By Cassandra Howard

2021 is now drawing to its close, and several times now I’ve heard different people say how they’re reeling at the thought that 2021 is already over––and that they never finished processing 2020!

As a result, I’ve found myself looking back on my 2020, and I realize there are a few things I’m still processing. Things that I’m eager to continue processing. This photo, for instance, captured the most powerful moment of my year, and it’s a moment I never want to forget.

This was March. Covid was just hitting the US. China had been drowning. Reports out of Italy were horrifying. Travel bans were going up. My husband, Nick, and I were living in a small town in Thailand, and our visas were expiring. Despite misgivings about our ability to successful return to the country, we went ahead with our long-planned trip to the next-door Cambodia so that we could apply for new visas. We were scheduled to fly out of Bangkok, and since we arrived a day early we took the opportunity to ride my first roller coasters since before my mission. As a result, I flew out of Thailand with a prominent pain in my neck. 

We had been planning on three days in Angkor Wat, an entire city of ancient temple ruins in the middle of dense jungle, since we had first decided to go to Thailand, and we were very excited. Reality was even better than we could have hoped and we were blown away with how incredible everything was! On the other hand, reality shared a chilling surprise: tourism is one of Cambodia’s primary industries, and the town we were staying in was entirely built to house, feed, and entertain visitors––but now there were no visitors. The first two days spent in Cambodia felt like we had stepped into a beautiful faerie land––until we were confronted with the fear in every face we saw. 

So we explored, hiked, and marveled, trying to appreciate our solitude and ignore the increasing desperation around us. I was also trying to ignore the mounting pain in my neck, that only seemed aggravated when I tried to massage it out. With everything going on, though, I wasn’t about to let a little neck ache bother me, right?

Then the third day dawned, and we set out for Angkor Wat with our tuk-tuk driver. Every jolt of the motorcycle-pulled cart that carried us to the first temple over rough roads sent pain shooting down my body. We arrived and climbed, hands and feet, up the steep stairs to the first platform that was tall enough to level with the treetops you can see in the picture. By the time we got to the top I was in tears. It was probably the sharpest, most concentrated pain I’ve ever experienced. 

So I reached the platform and just sat on that step, gasping and crying. I couldn’t move. How dare this horrible little thing ruin such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! It didn’t seem fair––it was all wrong.

I finally sent Nick wandering off, and settled in (since I couldn’t move anyway) for some prayer and meditation. 

It was a beautiful early morning. The coolness not yet burned off. Mist rolled off the thousand-year-old temple into the jungle below as the sun peeked up. The cicadas were a pleasant buzz. Birds rose and fell in fluttering groups into the foliage. And sitting there, it finally struck me: because I wasn’t running around, exploring and taking pictures, I was actually able to enjoy it. 

God, in that moment, showed me there was no injustice to any of it. All was as it should be. I spent a long moment on that step, reveling in the beauty of God’s curriculum for me. 

Eventually, I got up and Nick and I continued on. My neck still hurt just as much, but I was calm, happy, and peaceful. It might as well not have hurt at all for how it affected me. I looked around freely, I pulled myself up steep steps, I posed my head to smile in pictures. In a way, I was glad it had hurt so badly, because it taught me something invaluable––that things are as they should be, even with the pain. 

I confess, that small tourist town in Cambodia has sometimes haunted me in the year and several months since, even though Nick and I are now back home in the States, healthy and happy. Sure, a few days of neck pain can be alright, but how can a starving country be okay? When I go to the Lord about it, though, I’m taught to start with myself. To trust, to love, to have faith. As I’ve done so, He’s also taught me how to better begin to serve all those that do need help. If I can find peace and happiness in myself, I can help to bring that to others. 

I hope you can look back on this year, and even the year before, and see the Lord’s love infusing your life, both in the awesome moments like this was for me, and in the middle of the more mundane, day-to-day enticements that He gifted you.