Well, it’s 6:30am on day two of our trip to the seaside resort town of Kompong Som. Yesterday at this time, we were already on the road from Phnom Penh – 4 mini-buses full of kids and staff, more than 100 of us in all.
After a four hour drive that took us through rice fields, factory towns, mountains and coconut groves, we stopped at Cambodia’s very southern edge, dropped our bags under the thatched cabanas that line the beach and, en masse, ran out to meet the gently rolling waves, laughing, jumping and splashing.
After five or six hours of sun and sand, we dragged ourselves back to the cabanas, flopped into the low slung hammock chairs and prayed a blessing on the evening’s meal. What a feast it was, everything except for the pork and the pickled cabbage had come directly from local waters, and had probably been caught that day. With a lot of help from our Cambodian hosts, we ate our way through mountains of fresh crab, lobster, shrimp and squid. If it hadn’t been so affordable, it would have felt decadent.
Often, when I come to Cambodia, I feel like I don’t get enough time to just hang out with the kids and staff. Yesterday, we had the entire bus ride and the whole day at the beach for nothing but pure, unrestrained fun, an extravagant celebration of God’s goodness to us, and the love we share as a big, boisterous family.
And yet today I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I always run the risk of overdoing it, but yesterday was one of those days where I really had no choice. And this morning? I’m preaching at our little makeshift church service, and then we’re heading back to the beach for another few hours. I suspect I’ll do a little less frolicking and a lot more lying around.
Tomorrow, I think I will rest.