Eagerly, I squinted through the dust trying to catch glimpses of familiar landmarks. Our driver propelled us along at dizzying speeds, blaring his horn constantly as our truck avoided cars, motorcycles, bicycles, oxcarts, kids, cows, goats, ducks and chickens by inches. As we hit deep potholes, we catapulted from our seats. Caleb squirmed under my tight grasp. “Mom, are we almost there yet?” he shouted above the pounding rhythm of disco music. “I need to go potty!”

At last, we were on our way to live among our people group! I was almost too exhausted for the reality to sink in. I had been quite sick for the previous two weeks. Just as I was feeling a bit better, the moving date was upon us. Still not well, I began to pack. For four days, I packed and packed and cleaned and cleaned. Then, early one morning, the trucks came to take our things.

As we rounded a bend, our house came into view. “At last!” I thought. “Now we can unpack and settle in.”

As I stepped out of the truck, Greg came to meet us. He had arrived before us on the motorcycle. “Honey,” he said. “I just need to prepare you before you go into the house . . . it’s a construction zone. We can’t move in yet. Please, just stay calm.”

I swallowed the words that bubbled up inside me: But they knew we were coming and said it would be all ready! I put on a smiley face and reassured our landlord and his family. “No problem.”

Suddenly I felt exhausted and sick. I looked at the two trucks piled high with our things. I knew our drivers were anxious to unload and make the four-and-a-half-hour trip back to Phnom Penh before it got too late. What were they going to do? Throw our things on the side of the road?

“They said they can clear out one of the bedrooms,” Greg reassured me. “We can store our stuff in there until we can move in. We’ll stay in a guesthouse in Chhlong until then.”

It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was a challenge. For one thing, our only transportation was our motorcycle. So, the four of us and as much as we could pack in our backpack headed for the guesthouse on our small motorcycle. Daily, we returned for fresh clothes. I hand washed our mounting laundry.

That week, I had a relapse of my previous sickness, and Greg got sick, too. Our poor kids! There was nothing for them to do in our small, bare, filthy hotel room (or should I say, “house of disrepute,” if you know what I mean). Their toys and books were buried in our possessions. Bless their hearts, they were creative in devising entertainment and didn’t even complain much. In the meantime, Greg and I lay around on the bed with fever, headaches and sore, congested lungs. We survived on French bread and fruit for breakfast and white rice and fried vegetables for lunch. Oh, for homemade bread and granola!

After five days, we were finally able to move into our home. We were anxious to get settled, but we hadn’t anticipated the difficulty of just living in village conditions. It took most of the hours in the day just to survive, let alone unpack. To compound this, the morning after we moved in, we woke up to a lake under and around our house. The river had flooded during the night as a result of heavy rains upriver. Since people use the river as a toilet as well as for bathing, cooking, washing and drinking, the water was filthy. As the water rose, entire colonies of ants made our home their ark, and boy were they pesky! I’ve never seen so many ants all in one place before. Nice big red ones, too!

This would have been difficult even if we’d been in good health, but our sickness made it almost unbearable. We didn’t have a well yet because of the flooding. Greg had to haul water from rainwater cisterns, slogging through floodwater two and three feet deep, and then hoist it up steep steps to our house. Just doing the simplest things, like washing dishes, was a huge ordeal. Then there was washing clothes on top of that. I would often stay up late into the night trying to catch up on the laundry. Three, sometimes four hours later, I would collapse into bed to nurse my bleeding knuckles. Then we had to figure out how to get clean water to drink, which meant numerous trips into town for Greg. Another annoyance was that the mice found our bulk food stored in the bedroom and had a feast.

After a week of pushing myself physically and emotionally beyond what I could ever remember in the past (sorry, Laurence, this beats the crucible during training), I finally broke down late one night after collapsing into bed next to my feverish husband. I had once again spent three and a half hours washing laundry using every ounce of energy I possessed. Greg groaned that his head felt like it would explode. My head pounded, too, and my tears flowed. It felt good to cry.

I wondered why God was allowing all of this to happen. Hadn’t He called us to the Cham? Doubts crowded my thoughts. Did He really expect us to work in these conditions? I had been sick for about a month now. Would I ever be healthy here? I felt I couldn’t go on another day. As Greg and I talked, a thought came forcefully to us: We are exactly where God wants us and exactly where Satan doesn’t want us! Satan’s tactics had worked to an extent. He had brought our emotions to the point where we would love nothing better than to pack up our bags and go back home.

As Greg and I took hold of God’s strength through faith, I knew that Satan’s tactics were an utter failure. I smiled through my tears as comfort enveloped me. We wouldn’t be packing our bags. If Satan was this mad about us being here, God must have some very special Cham children waiting to hear the good news of salvation. I felt His assurance that this, too, would pass.

The next day, Greg sent out an e-mail to some of you asking for prayer about our sickness. We took a week off and went to the provincial capital to rest and recover. We felt your prayers. Almost right away, we began to feel better and stronger. Within a couple of days, we were completely well. God answered your prayers. Thanks so much!

When we came back home, the floodwater had receded. We felt stronger, and although life was still a lot of hard work, we didn’t feel worse for the wear. In fact, with new muscles and calluses, my hands, arms and back don’t even burn when I wash laundry anymore nor do my knuckles bleed. Life is busy but pleasant. Thank You, God, for giving us the gift of perseverance!

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