by B. D. Riehl
“Oooh, why does this feel so good?” She nuzzled his cheek.
“My mom always said they have to be cute and win your heart so that you won’t kill them during the toddler or teen years.” The women shared a knowing laugh.
Patsy stroked the baby’s curled fist, coaxing him to grasp her finger. “They still haven’t found any family.”
Charlotte nodded, both heartsick and relieved. “What is Deliverance going to do?”
“Well,” Patsy exhaled deeply, “normally when a child is orphaned, they are taken into a home with the organization until their relatives can be located or, if that doesn’t work, until they are available for adoption.” She transferred Noah to her other arm, careful not to wake him. “But I’m not sure what will happen with this little one and his sister. Maly should be fine in the home she’s in for now, but they don’t have the space for a baby.” Patsy paused, scrunching her nose. She twisted her face a few times, closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Her body convulsed as she tried to sneeze quietly.
Noah jerked and, realizing he was not with Charlotte, began to whimper. Patsy, distressed that she had woken him and possibly ruined what little sleep Charlotte could get, stood and bounced around, desperate to keep him from waking further.
He was not fooled and shook his little fists in outrage, crying loudly, twisting his feet together. Patsy looked apologetically to Charlotte who reached for him. She tucked Noah in close and patted his bottom gently while she bounced around the small room. His cries dissipated almost instantly, and the room fell into peaceful silence again.
Patsy shook her head. “Charlotte, he only wants you.”
“I think it’s just because I was the one that was able to get him to eat. I don’t know how aware newborn babies are, but he has to miss his mother. We have no way of knowing how long he cried next to her after—” Her throat closed, unable to complete the thought aloud. She sat next to Patsy on the bed. “It sounds crazy, Patsy, but I feel like I was sent here just for him.” She turned to her mentor imploringly. “I was thinking I could stay here instead of going on with the group. Just until he calms down. Then I could help around here until it’s time to fly home. Would that be too complicated?”
Patsy’s lips flattened into a hard line and she broke eye contact. Charlotte’s heart sank. She gazed down at Noah, unsure of how she could possibly leave him when the group flew to Thailand in two days. She looked up in surprise when Patsy let out a little cry.
“Oh, Honey, God is good. I’ve been wondering how I could possibly ask you to give up the rest of the trip and stay here with him. I didn’t want to ask you to stay behind while Lydia and the rest of us continued on. I’ve been praying for hours, and began to pace the hall when I saw your light on. And here you are, offering before I’ve even asked.”
Charlotte wanted to weep herself when she realized what Patsy was saying. They leaned into each other, sharing their tears of joy and relief.
Chapter Thirteen
The next day, the group toured the Killing Fields and witnessed for themselves the raw reality of how Cambodia came to be so dependent on others for help. A brick tower that was filled to the top with the skulls of the victims of the awful genocide loomed ahead. Windows covered the tower, so that tourists could see the haunting sight. Charlotte had stayed behind, and Lydia longed for her sister’s reassuring presence.
Their guide described to them many ways that innocent people, especially children, had been tortured and killed. He pointed out the solid trunks of trees scattered throughout the area. He explained that children had been held by their ankles, and then swung so that their heads cracked against the trunks, silencing them forever—one right after another. As he spoke, Lydia was certain she heard their screams. The open mouths behind the glass of the tower shrieked at her. She wanted to cover her ears.
The sweltering humidity was fitting; as sweat trickled down Lydia’s back in small rivulets, she felt as though she were walking through hell. Meaningless. That’s all she could muster. This place was a representation of meaningless cruelty and genocide. Was everything in life this harsh and cruel and hopeless?
Not everything, child.
Lydia felt the hair prick all over her arms. She turned away.
***
On the ride back to the campus, Lydia thought about what Michelle had said about God being there to comfort Mrs. Patterson in her grief and forgive Mr. Patterson for his infidelity. But a philandering husband was much less of a misdeed than murder, wasn’t it?
That night, dozens of families gathered in a makeshift tent constructed by the Deliverance organization outside of their gates. Care packages with food, clothing, and candy for the kids, had been piled by the door to pass out after the worship service.
Luke and Michelle opened with “Jesus Loves Me” and then called the children to help them finish the song with wide hand gestures. Lydia watched the silly antics of the kids and their proud faces as they performed for their families. She smiled from her place against the back wall, clapped as they danced a little jig and bowed.
The room hummed with noise, like moths flittering around light. Lydia felt like she was in a furnace, but preferred the hot closeness and exuberant shouts of children to the hushed services at a traditional church, where it was drafty and stiff, quiet enough to hear someone sneeze in the back. Dressed in crisp, clean linens, hair adjusted just so, they sat taking notes as they, the devoted and holy—perfect—Christians, followed along in their giant Bibles. What a contrast in this tent of unwashed bodies, worn, tattered clothes, void of Bibles, full of joy and hope.
When Paul stepped up to speak to the group, he asked everyone to pray with him. Lydia was so heartsick she had to step outside. She passed where Charlotte stood in the back with baby Noah. Someone had found a donated sling in storage, and Charlotte tucked Noah into it most of the day. She rocked back and forth on her feet to soothe him, absentmindedly brushing a kiss across his head. When Lydia didn’t make eye contact with her, she followed her into the humid night air.
