of teaching at local monasteries, affording him the chance to share his faith, while the women were confined to teaching at the ministry center. I've been so curious about the monks, knowing that their lives require great discipline and self-sacrifice. They aren't supposed to touch women (which deems them unclean until they go through a 10-day cleansing process), so they usually stay away. But, with the present situation in Cambodia, and people desperate to survive, many men join the monastery because it offers free food, housing and education. They don't plan on spending their lives as a monk, but instead have hopes and dreams of life beyond the pagodah walls. They do what they have to do to get by, waiting for better times. It was during the rush of my last hour at Angkor Wat that I met one of these monks.
   When I first spotted Roussaru, he was peering through a window into the courtyard I was trying to get out of. Frustrated by the crowds, I had attempted to exit through a door, but was stopped by a guard who told me I could not enter there. He pointed me across the yard, and I headed there quickly. I only had 45 minutes to get my pics and get out. I entered a hall, near Roussaru, and was practically running past him when he suddenly said, "Hello!" I was surprised that he'd spoken to me first and called over my shoulder, "Hello!" as I kept going. Then, even more startling was what happened next. He called after me, "How are you!" I stopped in my tracks and turned around with the shocking realization that this monk wanted to talk to me. I couldn't believe it, and knew it must be a divine appointment. I faced him, keeping a healthy distance of 5 feet and said, "I'm fine. How are you?" And so it beganmy new friendship with a monk.
   With the much-desired pictures forgotten, I walked the grounds of Angkor Wat with Roussaru, chatting about all sorts of things. He told me he often came there to meet foreigners and practice his English. I told him I was glad that he chose me. (I wanted to ask if he had a wallet or cell phone buried somewhere under that orange robe, but I decided to wait awhile for that question). He said he hoped to be a tour guide one day. I told him I was a Christian, and why I was in Siem Reap that month. He was enthralled and invited me to visit his pagodah the next day. I was surprised, thanking God for a last-minute answer to my prayer. At the time, I had no idea what He had in store, but I knew it would be good.
   The next day, I showed up at Wat Polanka and spent about 3 hours with Roussaru and his friend, Buna. I got a tour of the pagodah and crematorium. I heard the story of how prince Siddhartha became the Buddha. I saw what life is really like as a monk. But, the best part was just sitting with my friends and talking about life. Roussaru shared with me that, as a child, his family was very poor    and could not feed or clothe him. He ran away and lived at the monastery. He officially became a monk at age 15, eight years ago. He filled me in on their daily activities, emphasizing the importance of meditation. I told him I meditated too, on the Word of God. I introduced them to the idea of prayer and a conversation with God. They showed me their book about the life of Buddha and I showed them my book about the life of Jesus.
   As my time came to a close, I asked to borrow their Buddha book. Buna was happy to oblige, and I offered him my Jesus book in return. We agreed to read each other's books and swap them back in two days. When I left, Roussaru told me he was so glad I had come and looked forward to reading about Jesus. In that moment, I discovered what was truly buried under that orange robe - a lonely man, searching for truth, love, and light in the darkness. As I rode away, I laughed aloud, praising God for his crazy plans and the fact that a monk was about to have his heart captured by the greatest Lover this world has ever seen.

A Fallen Empire and a Lost Civilization

Sun, 4 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Deep in the jungles of Siem Reap lies one of the world's greatest man-made architectural accomplishments, rivaled only by the Nile Valley and Taj Mahal. Comprised of a series of temple and palace ruins, Angkor was built a millennium ago over a period of 400 years during the most prosperous time Cambodia has ever seen. It eventually fell in battle, left abandoned as its civilians fled. Today it dominates a piece of land the size of Manhattan, offering an adventurer's paradise. It's only in the past few years that the ruins have attracted tourists, as the war-torn country finds itself capable of hosting them. Siem Reap has flourished as a result, showing huge growth in the hospitality services, offering hundreds of new jobs to locals.
   European and Asian countries are volunteering to aide in the restoration efforts of some key temples, desperately seeking to preserve these mysterious relics of history and culture. They were lost to humanity for several hundred years, buried in jungle fauna, until being rediscovered in the early 1900's by a French archaeologist/explorer. He stumbled across the abandoned city by accident and set his life to restoring and preserving it. Teams of historians and archaeologists in his wake have set to work unraveling the history of the people that inhabited these great halls. They have at their disposal only one eyewitness account - a detailed journal entry by a Chinese trader who passed through Angkor at its zenith - and the intricate details of life etched on the temple walls in bas-relief. But, with these 2 things, life springs up before you as you walk the grounds. Ancient history pours out of massive stone temples, long halls and gorgeous old libraries, all the while grappling with modern-day tourists in sunglasses and tank tops.
   I visited Angkor in one big swoop, going from sunrise to sunset, soaking in every bit I could get my hands on. I climbed steep temple steps and clambered up or around what Time had preserved. The only things that have survived the past thousand years are what were made of stone, as all other buildings made of wood have long disintegrated. Even now, the jungle threatens to reclaim some of it, trees swallowing entire structures still standing. But I left nothing unexplored, marveling at how easily such a great empire could rise and fall. Despite the crowds of distraction, I found that I could still imagine the day when jewels encrusted the walls and walkwayswhen towers were covered in goldwhen crocodiles filled the moatswhen elephants and tigers were used in battlewhen hundreds of young women (the Apsaras) danced for the kingwhen thousands of slaves were forced to spend their entire lives building the temple grounds that would stand for centuries to come. I also imagined the old rituals and sacrifices. These people worshipped pagan gods - incorporating a variety of religious practices found in Hinduism, Buddhism, Animism and ancestor worship. Kings even deified themselves. I imagined a lost civilization before their fall. I imagined all of this while tales from the Old Testament and God's judgment floated around my mind.

