Learning greatness from a Cambodian refugee

If you’ve been following my blog series, you’ll recall that I was on the Thai/Cambodia border at the height of Pol Pot’s rein of terror. I was in charge of a pig and chicken project for refugees and the pigs were thirsty. The pigs needed water.So I asked, “Where’s the water?”

“Over here,” my translator showed me a dry cistern.

“How do they fill it?” I asked.

“With this wheel barrow-looking contraption.”

It was an oil drum attached to a couple of wheels. The well was half a mile away.

“How much would we have to pay some of these refugees to get enough water to fill up the cistern?”

“A few cents per load of water.”

Within a day the refugees were tired and had given up on the task. But one sturdy old guy who will forever remain in my memory stepped up. His name was Morn Min and he and his sons made 37 trips in the hot Thai sun until the cistern was filled with water and the pigs were happy again.

From there it was on to the problem of the flies, the plague of biblical proportions. There were swarms everywhere. Where were they coming from? We looked all around the pig house and discovered that the pig sewage was draining into a cesspool behind it that was strangely moving. Upon closer inspection we discovered was writhing with maggots. Unless we found a way to drain the cesspool, the flies would keep breeding there.

So we drew up some plans to dig a ditch. It needed to be a deep ditch to get all the sewage out. The refugees began to dig deeper and deeper. Eventually someone had to get into the cesspool to muck the sewage out into the ditch. No one wanted to get into the maggot-infested sewage – it looked disgusting.

But then there was my hero Morn Min again. He cheerfully rolled up his pants, took off his shirt, and began digging away, shoveling the sewage into the ditch. Eventually we cleaned out the sewage.

And, for those of you taking notes, after my three months in Thailand, I had learned my first major lesson about greatness: I learned that the world’s pain is excruciating. Whatever little hangnail I’ve got can’t compare. It looks like war-torn Cambodia. It smells like that cesspool. You only find greatness as you try to do something about it. Someone needs to get in the cesspool of pain in this world.

Is there a Morn Min in you?