Wednesday - and lots still to do (Kit)

Yesterday Kelvin asked me if I would paint the door upstairs in what was formerly (!) the hideous Pink Room. I raced upstairs and painted the door. White. Nice, cheap, crummy white paint. The paint looked beautiful ...for about five minutes...and then the old colour started seeping through. It looked dreadful. SoI painted the entire door again. And again. And again. And again. When it had about half an inch of white paint on it (I exaggerate) it finally began to look reasonably presentable. But I painted it again today. And again. And again. I also did a little trim on it - we all love it (the idea re the trim that is, not my excessive painting). I think it was Kelvin's idea. We'll send you a picture of it soon.
I did some other painting. If you can imagine ME, who practically faints 12" off the ground, and falls and breaks bones (I think I am up to six now) on a fairly regular basis, at the top of a very steep staircase painting the walls and shelves around me - and loving every minute of it..... (Don't believe a word of this; I was painting with one hand and hanging on for dear life with the other).

I am completely wiped, but I am so glad to be here, and I am not discouraged. I am convinced that God knows exactly what he is doing here, and though I will not be around to see the next chapter I am positive that our work is not in vain. I do think that this work is but a speck in the Big Picture of child abuse, hunger and human trafficking... but I am at home with Speck Work. No one has ever asked me to be involved in moving mountains. And just knowing that the former brothel we obliterated is gone forever is extremely satisfying.


The Little Sharks were out in full force today, and there are a couple I am becoming fond of. We play this inane hand clapping game that I sort of made up on the spot (couldn't recall the way we played it , um, fifty years ago). , and we count in English as we do it. The kids are indefatigable. If they are not racing after Tim or Toph or Richard ( "Tom!" "Tom! " "Tom!" "Tom!" "Tom!" "Tom!" for what seems like hours) they are fighting (screeching, slapping, kicking, yelling, shoving) over who gets to be next to slap their hands into mine. The little 'girl in the yellow dress' now approaches me, smiles, counts and plays with me....but her eyes still look disturbingly old. And those eys are usually fixed on our ice chest filled with Coke.


It occurred to me today, that I do not see many people my age, and I assume that this was the generation that was obliterated by the Khmer Rouge. In a country ravaged by war, genocide, and a huge lack of teachers, doctors, philosophers, etc (all slaughtered) this generation slows down to survive, so any untaught, untreated, uncared for. And the Little Sharks of Svay Pak wait in the wings, world weary, wary, waiting to be used, abused, or to get rich.... Maybe tonight.

Kit