I found myself wanting to know what really happened to these people, and how it felt when they realized their gods had failed them. I wanted to know if there was even one righteous man to be found in those walls before the fall. And I wanted to know what Asia's most powerful kingdom really looked like when it was abandoned after centuries of idol worship. My questions will remain unanswered, lost in the mystery of Angkor. The only thing I know for sure was that what happened there will never happen again in Cambodia. God has claimed that country as His own, with new hearts turning to him every day. This time, it's His kingdom that's rising...and this one will never fall.

Where's my apple?

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

It's official! I'm a teacher. I have something to offer the Cambodian people and its not just my sparkling personality. My natural ability with the English language, combined with an understanding of the system of learning languages, has made this month's ministry easy. I've discovered that I really enjoy teaching. My classes are full and always challenging. My students are eager to learn, ensuring their future. Education is the key to success in Cambodia, where families are steeped in poverty. The country's educational system was wiped out during the Khmer Rouge, when all the teachers and educated people were killed. They have been struggling ever since to gain a footing with practical needs. Schools are presently confined to big cities only, and often require fees that parents cannot afford. But, despite the obstacles, this generation's youth know - without a doubt - that the only way they can support themselves and their families is by having a good job. They don't want to struggle the way their parents have. They carry the burden of history on their backs, knowing their grandparents fought to ensure the survival of their family line. The burgeoning tourist industry in Siem Reap promises endless opportunities for those ambitious enough to work for it. Yet, to have a good job, you must have a high school diploma and be able to speak English. Most people pay for English, so when free classes are available, they flock to sign up.

I teach 3 classes every day -- one typing class and 2 English classes. My students range in age from 12-25 years old. Some are in high school, while others work full-time jobs. Some of the older ones are desperately searching for work, while the younger ones are still dreaming of what they will do in a few years. I'm encouraged by their hopes and dreams. I find that no one has told them they can't accomplish what they want, and so I push them forward. I challenge them every way I know how, inspiring them to work harder, to excel. Although they have no books, receive no grades, and pay nothing to come, my students are seriously dedicated to the task. I grill them endlessly in class about subject/verb agreement, pointing out consistent verbal mistakes they make. I give them homework every night and show no grammer mercy. I expect a lot out of them, but they never disappoint. I rejoice when they "get it" and revamp when they don't. I remark with wonder at where their hearts lie, evident in the things they express on paper. Earlier this week, I asked them to write a paragraph answering the question,"If you could change one thing in the world, what would you change and why?" There wasn't a selfish answer to be found. They want to end poverty, build orphanages, and help hurting people. They want to see Cambodia restored, families with food, and let children learn about Jesus. I was moved to tears (not so hard these days) when one student expressed that despite the poverty in his country, if Cambodian people believed in Jesus, it would be the richest country in the world.
I have come to love all of my students and am surprised to know that I will truly miss them when we leave. I understand why teaching is such a rewarding career, and far too underappreciated. I understand how much teachers pour into their students, wanting to leave them with all of the knowledge and wisdom they have garnered over time. I understand the anxiety they feel when they release their pupils into the world, hoping they've imparted the tools necessary for success. I also think I understand, mildly, what Jesus must have felt as his time on Earth drew to a close. The longest prayer recorded by Jesus is that from a Teacher to his Father about his students, his disciples (John 17). He's done everything he can, poured out himself for their sake. His time is up and the last thing he does is leave them in the Father's hands, trusting that they'll be fine. So, as my time draws to a close this week, and I am forced to say good-bye, I will do what Jesus did. I will trust that I have done everything I could in my time with them, and I will leave them in His hands. He will care for them. They are HIS sheep.

Pray for the ministry here in Siem Reap. Pray that my students will all have jobs to support their families, either now or in the future. Pray that they accomplish their dreams, no matter how big and impossible they seem. Pray that their hearts would turn to Jesus, and that they would have a supernatural understanding of the greatest Teacher who ever lived.

If you think you'd be interested in supporting this ministry, University of the Nations, ck out their website and get involved.

The Killing Fields

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

During the horrid affair of the Khmer Rouge regime, Pol Pot was responsible for the death of 2 million people - one third of the entire Cambodian population. While starvation and disease claimed the lives of many, it was his prison camps of grotesque torture that stand out. Thousands of men, women and children were slain at the hands of evil men under Pol Pot's authority. At Tuol Sleng, they were first "interrogated", then shipped off to the village of Chhoeung Ek, located 15 km outside of Phnom Penh. Hoarded onto trucks, blindfolded, the people had no idea what fate awaited them, but were terrified nonetheless. They arrived at their destination, trembling with fear and were quickly unloaded and led out onto an open field. Most of them were lined up next to large pits that had been dug prior to their arrival. The scent of chemicals invaded their nostrils, floating up from beneath them. Before they knew what was happening, someone came behind them clubbing the backs of their heads. As they fell, unconscious or disillusioned, another man would slit their throats and push them into the pits. Some were decapitated. Women were stripped naked in a few last moments of humiliation before being killed. Children were tied to a tree and beaten to death. The murderers would then pour DDT over the bodies to cover the smell, and to kill anyone left alive in the pit.

