Theft

I’ll just start this post with a dramatic declaration. My purse was stolen on Friday. I was riding in a tuk tuk (an open-air cart that people hire to drive around town) and my little bag was next to me. I turned around to give the confused driver directions, and a man on a motorbike rode up next to us, grabbed the bag, and took off. We couldn’t follow fast enough (the driver didn’t even notice until it was too late) and just like that, my stuff was gone.

This little incident stirred up a lot of feelings, most of them negative. First, I was angry. What right does someone have to take my belongings. I was upset that I made the mistake of not protecting my bag better (and after living here, I should know to do that). I am sick of being a target because of my skin color and my nationality. For the first time, I’m thinking seriously about what motivates crime. Is it simply greed? Hard circumstances? A lack of options? I suppose I’m a bit indignant—how dare they steal my bag. Though I would feel bad if it happened to anyone, it’s somehow worse that it was me. Is that selfish?

Second, the inconvenience of it all was overwhelming. Instead of spending the afternoon finishing preparations for the arrival of a team from the US, I had to call my bank in America to block my debit card, go to the Cambodian bank to report my card stolen and withdraw cash to last me for the week (usually I can use an ATM), report my cell phone number stolen, go to the phone company to restore it, and purchase a new phone. On Monday, I had to take my passport (thankfully, safe at home) and my US driver’s license so that one of our staff could arrange for me to have a replacement Cambodian license and motorbike registration. I already had a new bike key made up and had to retrieve my spare house key from my cleaner so I could get inside my apartment.

Now, seven days later, something strange has happened. I didn’t have time to dwell on this incident very much after it happened, and in fact almost forgot about the incident (after being upset for a time), except to be very careful. Then, while riding up to a resort for our staff retreat, I got an interesting phone call. My purse had been returned! The money and my phone are gone, but my keys and cards (including my driver’s license) are all inside.

Is it a miracle? In my life, it might be a small one. I’ve never heard of this happening in Cambodia (and neither has anyone else), and barely heard of it in the US. It comes at a time when I have been feeling particularly alone here. At the moment it happened, I struggled not to cry. Times are busy, and so this was another thing that occupied my time and energy. Now, looking back, it seems so small, such a little thing. I’ve spent the last few days with our staff, and a team from the US, touring our work in Cambodia and interacting with the locals. I’ve been distracted from this, absorbed in other issues, and so my recovered purse represents, to me, a small bit of God’s grace in my life. A few minutes next week saved, a bit of stress averted. At the moment, I can’t think of another blessing I’d rather have from the Lord.

Perhaps this whole incident can be interpreted in another light. As I'm learning to live a life of sacrifice, I'm finding new meaning in familiar scripture passages. Like this one: "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys" (Luke 12:33). As much as I love the little pink bag that's been recovered, I think that maybe this little lesson has taught me that someday I'll have to be content without it.