“Hey, Younger.” Charlotte reached out to touch Lydia’s back. The people of Cambodia didn’t refer to siblings as brother or sister, but rather older or younger. Where someone fell in the family line was of high importance, the eldest in the family was treated with the utmost respect. “You feeling okay?”
Lydia didn’t immediately answer from where she hunched forward, hands on her knees. Maybe she just needed air. The tent was filled to capacity, the humidity adding to the closeness, making a lot of them lightheaded. Charlotte lifted Lydia’s thick braid off of her neck, hoping to help the slight stir of tropical air move around her and cool her off.
Lydia stared into the night, the sounds of Paul sharing the gospel and Kiet translating, drifted on the beam of light that shone from the electric lanterns inside. She straightened and shook her head. She pointed behind her, toward the tent.
“That,” she said, and shook her head again, the braid brushing her shoulders, “I can’t take that.”
Charlotte linked her free arm through Lydia’s. “What exactly? The heat?”
Again, she shook her head. “How can you all believe, especially after what we’ve seen the last few days…that there is a God that cares? What kind of God leaves this little one and his sister without their mother?” Her hand brushed across Noah’s downy head. She jutted her chin in the direction of the meeting. “How can we expect them to believe it?” Her tone took on a hint of mockery, “God loves you…there, there. Now enjoy this pat on the head and go back to your slums. Raise your children in filth.” She narrowed her eyes in disdain. “And they believe what Paul is saying. They have more joy and conviction than anyone I’ve ever met. But I feel like we’re lying to them.”
“I see.” Charlotte twisted her mouth and chewed on the inside of her lip.
Charlotte looked so much like their mother that Lydia’s heart clenched. She didn’t want to hurt her family. Lydia just couldn’t believe as they did and said as
much.
“You know, Lydia, I get that. I do. I had my doubts at your age. I still have doubt sometimes.”
Lydia snorted in disbelief. “You? Please.”
“No, I do. No doubt that He exists, though. Of that I’m certain. Everyone’s relationship with the Lord is different. Everyone experiences pain on some level. I struggle daily with joy and contentment. But what I lack in joy, He more than makes up for in grace. If everything went well, why would we bother to seek Him out? This,” she pulled a small worn Bible from her back pocket, “has always been life to me. I wish it was for you too. But your relationship with Him has to be real; it has to penetrate your soul.” She made a small circle in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “In a way, Dee, I’m envious of you.”
“Me? How could you possibly be?”
“I know deep down in my knowing places that God will get through to you on this trip. I just know it. And I’m envious of the fire I already see in you. I’ve believed in Him for so long…it has turned sort of mundane. It’s been a long time since I’ve had adventure of any kind, especially in my relationship with the Lord. Even here in this place it seems all I’m good for is producing milk.” She kissed the top of Noah’s head; his lips moved, suckling in his dreams.
“Char, your life isn’t mundane. It’s perfect. Who better than you to take care of him right now? At least you have something to believe in.” Lydia felt heavy. Overwhelmed. She had never imagined such poverty existed. And the trip had only just begun! How would she hold herself together for the rest of it? Could she continue to lie to these people? Put on a happy face and tell them it would be okay? How could it ever be okay?
“Maybe you don’t believe yet. But you will. I just know it. I can’t tell you how; I just do. Why do you think I was so willing to leave my babies to come with you?’ She leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. “I wanted a front row seat.” Charlotte squeezed Lydia’s arm and went back inside.
Lydia turned toward the entrance as Charlotte found a place against the wall and absentmindedly patted Noah’s little bottom curled under the light fabric. There were so many babies in there just like him: born into a filthy poor world with no idea what kind of tragedy was ahead.
“Sorry, Char. I want to make you happy, but I just can’t trust in a God that allows such destitution when with a snap of His fingers He could make it all disappear. I can’t.” Lydia whispered the thought with a heaviness of spirit such as she’d never known.
***
Kiet continued to translate for Paul, but had a difficult time concentrating once the sisters had gone outside. What was wrong with Lydia? More importantly, why was he so affected by her?
When Kiet had first gone to Thailand, where his home base now was, his life had been vastly different from the one he now lived. His mother was born and raised in Bangkok, Thailand, his father in Colorado Springs, Colorado. They met when his father traveled to Bangkok to teach English, and his mother acted as tour guide to the group of men he roomed with. When he had earned enough money and her trust, he asked her father if he could marry her and take her home. While not poor, her family was not overly wealthy and had been happy for the match. His mother was wildly smitten with his father and the rest, as they say, was history.
Kiet had been raised in two cultures. His father was Catholic, his mother Buddhist. They told him he could choose what he wanted to believe, but he knew part of his mother’s hope when he had decided to stay in Thailand was so that he would explore his Buddhist roots. She also hoped, he knew, that he would fall in love with a young Thai woman much like his father had twenty-six years before.
