She came flying out of the bar in a flash so quick I was confident a bar girl had decided to up her attempts. Then the streak of blue landed and I looked into familiar eyes. The joy of seeing her quickly faded as I realized she had not come to see a friend at this bar… it was her new job. A deep part of me ached. Her children were at home in Isaan with her family who had encouraged her to return to her brokenness. And she had returned, alone, to seek a man and riches in a city that’s glittering lights offer false hope of such dreams becoming a reality. The freedom once within her grasp through a fresh start once offered through the loving care of a Christian organization seemed now to lie firmly in her past. She was moving forward now… back into a cage when she once was a bird set free.

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

– “I know why the caged bird sings”   Maya Angelou

She is Cambodian. Probably 5 or 6. And incredibly sweet and mischievous. He is also from Cambodia… around the same age. They look like brother and sister. I heard they are, but I have no real way of knowing. Khmer and Thai are such different languages. She’s a quick one. She stole my Nalgene when I set it down to take their picture. But I guess I did let her. I couldn’t take it from her… not with the smile she wore. That was in September 2008.

A couple of weeks ago, as I was heading home late at night with a friend I saw her alone on the songtaew. Her brother, if he is her brother, wasn’t there. No parents. She can’t be much older than 7 or 8 now. I immediately recognized her. I don’t know if she remembered me or or not… but the entire songthaew ride home, we made silly faces at each other. And she copied everything I did. I never caught her name.

Later that week, I saw her in the downtown area begging. She remembered me this time for sure and her face lit up. I stopped for a few moments to say hello before heading on.

Then one day, as I was sitting in our office I saw her walk by with an older woman. Ying, one of my Thai teammates, immediately knew she was Cambodian, that she lived in the slum outside the city and that she came every day into town to beg in the area that I saw her in earlier that week.

My heart ached to do something for her. Though I’m saddened that she has no true childhood, I’m glad that she’s working as a beggar and not selling herself. I wonder what has happened to her brother though. I have not seen him yet.

There’s a child shrieking with laughter down the hall from my room as I write this. I wish that my little friend could share in this laughter for more than one songthaew ride. But I have to leave her and her brother in His hands, and trust that little ones to Him belong. Though they are weak and vulnerable, He is strong on their behalf.

I heard this week…

A ladyboy stopped by a new training center, wanting to glean some job skills.

“Are you a Christian center?” she asked.

“Yes,” came the reply.

Dejected. “So you will not take me?”

“Oh, no! I will take you. You come.”

The ladyboy has not come.

Oh, God… What have we done?