It won't be long now.

After school today I rode my bike to The Shop. I sit in my usual place and order my usual thing.

They know me here. This place is comfort, habit.

The behavior of the people around me suggest it is late afternoon. No one is in a hurry, everyone has accomplished their tasks for the day.

Two ladies sit and drink tea while they read their books.

A couple in the next room cuddle on the couch.

A mother and her two daughters who I recognize vaguely, sit across the room.

And then there is the man. Now, if you've ever been to Asia, Cambodia in particular you may know the type that I am talking about. They are in search of something, they wear their Asian pants and sit with their notebooks open, drinking whatever it is people who are searching drink, taking it all in, thinking thoughts, trying to experience.

They wander the streets in awe of the trash, the heat, the difference in lifestyle. And then they sit in places like The Shop and write about it.

I don't know what they hope to find. Enlightenment, hope, change, love.

All wonderful and valid things to search for. But sometimes it seems so forced, so strained.

I feel a little remorse for judging this man, pushing him into this stereotype and I turn the light on myself. I've been here ten months almost. I came in search of something, I used to walk around in awe of my surroundings, I used to sit in this place and write and write, I wanted to take it all in.

And as I sit here at the end of the day, and nearly the end of the year, have I accomplished everything I wanted? Have I learned everything I needed? Have I really experienced everything I could? Have I been pushed far enough? Have I loved deep enough? Worked hard enough?

Have I grown?

Three more weeks.

Three more weeks.

"And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn't it?" Donald Miller

Silence.

It's a little after one pm. My kids just stormed out and as I sit at my desk I take in the silence. Its a new thing.

After five periods of crazy, silence is odd.

And I smile, because I wouldn't trade my five periods of crazy for anything.

Neha.

March 19th 2011 is not a day that will be easily forgotten in the hearts and minds of those of us in Cambodia. On Sabbath March 19, 2011 around 3:30 in the afternoon there was an accident.

A horrible accident. An accident that took the life of Neha Khan.

If you've ever heard me talk about the Khans then you are aware of the importance they play in my life here. We moved into our apartment eight months ago which is located directly above their house. Coming down the stairs from our house you land in their front door way.

Alia and Akrom, are from Pakistan, they have lived in Cambodia for about ten years now. He is the mission treasurer and she is one of the secretaries. They have two children, Avak who is eight and Neha who is four. Avak and Neha call Olga and I, Baji, which means older sister in Urdu, it's one of my favorite things I've ever been called.

Sumara used to live with them as well, she is Alia's sister. But when they went back to Pakistan in December for furlough Sumara stayed in Pakistan. While they were gone we missed them. What was usually an open door with Neha in the doorway, Baji Annie! Where are you going?! Had become an empty house. We counted down the days until they were coming back, and when they showed up about a week after we expected them we ran down stairs to pass out hugs and share our excitement at their return.

Neha who had turned four shortly before they left had grown so tall! Just couldn't believe it! She spoke Urdu to us for a few days while she readjusted and we laughed and reminded her, Neha, we speak English, you have to speak English! Pretty soon she came around.

Neha spent time most afternoons in our house. Coming up to show us something, or wanting help with her math papers, and we always knew when she took a shower because she would come up and shout, Baji Annie! I tooks a shower! Smell my hair!!

She was teaching us Urdu. Or trying at least. A few weeks before she died I asked her, Neha, how do you say beautiful in Urdu? She replied, sa-at na! No, Neha, thats Khmer. She then had to ask Avak. coup-soud-ra! And, what are you doing? Key-ah-car-day? And her favorite, pagal! Crazy!

There was traditions as well. After vespers on Sabbath she would come grab my hand and pull me outside. Baji Annie! We need to FLY! Which meant her jumping off benches and me catching her.

There was the one time we decided to go to Sorya and get ice cream with Avak, Neha, and Sumara. Neha was on my back when we left and I didn't realize until half way that Neha didn't have shoes on. It's ok! She exclaimed. You can carry me!!

I got a box of My Little Pony Fruit Snacks in the mail a while back. Neha came in when I was eating them and so I shared. She wanted more, but I said no, we have to wait until tomorrow. And she made me PINKIE PROMISE that I wouldn't eat them without her. The next day she came up and we sat on the floor, one for me, one for you.