As Pol Pot ordered the death of more and more people, trucks began to arrive so quickly that there wasn't enough time to kill one group before the next arrived. To alleviate this problem, they built a small prison house to keep groups overnight. The walls and roof were too thick to allow any light in, or to allow for prisoners to see each other. A speaker was hung high in a tree, playing loud music to drown out the wails and painful cries of the victims at hand. Someone later said that the faces of these men were Khmer, but they had hearts of demons.

When the mass graves were discovered, they uncovered almost 9,000 people in 86 separate graves. The prison and chemical storehouse were torn down. The bones were collected and put in a memorial case. Some clothes from the victims were collected for the memorial as well, but most of the clothes lie buried in the mud, visible to present-day tourists. As you walk the paths of the Killing Fields, you see teeth, fabric and countless sunken pits that became the resting place for so many innocent lives. Some of the major graves are fenced off and marked. Most of them are left as-is, testament to the horrors of Pol Pot.

Questions beg to be answeredHow can this happen to so many people across the world? How can men like Pol Pot, Hitler, Stalin, Mao Ze-Dong, Suharto, Saddam Hussein, Kim Il Sung, & Jean Kambanda get away with such horrible acts against humanity? How can our world allow them to? When will we begin to take notice of what's going on around us? When will we say "NO" to injustice, to torture, to genocide? When will we decide that every life is valuable, regardless of whether it's our own child, or someone else's? When will we stop watching the news, and instead, be a part of changing it? Wake up, America. You CAN make a difference. You CAN save lives. You CAN be a part of the greatest movement in history - restoring the Kingdom of God here on earth. It's time to get going. The world is waiting

Shadows of Death

Sun, 14 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

During the Khmer Rouge regime, commander Pol Pot spared no one from certain death. He accused countless people of being against him simply because they had not previously joined the Khmer Rouge fighters. Immediately after taking power, he began killing all individuals that didn't fit into the new order. Amongst those killed were Buddhists, Christians, doctors, teachers, technicians, engineers, students, soldiers, educated people, foreigners and even monks. He wanted no one kept alive that could seemingly lead a resistance group. He was creating a new society, weeding out the infidels. The Khmer Rouge would show no emotion, no compassion, no concern for others. Everyone was regarded with suspicion. People were routinely rounded up for intense interrogation by the KR operatives. They were taken to prisons set up around the country. If an individual reacted too strongly in any way, they were killed immediately.

One of the biggest prisons was Tuol Sleng, located in Phnom Penh. Previously a high school, Pol Pot transformed it into a death trap in 1975. It was here that 10,000 peoplemen, women, children, infantswere killed in the name of communism. People were shuffled into the camp in groups, and stuffed into old classrooms to await their turn at interrogation. Family members would not speak to one another, afraid of what the connections might imply. The prison had 4 large buildings with multiple floors. The ground floors were reserved for torture rooms and individual cells, while the upper levels were used for group containment. People were subjected to starvation, humiliation and endless questioning. All day, the prison guards would use evil methods to extract information from their detainees. No life was spared, no person given mercy. Children and adults alike, were tortured and killed. They were chained to the floor, to beds, to one another by their ankles. They were given virtually nothing to eat or drink and only metal boxes for toilet use. When their interrogations were finally over, and their space in the prison coveted by new arrivals, they were blindfolded, loaded into trucks and taken out of the city to the small village of Chhoeung Ek. It was in that remote area, far from the public eye, that all of these innocent people were slaughtered and dumped into mass graves.

Touring the prison, I felt the despair of its victims. I felt the hopelessness, the pain, the suffering. It was heavyalmost suffocating. I saw the torture equipment, heard the screams of pain and terror it inflicted. I saw where people were held in solitary confinement. I felt what they must have knownthat this is where they would diechained to the floor. I peered through the tiny window of a prison door and felt as if I was staring death in the face. I could smell the decay. I wondered who was in cell #23? Was it a man? A woman? What was her name? Did she feel alone?

Mugshots were taken of each victim, and posted on the wall for visitors. I walked the rows of faces, overwhelmed by the multitude. I gazed into the eyes of the children who died there. I saw innocence, hope, anger, and fear. Mostly, I saw God's precious creation, His work of art, destroyed by evil.

When the prison was shut down in 1979, there were 14 people found abandoned in torture rooms, all dead. The museum in control of the prison posted large photographs of the victims on the walls of the rooms where they were found. They have left everything as it was found 28 years ago. Beds are rusted with humidity, chains hanging loose from previous victims. Excrement boxes sit on the beds and ground, crusty with age. Blood stains the floor of the prison cells. Steel bars cover all windows, reinforcing feelings of oppression A rusted food pan offers the promise that at least one person was fed. Barbed wire shrouds the buildings and surrounding walls, stealing hope of escape. Everything I see, everything I photo, is a mere shadow of the past. But the shadows trap the darkness that once existed here. They hold it tight, and I get the feeling that it will never shake loose. Tuol Sleng offers no remorse for its victims, no happy memories, no redemption. Of the 10,000 people to pass thru its doors, only 7 survived.

