“Please, come see my friend!” a Cham man pleaded with my husband. His friend had been hit by a car and was virtually paralyzed by a broken back. Day after day, he lay on his mat with large bedsores. There was no flesh on his sores, just a strait view right down to the muscles. He suffers so much!

We were visiting a village where the people had expressed their desire for us to help them with their health. Before starting this trip, we had prayed earnestly, “Lord, please lead us to the right village.” We went with caution. Still fresh in our minds was the rejection from the Ma Khume (district leader) to our offer to teach English and health principles in what we thought would be the ideal location.

This time, our travels took us even further up the river just over the border of Kracheh province. We spent the day going from village to village. Many of the villages had new mosques. Many of these mosques had been built by missionaries from Islamic countries. Traditionally, the Cham practice folk Islam, but from our observation, it seemed as though the people here were on the brink of becoming fundamentalists. Sometimes, we would see fully veiled women covered in black from head to toe with only their eyes showing. Wherever we stopped, everyone seemed warm and friendly.
Throughout the day, we continued to pray. It was our plan to begin inquiries the next day with village chiefs, and the local Ma Khume. But as we headed back to Chhlong where we would spend the night, we couldn’t settle in our minds which villages to inquire at. None of them had gripped us.

When we got to the guesthouse, it was late afternoon. We didn’t want to sit around in our 10’x10’ guest room all evening. “We could continue driving up the river on the other road just for the fun of it,” said Greg. “Our map shows a couple more Cham villages we haven’t seen yet.”

“Might as well,” I replied, thinking we would see more of the same thing.

As we drove into the villages, we noticed that they were considerably poorer than the others we’d seen. The mosques weren’t nice or new. They didn’t look much different from the homes, which were closely spaced old, weathered wood houses on stilts. When we stopped to ask questions, a sea of smiling faces surged around our car. Everyone was eager to practice the one phrase of English they knew: “Hello, what is your name?” They pushed and squeezed until they’d each had their turn.

We were instantly drawn to these loving, friendly villagers. As we pulled out of the village, we both had a strong impression that this was the place we should inquire about the next day. We began praying earnestly that God would open the doors if this was where He wanted us.

Praise God, the doors opened wide and fast! At the largest village, with a population of about 4,000, we were taken to the chief’s house. After tea sipping and polite questions about family, Greg shared about English classes and health education. The chief was eager even though he knew we were Christians, and he said his village needed help with health. They would be more than happy to have us come and live there. Greg shared that we needed to visit with the Ma Khume to get permission, and also we wanted to inquire at one more village before we made any promises. So we went to the Ma Khume, praying earnestly that the Lord would open his heart to our inquiries. His heart was more than open. He immediately took us to meet the chief of the other village we wanted to visit. He was very excited about what we want to do. Praise God!

At this smaller village (about 1,000 people), we learned that the main need was for an English teacher. They even had a house for us to rent. We went that afternoon to look at it. It is just on the edge of the village and has fields on three sides of it. Thank God, He considers the needs of our children as well!

We feel God is leading us to this smaller village. We had felt a bit overwhelmed at the prospect of a village of 4,000 people coming to us with their health concerns because we aren’t health professionals and because we need to spend a lot of time learning the Cham language and doing culture studies. The big village was a bit disappointed, but we assured them that they wouldn’t be forgotten since they are so close by. (Any health professionals out there feeling God nudging you to join us?) To make a long story short, by the time you read this, we will be living in the smaller village!
The next day, as we began our trip back to Phnom Penh, a moan escaped our lips as we saw the road ahead. “How are we going to get out of here now?” Just three days before, we had traveled this same stretch, and despite miles of bumps and Texas-sized potholes, our Toyota Camry had managed. Since then, however, rain had changed a stretch into a muddy bog. In front of us, a large Vietnam-War-era truck had sunken down to its bumper. Several men were trying unsuccessfully to push it out. Behind us, the Mekong River had flooded the only other road out of the district. People had told us that the road floods for several weeks a year—not much comfort when we only had three days worth of clothes!

Greg jumped out of the car to get a closer survey of the road. Several Khmae men offered their advice. “Aut Bun Ye Ha!” (“No problem!”), the first man said. “Drive your car down the left side, and you’ll have no problem!” Greg glanced at the soft, torn up road partly covered by tree branches and grass.

As he walked a little farther, a second man called out, “Aut Bun Ye Ha! Drive down the right side of the road!” So much for their advice!

After examining the obstacle for himself, Greg decided the best plan would be to start on the left then steer to the right. But first, we bowed our heads in prayer. “Dear God please send Your angels to keep us on track and out of the bog!” As we slipped and slid around the miry ruts on either side, we had a surreal feeling that someone larger and stronger than us was keeping the car on course. Even as Greg steered to the right and we felt the back of the car begin to slide toward the deep mud on the shoulder, it seemed like a supernatural force pushed it back, allowing us to make it through.
As we pulled to a stop at the end of the stretch, we breathing a sigh of relief and thanked God for His protection. Greg glanced at me and exclaimed “So Honey, do you think we need a 4×4?”
We feel God has opened the doors for us to begin work in this district. And while we are thankful that He can even get a Camry through the mud, it’s time for us to invest in a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Would you prayerfully consider contributing to our vehicle fund?

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