Rising

"Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I rise."

from: And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

I had hoped to write this post last week. As part of the last one. But I was flagging. And couldn't get the words out. So I opted for coffee and some comedy on iplayer instead. A natural break, it felt, after an afternoon of re-visiting a tricky and tumultuous time.

It's interesting now I'm in a flow with this blog, that even with all the thoughts and ideas I have for it, I can't seem to force the words. It's like they're coming in their own time. At their own pace. A lesson in itself in the unforced rhythms of grace.

So, today. Rising. Part two of last week's saga. Where I left off at the end of the proverbial shipwreck. And the surreal time just after.

It's funny to think that out of that chaotic and upsetting time there came a gradual sense of order and peace. And rest. I hadn't a lot to do once everything had dissapated and, left to my own devices, I knew I could easily sink. So I thought I'd give myself some sort of structure. And what seemed to work was a 40 day plan. Which took me exactly from the day of that decision to the day a friend was arriving from the UK. A weird seredipity it seemed.

So I planned in times to write, reflect, pray, go out, see friends and maybe find other projects to get involved with. Also a time in my favourite place in the hills, Mondlkiri, where I would go and stay in a wooden hut and soak up the green, the fresh air and the peace. A v welcome change from the WAAAA and smog of Phnom Penh.

By the time my friend arrived, I was definitely on the up. The 40 days had held me, giving me space enough to rest and shape enough to focus and do things . What was especially encouraging was the way I found my natural community. Or rather, the way it found me.

For the four years I'd been in Cambodia til then, I'd worked with a guy called Sophorn on a project called the Good Touch Bad Touch Puppets Flipchart Project (oh for a shorter title!). Together we'd delivered training days across the country and been to Nepal and Bangladesh plus been part of the same team with the NGO that had pulled out of Phnom Penh a couple of months previously. Sophorn and his wife, Nary, also lived in the same street so we knew each other pretty well.

Although by this time, Sophorn was out of a job, Nary's ministry reaching out to garment factory workers was flourishing. And some of the girls she was helping were staying in the flat above, having left factory work to go back to school and to run a small business selling snacks on the street to support themselves.

I can't remember what happened exactly but not long after those 40 days and after my friend had left, I was pretty much part of the flow of things with Nary, Sophorn and the girls. Going round for meals, helping with Bible studies, having them over to my flat for get-togethers with other friends, visiting the factories and generally being part of something that felt very natural and real.

What was most humbling and heartening was that it was Cambodians who looked out for me in the end. Mostly Cambodians anyway. They just got the thing about community and not just doing stuff together but being together. Eating, praying, sharing our struggles, having a laugh. So when I came back to the UK for that visit and said I was rising, much of that was because of them.

A page from "Psalms from the Penh"

In the end, when I returned to Cambodia for what was to be my last 6 months, things just seemed to click. The 40 day rhythm helped keep me focussed again, as did the community around me. And I was able to do more than I'd thought or hoped for, including the "Psalms from the Penh" book which still amazes me when I look at it.

Since returning to the UK I've kept to the 40 day rhythm. And it's helped me again not to flounder. Each 40 days has had its own theme, which has either been obvious from the start or has become obvious. And I've had a strong sense of being led, slowly and carefully, during this time of transition.

With any time away, we come back different and changed in some way. As cliched as that sounds. For me, Cambodia undid me but it gave me loads back in return. Not least this thing of rising. And of rhythm. Being among some of the most resilient people I know and learning from them. And the treasure of being loved by them. Not for what I could do for them. Which didn't feel like much in the end anyway. But just for being me. One of the gang. Shoulder to shoulder. Rising together.