The country is left in recovery. Parents don't want to remember the atrocities of Pol Pot. It is seldom talked of, but ever present in spirit. They are a broken nation, but God is beginning to heal it. Pray for the people of Cambodia, that bitterness and hate don't take root in their hearts. Pray that genocide never again strikes their people, and that healing occurs.

Cambodia...a country in recovery

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

It's hard to imagine a country in the aftermath of civil war and the overthrow of communism. You can't possibly picture what its people will be like, how they will live, or how poor the infrastructure is. Here we are, smack in the middle of Cambodia's most cherished city, Siem Reap, trying to get a grasp on what has happened over the past several decadesand trying to visualize how this poverty-stricken country could have once been a flourishing nation. Long before communism scarred the face of its peoplelong before genocide removed a third of its populationlong before America turned its back on themlong before all of this, Cambodia was a nation to be admired for its progress and power. In the early 1800s, this once-small country began to expand from the deltas of the Mekong River (present-day Vietnam) up into the area now known as Cambodia. It thrived on the port business available with Indian and Chinese ships passing thru their territory, incorporating much of the foreign cultures into their own. Hinduism found a root here, along with ancient Chinese gods and ancestor worship. A man named Jayavarman II arrived on the scene, declaring himself god-king, and founded the Angkor kingdomwhich quickly became the largest and most powerful kingdom. Through his leadership, Cambodia controlled territories that presently belong to Laos, Thailand and Vietnam. Seemingly impenetrable to its neighbors, the Angkor nation continued to fight for control. In the mid-1850s, Thailand reclaimed its territory by a strong invasion. Cambodia quickly moved its capital from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh for protection. The French then invaded the country as well, forcing Cambodia to give up their Vietnam territory. At first, the Cambodians were grateful for the French aide. They improved the government and educational systems, among other things, before relinquishing control to the Japanese in WWII. As the war ended, the Cambodian people (called Khmer) fought for their independence. After almost 100 years of foreign occupation, they gained their freedom, just as the Vietnam War broke out in a fight over communism

Pol Pot, a social pariah, had learned about communism from the Chinese and Vietnamese. He had studied their methods and returned to NE Cambodia to join the communist movement. He was growing in power and recognition, but remained an allusive figure to the general public, creating more fame through fear. He joined efforts with North Vietnam during the war, allowing their troops to pass thru Cambodian territory. America, fearful of the communist movement, responded quickly to these reports. Intending to attack Vietnamese troops, they bombed northern Cambodian territory, killing many poor farming families. The king of Cambodia cut off relations with America abruptly. American then planned and carried out an overthrow, replacing King Sihanouk with General Lon Nol. Civil war began immediately between Gen. Lon and Pol Pot's government, the Khmer Rouge. People were forced to choose sides. Ignorant of what communism would do to their people, most Cambodians chose to fight with Pol Pot, against the Americans. The king joined him as well. It wasn't long before the US realized it was losing the Vietnam War, and pulled its troops out. With no support, Gen. Lon lost control and the Khmer Rouge regime claimed the country. Pol Pot forced everyone out of the cities, into farming communes. He took away private property, food and money privileges. Every person was forced into hard labor. He wanted to form the quickest agrarian society in history, and killed anyone that was against him. Starvation and disease spread quickly. During this era, one third of the population died. The Khmer regime lasted until 1979, when Vietnamese troops finally took control of the capital and put an end to Pol Pot's death parade. Yet, fighting continued between Vietnamese and the KR remnant. It wasn't until 1993 that the UN held elections where the Khmer people were allowed to choose their own leaders, and 1998 when the Khmer Rouge was finally disbanded. The first year of peace in Cambodian history was 1999.

So, here we are, in a country struggling to gain its footing. They have gone from a flourishing nation to one that is barely surviving, clawing at life with a shred of hope. Most of the country is in dire poverty. Siem Reap survives as a tourist trap, but has not escaped the aftermath of war. Cities are trying to rebuild, slowly. Poverty is inescapable. Most families live in shanty houses, high on stilts over the marshy land. Electricity and running water are not the norm, neither is private transportation. Roads have improved, I'm told, but are still atrociously bad. Water, air and land pollution dominate the senses. But the people that remain are the survivors, the fighters. They know the odds are stacked against them, but they do not give up. Education offers an opportunity out, a way to eat, and a glimmer of hope for a better life. English is the key to a world of possibility, especially in Siem Reap. Our students this month come from very poor communities. They are eager to learn, and we are happy to help. Pray that our classrooms of learning become classrooms of life. Pray that we pass on the tools to success, based on love. Pray that this month would be one of growth and giving -- us to them, and them to us. Pray that we don't just leave them our language, but we leave them with our dreams, our hopes and our faith.

When I looked in her eyes, I knew she was Natasha.

