7 minute read
Global Connections
BY SIV ASHLEY
Looking back on my life forty years ago when I first arrived in America, I am struck by how much everything has changed. While some changes have been good, most have been for the worse. One example is cell phones, which no one had back then. Now, people all over the world have cell phones, even in remote areas like the jungles of Africa and the mountains of Nepal. I know this because I have been to these places. However, one thing that will never change is my faith in Jesus Christ.
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My story begins in 1971, growing up in a poor family in the Cambodian countryside. Despite our circumstances, I was surrounded by loving family members. When I was about eight years old, my father decided to go to the capital to trade goods at the store and bring home enough money to send me and my brother to school. It was then that he heard the beautiful name of Jesus. He learned so much from the people who told him stories about Jesus, and he believed. He came home so happy and shared the good news with our family, and we all believed it.
But then, in an instant, my life turned 180 degrees. The horror began on April 16, 1975, a day I will never forget. My brother and I were playing in an alley when we were startled by the sounds of bombs, guns, and sirens. In the chaos and mass of people, my brother and I were taken to a work camp. We were forced to work all day in the rice fields without food or water, and sometimes workers would be beaten until they passed out or died. Starvation became more and more common, and some children died while working in the fields. Each time I was able to visit my family, one by one, I found out they had been beaten, starved, or thrown into a large hole to die.
Despite all of this, I was able to hold onto the faith that my father had shared with me. So many times, my father would say, “Believe, and you will go to a place called America.” He would recite John 3:16 to me. Even though he didn’t have a Bible, he knew that verse by heart.
Eventually, the soldiers came to me and told me I could go see my father in the next village. I was overjoyed, but when I arrived, my father seemed worried and tired. Flies were eating the flesh on his wounded leg. He whispered, telling me I needed to prepare to escape soon and take my brother with me.
We tried to escape, but we were captured and stuck on top of each other inside an army truck. They drove us to a wooded area that I had never seen before, where there was a small wooden house surrounded by soldiers. This is where they began the punishment. One at a time, they made us watch as each man was drilled through his eye. We, the children, could not even scream because we were in such a state of shock. My father died about eight months after the first escape attempt. I wasn’t there to see the torment my father took from the soldiers, but to see his body in a prison cell locked up. I tried to hold back the tears so the soldiers wouldn’t see me cry. Now what? I was angry, mad, sad, and helpless, but I thought of my brother. He was still alive. Psalm 71:4-6 (KJV) comes to mind: “Deliver me, O my God, out of the land of the wicked, out of the hand of the unrighteous and cruel man. For thou art my hope, O Lord God: thou art my trust from my youth.”
Little did I know that the soldiers had put my brother in a different place, which they called better but was actually worse. It was a dead place where they laid each of the kids, the elderly, and the injured on a grass bed to die. Some were already gone, their faces covered with flies. Overwhelmed with pain and sadness, I knew I had to fight for my survival. My brother’s condition worsened, and I knew that if I didn’t act soon, he would die there. By word of mouth, I learned of plans for a second escape, so I hurried to my brother’s sick camp. But when I arrived at the grass beds, his body wasn’t there. A tingle ran down my spine, and I knew the worst had happened. An old lady came close to me, held my cheek in her hand, and said gently, “I’m sorry, but he has passed.” She grabbed my shoulders and urgently said, “Go, and go now.” Proverbs 3:5 (NIV) says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”
In a few moments, I ran through the forest with the others. As one of the smallest, I had to be quick to keep up. My lack of food had left me weak and feeble. We raced past the banana and coconut trees, which had once meant food and playtime but now filled my heart with devastation. Suddenly, I heard a loud noise that made me think the explosions had deafened me. It was the grenades thrown at us by the red soldier. I fell to my knees and cried. I looked up at the sky and remembered my father’s words: “Believe in God, and one day, you will go to a place called America.” I began to pray. In my frozen state, I watched as a man in uniform appeared and snatched me up. We ran wildly through the brush, shooting his gun toward the red soldiers. He managed to take out several of them. All I remember is I was with someone I’d never seen before. He was different, with a kind and gentle voice. Though I couldn’t understand his English, I could tell he was being kind. I will never forget the red, white, and blue flag with stars on his uniform. He brought me to Thailand to a refugee camp, and I fell asleep from exhaustion. When I woke up, he was gone, and I knew I was in a safe place. They weren’t beating me, and they were giving me food. In the USA, in a town called Jefferson, North Carolina, Jefferson United Methodist Church was preparing to sponsor an adoption. They adopted me. It was there, in that church, that I first heard the Gospel preached and felt the love of Jesus in my heart. I found hope and healing in His Word, especially in Psalm 34:18 (NIV), which says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Though my life has been marked by incredible hardship and loss, my faith in Christ has sustained me and given me the strength to keep going. Now, after 32 years of marriage, I have two wonderful children and a daughter-in-law. I travel all over the world to tell others about Jesus. As my father would say, Hebrews 11:1 (NIV) says, Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. That’s the faith my father taught me about. I thank God every day for my life. Because of Him, the blessings outweigh the pain. Thank you for allowing me to share my brief life story. If you’d like to purchase my book, it is on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and on my website: www.sivashley.com.
