by Elizabeth
A good friend asked me when I’m going to blog again. My answer to her was: I don’t know. I’ve jotted down things to blog about for months. Light-hearted stuff about third culture kids, Cambodian traffic, or the educational differences between America and Cambodia. But I didn’t feel strongly enough about those topics to make myself blog about them.
by Elizabeth
As a good church of Christ girl, I faithfully attended Sunday morning Bible class, Sunday morning worship, Sunday evening worship, and Wednesday evening Bible class. Over the years, we studied Genesis, Exodus, Joshua, Judges, Israel as a unified kingdom, and Israel as a divided kingdom. Rather skipping over the prophets, we forged ahead to the New Testament, gave the Gospels a passing glance, undertook several iterations of Acts, and then gave particularly serious attention to the Roman and Corinthian letters.
I therefore thought I knew about the Bible.
by Elizabeth
(You can read Part 1 here.)
I’m not a crier. At least, I wasn’t, until I moved to Cambodia. I witness more pain and injustice here than I’m really equipped to handle. Consequently, I spent most of this hot season crying.
by Elizabeth
In this series, I will be discussing the way Cambodian culture and beliefs have affected me. It has been very difficult for me to write (and has taken me several months), because words feel so inadequate to convey my emotions about these things. We are told in Romans that the Spirit will intercede for us with “groanings that cannot be expressed in words.” I can only pray that the Spirit will intercede for me, and that somewhere in the space between my words and your hearts, He will translate for me.
If I have the language perfectly and
Speak like a native
And have not His love,
I am nothing.
If I have diplomas and degrees and know
All the up-to-date methods,
And have not His touch of understanding love,
I am nothing.
If I am able to argue successfully against
The religions of the people and make fools
Of them and have not His wooing note of love,
I am nothing.
If I have all faiths and great ideals
And magnificent plans
And not His love that sweats
And bleeds and weeps and
Prays and pleads,
I am nothing.
If I give my clothes and money
To them and have not love for them,
I am nothing.
If I surrender all prospects. Leave home
And friends and make the sacrifices
Of a missionary career and then turn
Sour and selfish amid the daily
Annoyances and slights of the missionary life,
Then I am nothing.
If I can heal all manner of sickness
And disease but wound hearts and hurt feelings
For want of His love that is kind,
I am nothing.
If I can write articles and publish books
That win applause but fail to transcribe
The word of the cross into the
Language of His love,
I am nothing.
From a sermon by Stephen Brown, as quoted in Paul Hiebert’s book, Anthropological Insights for Missionaries