Tue, 9 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Directly after arriving in Thailand, I received a copy of the book The Natashas. It's a journalist's compilation of factual information and personal experience collected around the world while investigating the global sex-trade. It's shocking and overwhelming. I was filled with anger, resentment, indignation, helplessness and fight. I have to say the proverbial veil has been lifted and I now see what the Enemy's up to right under our noses. Global sex-trafficking has become the biggest problem we face in this generation. It's no longer starving children in Africa or the AIDS epidemic, it's the kidnapping and selling of young women into the underground sex trade. Almost a million young women each year (nameless faces, referred to as Natasha in the book) are pulled into a business where there is no escape. Unlike bargirls, who choose to work, these young women are sold by their parents, deceived by news ads, or kidnapped from their villages and forced into service on the open sex market. Most of the women come from nations in Eastern Europe, looking for golden opportunities abroad as nannies and waitresses.
As soon as their passports are taken, the women are shuffled into the system and can end up around the globe in a matter of hours, servicing 10-12 men a day in some seedy brothel, having no idea where they are or how they'll survive. Before released into the hands of their new pimps, though, the girls are "broken in" - a process meant to break their spirits and wills, as much as their bodies. Their lives are threatened, and those of their families back home. They quickly learn that the police are corrupt (paid off in brothel service), the governments are corrupt, and there are no laws that protect them in foreign countries. Their families have no idea where they are. They have no allies, no connections, and no passport. They become suicidal, sometimes successful. Occasionally they escape, but are often returned to the pimps by police, or jailed for prostitution.
After reading the book, it was clear to me that the sex trade was in existence in Bangkok as well, most likely in front of our eyes. I noticed immediately a very large number of middle-eastern men around the area where we were ministering at night. Most of them run tailor shops in Bangkok, along some of the busiest streets, and I found it hard to believe that they could earn enough money in a tailor shop to afford the high status in which they appear. I was deeply suspicious after reading my book, having learned so much more about the trade & which countries run the gamut on abduction, transport and purchase. Cristie and I decided to investigate, using tips from the book, and see if we could dig up some info on European prostitutes in Bangkok. It only took a matter of minutes to discover where "Russian" girls could be found to service men, and I knew we had them. My heart beat rapidly at what was unfolding in front of me.
A few days later, our days in Bangkok coming to a close, Cristie and I ventured out just to see what we could find. As it turns out, we were directed to an area of town known as the Arab district, right next door to where we had been ministering for a month. We were looking for a specific bar, and walked a couple blocks down but didn't see it. Headed back towards home, I felt the Holy Spirit tell me to try a side street, so we did. On that street, I met a man who asked what I was looking for. I brushed him off and told him it wasn't there. He responded, "How do you know if you don't ask?" So, deciding to humor him, I asked where the bar was and he promptly told us it went by a new name, but was a block down. Amazed, we headed that way, found it and went in. There was nothing suspicious that I could see, so we walked out to go home. Stepping onto the street, we came face to face with a hotel that was mentioned several times in our research as a place to go for Russian girls. My jaw dropped, and I knew we had just found what we were looking for, and that the Holy Spirit had guided us there intentionally.
We went in, looking for a disco club and discovering a large amount of middle-eastern men hanging around the lobby. There were dozens of Asian girls in a seated area on the left, and the sounds of loud music floating down the hall from a room at the back. Everything was wrong about the atmosphere, nothing was "normal". We pressed on, determined that we were in the right place. A pool hall emerged on the right and I suggested we venture in there first, mostly to gain a few more minutes of preparation before we entered the disco. Several tables on the left were occupied by foreign men, and it was clear we did not blend in. However, we pressed on, fearless, but wary. All of a sudden, I rounded a huge marble column that was blocking our view and came face to face with 4 girls playing pool. They were surprised to see us, and edgy at our presence. They were speaking in low tones, but I caught a European dialect in their voices and knew, without a shadow of doubt, that we had just found what we were looking for.
In that moment, I didn't know what to do. There were a handful of Arab guys standing around, obviously guarding the girls, and eyeballing us. At risk of exposure, I turned to Cristie and made small talk while my mind raced. Neither of us knew what to do. We had never formulated a plan. We expected to find them in some seedy bar, not in a quiet pool hall surrounded by guards. Desperate to speak to them, I conjured an excuse and approached one of the girls. "Excuse medo you know where the disco is?" She turned to face me, completely panicked that I spoke to her, and stammered out a response, "Whwhat?.." When I looked in her eyes, I saw everything I needed to knowpain, hopelessness and terror. I knew she was Natasha. She pointed me in the direction of the club. Cristie and I walked away, having no idea what to do. We entered the disco area briefly, seeing 5 more girls under watch. While we were in there, one of the big guards outside brought in the girl I was talking to and her friend. They looked absolutely miserable. It was too loud to talk, and we knew there was no way we could accomplish anything. We headed home, choking back tears in the taxi, and sobbing together later.
The next night, we took 2 guys and returned to that hotel, hoping and praying to see the girls again, this time with a plan of approach. They were nowhere to be seen. It was our last night in Bangkok, and there was nothing I could do. I reported the story to several groups in Thailand that help trafficked girls, trusting that God will deliver them. But I was left asking God why He'd so obviously led me there when there was nothing I could do. I cried out to Him in my pain, and He reminded me of a prayer I had at the beginning of the Race. I asked God to let me see what sin had done to our world. He has consistently answered that prayer every day of the Race so far, some days more strongly than others. I cannot forget those eyesthat terrorthat pain. I cannot forget how helpless I felt when I looked in them, and it still brings me to tears instantly. In that moment, something changed in me. I couldn't look in her eyes and then just walk awayto do nothing. I saw her life, her heart, her suffering. And it became mine, too. So, this is me, not walking away. This is me, telling you so that you can't ever walk away either because somewhere, at this moment, a young girl is getting raped for the first time on the global sex market. Her name is Natasha and her life will never be the same.