Kiet had fallen in love, though not with a woman—Thailand. “Land of Smiles” had penetrated his heart. He loved the culture, the people, and the landscape: rolling hills, exotic beaches, lush forests. Bangkok, the “Venice of Asia” with its floating markets, little boats weaving in and out of the busy waters, weathered men and women in pointed straw hats dishing out delicacies from precarious boat kitchens, all of it enchanted and delighted him. The aroma of their dishes, filled with spices, peanuts, curry, peppers, fresh fruit, floated upon the river and made his mouth water.
As delightful as the landscape and charming the people were, the poverty, once he came face to face with it, was overwhelming: half-naked children acting out plays on street corners to earn pennies from tourists; adults selling their daughters into prostitution to make money for the family.
The markets were busy with shoppers, people of affluence and position, stepping over mangy dogs and starving children, filling monks alms bowls with their morning offering, while children were stolen and forced into the sex trade for a mere handful of money.
The way millions of tourists a year raped the country of their resources and women out of selfish desire and greed, made him ashamed of his homeland; not that American tourists were the sole problem. People around the globe sought to get their filthy kicks here. The government turned a blind eye to the drugs and sex that attracted wicked excursionists; Thailand was built on the backs of its poor and destitute, and his heart ached over it.
Much like a beautiful Asian prostitute, Thailand beckoned and seduced tourists with her beauty. Inside, the land was corrupt, dead, and decaying, infectious to those that would pay for all she had to offer. Kiet had been no better when he first came, although he had not been aware of the prevalence of the sex trade at the time. He came to seek his own fortune, unaware, until later, of the part he played in partnering with traffickers.
Kiet was weeks into hiding from his own demons in a café in Chiang Rai when he met Paul and his wife, Melody, at the café. They were having a difficult time talking with the proprietor about a girl they were looking for. The man turned red and became increasingly upset when Kiet stepped in to translate.
Paul was looking for a girl that had gone missing from a school he ran and had reason to believe she was there. Kiet could tell the man was hiding something, and when he saw a young female waitress glancing nervously to a door in the back, he hopped over the counter and pushed in the door, the little man cursing at him.
A young woman, eyes bruised, one swollen shut, and strapped to an office chair, surrounded by shipment boxes, sat weeping behind the door. Kiet rushed to release her, Paul and his wife on his heels. Once free, she stumbled into Melody’s arms, shaking uncontrollably. When they walked her through the café, they saw that the previously empty room was suddenly packed. Dozens of patrons had come in to sit at tables and the manager did his best to pretend he didn’t notice the sniffling girl and her rescuers; no one liked public confrontations in Thailand, and the man would rather save his business.
Kiet later learned that the girl, Kamon, was the proprietor’s daughter and he had sold her once to a brothel on Walking Street. Kamon had been rescued and was attending a school in the city when her father found her at a market and forced her home. Paul and his wife, who had been looking for her for weeks, were given a tip by an anonymous family member.
Kiet met with them again to learn more. Paul had started Deliverance and had been risking his life to rescue women like Kamon. He told Kiet the work was dangerous, but that he felt hedged in by the Lord. “For example, that café was empty when we first confronted him; do you remember?” Paul asked.
Kiet nodded. Yes, he remembered.
Paul continued, “The café was full right when we needed it, which was one of the many, many ways I’ve seen the Lord work for the good of these girls.” His faith compelled Kiet to seek him out and learn more.
Soon the faith of Paul and Melody became Kiet’s own, and he knew what he was to do with his life. Unlike the faith of his parents, he wasn’t trying to be perfect, either by the rule of a church or by following the wisdom of Buddha, in hopes that he could live just right.
As Kiet read the Bible and met more frequently with Paul and a few other men like him, he found that he was helpless and hopeless to do any good. Even the desire for right living came from the Lord. He had been
transformed by the work of Christ and wanted to worshipfully dedicate his life to pointing others to Him.
It had been almost four years since that night in the café; Kiet had been translating for Deliverance since then. While most twenty-two-year-old men were in college, more interested in a life of girls and partying, he worked for the Lord, risking his life to offer young slaves’ hope and life. He often bumped into rowdy men his age, carousing through Thailand on extravagant vacations, seeking the same women, as he, for vastly different reasons. They hunted to use them for fleeting pleasure; he fought to liberate them.
Kiet had met countless volunteers from across the world. Numerous attractive girls had come and gone, showering those around them with the love of God. But Lydia was different—reserved. He could tell by her somber expression that she was overwhelmed by this poverty, but without hope. He ached for her. Many without belief in Christ had joined their organization, ready to take on the problems of the world and bulk up their college applications in the process. They all had the same pained look on their face throughout their trip as she did now. What good was food and water to people without hope of a restored spirit?
He prayed that her heart would be open to God’s truth on this trip. That she would embrace that truth as it was demonstrated over the next couple weeks.
He didn’t stop to consider why he cared so much, telling himself only that he wanted all to know the love of the Lord. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he had never been so attracted to a person in his life.
***
Lydia was able to spend a few minutes with Charlotte the next morning before they left. “I can’t believe you’re staying here,” she said.