After the prayer conference last week, Courtney and I needed to go Phnom Penh to get our truck fixed and see the dentist. Yeah, not fun, but we decided to spend a few extra days at hotel with a pool to take a break. While the prayer conference was a total success, we felt the need for a reprieve and a swim.

Our SUV needed the air conditioner fixed. It was really bad timing for it to break. Not only were we transporting a truck load of Cambodian friends home from the prayer conference in 100 degree temperatures, those friends purchased, durian fruit, shrimp paste, fresh fish, and squid for the ride home. This wouldn’t have been so bad, except that the coolers that contained these treasures, leaked, spilling a large amount of the liquid contents into the deep recesses of my SUV. The smell of one of these items is bad, but mixed together, was absolutely unbearable. The mechanic who later helped me with repairs almost refused to work because of the stench.

But as we came into Phnom Penh, Courtney had to drop me off at the dentists, run some quick errands, and pick me up around 5 pm, the hottest part of the day. As she neared the dentists office, our truck stalled out in a very tight, busy intersection. And of course, it wouldn’t start. Here she was, our boy Weston is in his car seat screaming because of the heat and stench, anxious feelings flowing with the needs of a new baby, over 100 degrees outside the car, no a/c, and getting yelled at by Cambodians who are too busy and impatient to help her push start the car.

After 10 minutes of pleading people to help a few older men helped her push the car and get it started (they also stated that she was neglecting the baby in the car, but what could one do?). She arrived at the dentists, completely wet with sweat, holding Weston, who equally hot and wet, and his diaper bag. We rushed him into the air conditioned doctor’s office, while I, still numb and dizzy from the dentist appointment, helped her give him a bath in a sink to cool him down. We reached that familiar emotional threshold again, either laugh, or have a nervous breakdown. We chose to laugh.

We spent the last few days setting by a pool, waiting for the truck to get fixed, and the foul fetor to subside. Before we left Phnom Penh to return home to Koh Kong, we decided to stop by the office and get our mail. As Weston and I were on our way out to the truck from our office door, we were met by a Cambodian man in the street. He was in his mid forties, covered with blood from head to toe, with a dazed look on his face. It was as if he had been hit by a car or something, but I saw no car. Did he fall off something? Was he ran over? Cambodians were coming out from their houses to witness this hideous sight.

He was bleeding profusely from one of his hands, saliva was dripping from his mouth, and he acted like he was completely disoriented. I ran back inside the office, called for Courtney (who is a nurse) and tried to steady myself (I get light headed with the sight of human blood). No one was willing to help him. Nearly forty people we assembled to watch this man bleed to death, and I wondered why no one was wanting to help him. It was then the visual clues were falling into place and it finally occurred to us what was really going on. He was not hit by a car, but in the process of committing suicide. A bloody piece of glass was on the far side of the street which he used to lacerate his wrist.

He was completely intoxicated with alcohol (maybe other things, too). Courtney, with gloves on, and armed with some bandage material from our office made a tourniquet on his wrist. He was so docile and light headed, he didn’t put up a fight. The cut had exposed much of his wrist and a tourniquet was the only way to stop the flow. Weston and I were proud of how she handled the situation! A police man came driving up and waited with us as the ambulance arrived twenty minutes later. He sat on our front steps, not revealing anything about who he was or what drove him to this madness.

After he left, I had to wash away the pool of blood from the place were he sat with a garden hose. My mind began to process the situation. This man, despite how terrible his condition was, was once a little infant, like my Weston. He had a family who loved him, at some point, and cared for him. What had come into his life to push him over the brink? I started to think about others in my life whom I care for. I was terrified that this madness could come to someone I knew, someone like him.

What a blessing it is to have a God who loves us, whose every action is done out of perfect love. What a gift to know him, to know He is completely trustworthy, and shelter in the middle of the storm! We can, at any moment lay our deepest burdens down at His feet.

This poor man, didn’t know what was available to him in his desperate hour. He was ignorant of the great resource available to him. While our encounter with this man was a shock to the system, I walked away with greater motivation in my work here in Cambodia. The needs are substantial, and while my efforts are like a drop in the bucket, the hope available to all is worth my all.