The Brokenness of Man

Fri, 5 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

During my month in Thailand, I saw countless white men with young Thai girls. I saw hundreds of men in bars, on trains, buses and streetsall there for one thing - sex. Of those hundreds of men, I saw two wearing wedding bands. Now, I don't care what anybody says, there's no way all of those men I saw are divorced or unmarriedthere's just no way. The truth is that they're sons, husbands, fathers & grandfathersCEOs, doctors, teachers and soccer coachessome old, some young, but mostly middle-aged. Their families and clients have no idea what they do while they're away. Whether on business or vacation, they prescribe to the sex-traveler's subculture, keeping each other up to speed on where to go in any world city for sexual pleasure. It's not just a few hundred guys in Bangkok either, its millions of men around the globe. My friend calls them sex addicts. He may be right, but there's more to it than just that notion.
Humanity is broken. We have a big gaping hole in our lives - in all of humanity - and that is directly attributed to the lack of a love relationship with our Creator. God created us, as humans, to live in relationship. Adam's first relationship was with God, himself. His second relationship was with Eve. This is the proper order of things. But when sin entered the world, it created a gap in man's love relationship with God, and then it messed up things in our relationships with each other. But our souls are desperate to fill that gap, that hole. We were created for love and intimacy with the Father, and we crave it more than anything else in life. People chase after love every day, trying to fill the void with earthly things - or numb the pain of loneliness - through drugs, alcohol, chocolate, sex, materialism, false intimacy, status, power, etc. But they cannot satisfy earthly relationships as long as their relationship with God is still broken. It's a vicious cycle of lust and brokenness that never stops.
Men come to Bangkok and other cities in Thailand seeking affirmation, love and intimacy. They know that in any bar here, there will be women who will lavish attention on them, desire them and sleep with them. They push aside the obvious truth that the girl is paid to do this, and the more obvious truth that she doesn't enjoy it. Instead, they focus on the moment and the sense of pride and dignity they receive with the allusion of love. They revel in affection, fulfilled for a brief period but it's never enough. They are desperate for relationship, for God.
Initially, I couldn't see all of this. I couldn't see the brokenness of Man. All I could see was the brokenness of Women at the hands of men. I looked at them and their lust, their selfishness, their greedI got angry. I became disgusted. I had contempt for them. But then I would recall a man I saw on my first trip through the bars, when everything was still new and my flesh was too shocked to respond. He was sitting alone at a bar, overlooking the courtyard. He appeared to be about 60 years old. He sat there, unmoving, staring at the ground. His eyes were blank, his body slumped. He had a drink in front of him and nothing else. He didn't look around or attempt to speak to anyone. The bargirls paid no attention to him, even those without clients. He was a nobodya man that bargirls weren't even desperate enough to flirt with. His low self-worth and high self-condemnation radiated from him across the yard. I got teary when I saw him because he struck me as a man that felt most undesirable and entirely alone. He seemed to have no hope and nothing worth living for. He reminded me of a man I know, and it was then that I saw him as God sees him. I saw his brokenness and was moved to compassion. All month, he was the image I clung to when anger rose up.
For women to be healed, men must be healed. For men to be healed, humanity must be healed. For humanity to be healed and brokenness fixed, we must release the Kingdom of God here on earth and restore our relationship with the Creator. It's an overwhelming task. We have to start by looking at each other as children of a living God, and stop measuring each other on the good vs. bad scale. These women aren't Prostitutesthey're daughters of the King who prostitute themselves because they're broken. These men aren't Sex Addictsthey're sons of the King who are addicted to sex because they're broken. The old cycle will end with the beginning of a new one.
Let us adopt a new mantra

"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has appointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted and to announce that captives will be released and prisoners will be freed. He has sent me to tell those who mourn that the time of the Lord's favor has come, and with it, the day of God's anger against their enemies. To all who mourn in Israel, he will give beauty for ashes, joy instead of mourning, praise instead of despair. For the Lord has planted them like strong and graceful oaks for his own glory." Isaiah 61:1-3

I'm still alive!

Mon, 1 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

I know you've all been desperate to hear from me the past month. I have LOTS to say about my ministry with The Well in Bangkok. It will have to wait a few more days because the time I had planned to devote to blog writing was exchanged for several more nights of ministry and intervention. We've been debriefing at the YWAM center in Bangkok for 5 days. All 4 World Race squads (January, June and September teams) are here together, so you can only imagine how hectic it has been. We leave for Cambodia in the morning and I'll fill you in on EVERYTHING very, very soon. June and Sept racers are traveling together. We have at least 15 hours of bus travel ahead of us, deep into the countryside. We'll spend a few days together at a training center, before splitting up and heading to our respective ministry locations. Team Awaken will head to Siem Reap, site of ancient ruins and also known as the "mecca" of Buddhism. We'll spend our month teaching English to monks and Cambodian children ranging in age 6-18 years. After my time in Bangkok, which you will hear about soon, I'm excited to put my phenomenal teaching skills to work again. We'll have a ton of freedom in our schedule to work outside of the school in orphanages and villages. After the weekend, I'll have a ton info on Cambodia's history and present situation. Pray for our safe travel, no lost documents, luggage, etc.

Thanks, and I'll holler back soon with fabulous updates.

