A piece of home

Clouds covered the sky as I rode an elephant to Phnom Bakheng. Climbing the steep steps to see the top of the temple, I found myself in amazement of this piece of Khmer history.

But, while taking pictures of broken lingas and faded carvings, I heard the sound of children singing. When I ran to the other side of the Hindu temple, there is saw nearly 50 Cambodian children dressed in Catholic school uniforms. Worshipping Jesus, they  were singing English praise songs. 

“Amen! Amen! Oh how I love you, Lord!,” they sang to the lightning bolts in the sky.

I looked down at the red bracelet on my left wrist and peered across the trees at Angkor Wat, where I received the Buddhist blessing. I then realized that I, the product of a Southern Baptist family, had forgotten a huge piece of home.  Busy chasing a deep knowledge of the dominant faith around me, I had failed to recognize my very own Lord and Savior’s presence from across the world.

Because of these Khmer students, I know see that Jesus is in fact God in more places than one.

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