The Ultimate Bride Price

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 00:00:00 GMT

The bible depicts the relationship between Jesus and the Church as a marriage. The Church (believers) is the Bride of Christ. He is the Bridegroom. This is the ultimate love relationship, that which exists between a husband and wife. It encapsulates intimacy, companionship and desire. God describes our relationship with him with this analogy. Wow. It can make a person uncomfortable initially, until you understand what God was saying.
Marriage is a covenant between man and woman, a binding agreement meant to be kept until death. We recite vows to one another, swearing to keep this covenant. We are acknowledging that we love each other. We understand Love only by what the Bible says about it, particularly in Corinthians: Love is patient, kind, selfless, hopeful, faithful, forgiving, persevering and eternal. It is not jealous, boastful, proud, rude, irritable, condemning or unjust. So, we can look at this and understand what God meant when he said that we are the Bride of Christ. We can understand His nature of love towards us, and the covenant - kept forever - that he makes with us when He says He is our Bridegroom.
In olden days, it was custom for the groom to offer a bride price. The groom would pay something - be it riches, land or livestock - to the bride's family in exchange for his bride's hand in marriage. Even then, men were purchasing women as they do now. It's just a lot cheaper today, because they don't come with "forever" attached - just one night. Men can choose to pay a high or low price, fluctuating with what they deem to be worthy, and the desperation of their partner. They get away with it because women don't see their own value. They don't believe in their worth. They put a price on their body and sell their heart, piece by piece, night after night. They suffer the pain of broken relationship constantly. It's as if they marry and divorce every night of their life, sometimes twice.
Jesus, the Bridegroom, paid the ultimate bride price when he offered up his life in exchange for his Bride, the Church. He paid the highest price, but he wasn't buying sex. He was negotiating for the hearts of men & women for eternity. So, how do you explain to someone that no one can buy them because they've already been bought?? How do you tell them that their life was paid for a long time ago, that their heart was paid for? And if they keep giving it away, there won't be anything left for their Bridegroom? How do you explain that He's waiting, patiently, for his Bride to come to the altar? And that His love is patient, kind, selfless, faithful, forgiving and eternal? And how do you convince a broken young woman that she is a daughter of the most high God when she believes that she is nothing but a prostitute?
I found myself trying to do all of these things on my last day at Narimon. One of my girls, *Goza, chose to return to the bar for the 3rd time. She became largely concerned about her parents and could not afford to pay the medical expenses or insurance she needed. So, she left Narimon and went back to what she knew would cover her expenses. I sat in her room, and told her through teary eyes that no one could ever buy her, that no man could pay a price that would match her worth. I told her that God would love her no matter what the circumstance, and that He would never turn his back on her. I told her if she would just trust Him that He would provide for her needs. I could see in her eyes that this will be a long journey for her, and she will have to find her own way. It was heart-wrenching to say good-bye, not knowing what will happen to her. But I trust the Lord that He has her in the palm of his hand and nothing will snatch her away. I trust that His covenant with her will endure the best and worst of times because His love is faithful. And I trust that, as her Bridegroom, He will not stop wooing her heart to His.

** Please pray for her safety, her heart and her return to the altar. The Well staff continues to minister to her at the bar, and is seeing little progress so far.

Come to the Fountain

Tue, 11 Sep 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Days were long and nights were longer in Thailand. Our team worked with an organization called The Well, which ministers to bargirls and at-risk women in the Bangkok area. Their work is exhausting, fraught with joyful highs and painful lows. In a city of 15 million, over 200,000 women work the streets as prostitutes, with more than 2 million in the entire nation. The numbers are shocking for a country where prostitution is "illegal". Most of the girls come from farming communities, poor families and little education. In their country, women carry the responsibility of caring for their parents and families, adding huge burdens to their daily lives. Men are typically lazy, while their wives and children work their fingers to the bone to provide. Ends never seem to meet in this country, where one makes an average of $200 per month in a full-time job. Bargirls can make twice that, or more. So, as you can imagine, the allure of city life and the promise of financial freedom make even the most degrading job seem worthwhile in the eyes of a young woman pressured to support her family.
The Well fights hard for the hearts of these girls. Once they're in, it's hard to get out. Their work leaves them scarred and dirty, their hearts in pieces. Money claims their lives, and honoring their parents becomes more important than safeguarding their innocence. Some parents don't know for certain what their daughters are doing, and simply don't ask where the money comes from. Other parents do know, criticizing their girls for not working hard enough to bring home more money. But, whatever the background story, the present-day circumstance remains the same for everyone - they're trapped in a system that offers no hope of a way out, desperate to be rescued, for a prince to come. Every day, they scan the crowds, hurting on the inside, but smiling coyly and waving wondering where he is.
Then He comeswrapped in the hearts of men and women, offering grace, love and hope at The Well. Women have the chance to start a new life, get an education and learn a skill that will support their family. Within the city, there are 3 centers, each offering a different program. Center One specializes in at-risk teens, offering endless grace and patience, while teaching them to make greeting cards. Center Two, Narimon, focuses on English and discipleship for women in their 20s & 30s, teaching the art of making jewelry or running a salon. Center Three bases its ministry around discipleship & healing while making purses or skirts. All three places are fountains of life to the women who work there. They are learning English, business and self-worth. They are learning who God is and what He would do to win their hearts. It's a beautiful process to see, both joyful and painful.
My job focused around teaching English at Narimon. They began each morning with bible study. Afterwards, Jenny and I spent a couple hours teaching English or tutoring them one-on-one. Then, they spent 5 hours making beautiful jewelry by hand or handling salon customers while I would hang out, chatting and building relationships. (I made a bracelet on occasion too). These women weren't just my students, they were truly my friends, pleading with me to stay and live in Bangkok. (Believe me, I considered it). After work, I'd rest a couple hours before heading out to bar ministry, where we would focus on building relationships and trust with girls still in the street business. We told them about The Well and shared our lives with them. They, too, became our friends and family. It was, by far, the most emotionally challenging ministry I've ever been a part of. There were victories and losses every day. At times, I felt so small and insignificant in an underworld of evil and deception, wondering if we would ever gain ground without also losing it somewhere else. But, in my despair, God was there to remind me that it's in our weakness where He is strong. Because of this, I cannot fail. No matter how much it hurts, I shall stay the course.

Jesus replied, "If you only knew the gift God has for you and who I am, you would ask me, and I would give you living water." John 4:10

** Pray that the Well's ministry in Bangkok is fruitful. Pray that women have the courage to leave the bars, seeking a better life full of truth and love.

**If you're interested in reading more about The Well, ck out their website www.servantworks.com . They are busy uploading the business catalogue that will have pictures of purses, cards and jewelry. It will be finished soon. Please consider supporting this wonderful ministry and the lives it touches. It is the only ministry of its kind in Bangkok. The website offers an option for online donation.

**Read about two of my students, Jo and Fern, and how their lives have changed at The Well.**

Bar Ministry

Mon, 10 Sep 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Our first night out, we were shown around by a missionary friend in Bangkok. She took us to several huge bars, to get the lay of the land. It was quite shocking on our initial encounter. Even if I described the scene in detail, you could not imagine how it really is. The bar we chose to minister in for the month is actually a large clump of bars and strip clubs gathered into one big courtyard area. There are about 30 bars together, with 3 floors of entertainment. It's disgusting and seedy. Several hundred girls work this one area, boasting all sorts of entertainment. Things get crazier from the first to third floor. Going up the steps my first night, I was hit with spiritual warfare and immediately started praying in spirit. I knew this would be our home for a few weeks.
Cristie and I frequented the area 3-5 nights a week. We met a few girls at a bar our first real night of ministry, and it turned out to be a divine appointment. We became friends immediately and spent our entire month loving them. Patty, Missy and Teresa have become like family to us. Initially we bought cokes to sit at the bar, but after a couple nights, they refused our money and made a habit of giving us free bottled water instead. We spent a couple hours each night talking and laughing together. We discovered that Teresa was a Christian through The Well's ministry to her. She could not afford to give up her job as cashier, but her faith was growing abundantly. She ministered to her co-workers and pointed people to The Well when they were ready to leave the bar. She began to ask me to pray for her needs, which was a great blessing. So, night after night, smack in the middle of strip clubs and pole-dancing, I sat and prayed over Teresa. Then Cristie and I started going to the gym with Patty, who was trying to lose weight and found it difficult to exercise alone. This gave us a great opportunity outside of the bar to minister to her. She opened up about life as a bargirl, family expectations and her life dreams. She told us that none of the girls wanted to work at the bar, but none of them could afford not to, either. She said she didn't like to go with men, and avoided it as much as possible. She told us she wanted to marry a good man, someone who would take care of her. Patty's father died a year ago, and she cried as she told us what he meant to her. She now has the responsibility of taking care of her mom, whom she dotes on endlessly. Her family owns a rice farm in Esarn (a region in north Thailand where most bargirls come from), but the living isn't much and her brothers are lazy. Her mother doesn't know she works at the bar, and she cannot tell her because it would break her heart. But she believes her self-sacrifices are worth her mother's happiness and financial stability. I told her about The Well, and how much we worried about her in the bar business. She said that since she'd met us, she wasn't lonely. We prayed for her often.
We decided to pay Missy and Patty's bar fee one night and take them out for a night on the town. (Anyone who wants to take a girl out of the bar must pay a $20 fee, then an additional fee for sex). When we arrived, they were so excited. We'd spotted this mechanical bull in a nearby bar and had been joking about riding it for awhile, so that's what we did first. It was hilarious! We all rode twice, but no one had a fall more dramatic than Cristie when she went tumbling head first over the front of that bull. HA! Then we headed out to play pool and hear a band play. When the night was over, we walked to our cabs and Missy thanked me for such a nice holiday. She told me how much they love us, and how much they'll miss us when we go. I reminded her of what a beautiful person she was and that we would always stay in touch. It was the beginning of the end of our time together and we all knew it. I dreaded the good-byes because we have come to love them so, so much.
Our last night with them, we arrived at the bar to find out that Patty had rushed home to Esarn. Her mother had died tragically after falling and hitting her head. We spent about an hour with Missy, talking about life and death. We shared the Gospel with her, and left an album full of pics at the bar. Later, we called Patty and cried with her a bit. I know God has a plan for her life, but it's not something she could possibly understand right now. It was extremely hard to leave, knowing there was so much to do, so many people to love. But, I know I'll be back in Bangkok someday, and I can't wait to see what God does in their lives while I'm away.

**Pray for our girls. They are amazing women in search of love. Pray that they find it in Jesus Christ. Pray that Patty finds peace and comfort. (Note: Names have been changed to protect their identities)