When we would come up the stairs she would always be in the door to greet us, Baji Annie! Where are you going?! Do you like my dress?! Am I looking nice? And if I was going somewhere close, like Fay's she would want to come and we would hold hands and she would tell me stories. We would always tell her, Neha, you're going to be so beautiful when you grow up! And she would just smile.

The last Thursday and Friday she was in our house stand out in my mind.

On Thursday evening she came up so I could smell her hair, and then she wanted to do trust falls off the couch. I asked her, what language do you like to speak, Urdu, English or Khmer? She answered, Urdu. But after she thought for a second she said, English. Why Neha? Because my dad says its good to speak English.

Alia came up to find her and after we talked for a few minutes she said, ok Neha, say bye! Neha asked to kiss her mom and then she said byee!!! And we all laughed, Neha, who are you saying bye to? And she threw her head back and just laaaughed.

On Friday she came up with some math papers, counting and coloring and asked for help. And then she crawled onto my lap to say hi to my sister on skype. And while Olga was in the shower she was singing and Neha asked, Baji Olga, what are you doing? I'm singing, Neha. And Neha replied, I don't like it. Before she left she kissed my face as was custom. I tried to hand her the papers she brought, but she said, no I'll come tomorrow.

The last time I saw Neha was Sabbath after lunch. It was alumni weekend and all the activities were at school, when normally they would have been at church. All of the husbands from the mission, including Akrom, were in Thailand, minus Tim. Olga, Phil and I had gone to school to catch the end of lunch and see what the afternoon was going to be all about. Neha ran and jumped on me and we took this picture:

I kissed her face and she ran off to play with others. Ever the social butterfly.

At 5:20pm we walked down the stairs from the apartment to go to vespers and the mission parking lot was full of people, and outside of Sharon's house was full of people. We stopped to ask, and we were told, Neha is dead. What?! And thats when we heard the crying coming from Sharon's house. The next six hours were a blur of crying and shock that I don't feel ready to type out. But as more details came out we learned the Neha had been crushed by a truck after her and Alia were knocked from their moto outside of school. Avak wasn't with them as Alia was just going to run home and change clothes and get some water.

Akrom arrived at the mission at 8:30 and came into Fay's house where I was with Avak and the other mission kids, the kids where taken out and Akrom told Avak. There are not words for how absolutely hearbreaking this was.

When the ambulance finally came at 10:30pm and they carried Neha's body wrapped in a blanket out of the house, I just couldn't believe it.

Sunday it started to sink it. We woke up to sounds of crying from the house below ours and a lot of voices. I rode my bike away from the mission to get some space and found myself at school. Kim Sreng had held Neha in the back of the truck on the way to the mission after the accident and I wanted to make sure he was ok. We sat and I cried as he told me the story of holding her and listening to Alia's cries of anguish. Soon the dorm girls came over wrapping themselves around me telling me about their last experiences with her, or what had happened after the accident, and they cried with me.

The Sunday previous Olga and I had gone for a long bike ride and when we came back Neha came up and we tried to teach her how to jump rope. And we told her, we can try again next week. But instead of jump roping with Neha, we sat in Fay's house just to be near people that we loved.

On Monday there was school, and after school there was to be a memorial service. Monday was hard. After crying during staff worship I had to go straight into six hours of teaching. My kids knew what happened because it had been announced and they were easy on me. When I was done teaching I cut out early to come home and try and help, or at least sit and breathe for a minute. The memorial service was at 3:30 and by ten after three the church was packed. By 3:30 it was more than over flowing. We sang Jesus Loves Me during the service, Neha's favorite song. Two Sabbaths before, the mission kids had led vespers and Neha's part was to sing Jesus Loves Me, but all of a sudden she got shy and so we all helped her. Singing Jesus Loves Me at her funeral was rough.

Pastor Dean told of Neha's way of sitting with people in church and I identified with this because the two weeks prior shortly after children's story she had appeared at my side with pens and paper ready to sit on my lap and be terrible at whispering.

There was never any doubt if she loved you.

She was honest.

She was beautiful.

She loved Jesus.

I had walked down the stairs a few weeks back, as the family was sitting around the table and Neha was praying, I paused to listen as she prayed for what seemed like every person she had ever know.

For now there is an empty house below us, reminding us of the loss of this little girl every time we come or go. When the Khans come back from Pakistan this time it will be different, there will be no little girl to love, no hair to smell, no face to kiss.

I know that I will someday soon I'll hear her call out, Baji Annie! Someday soon we will do trust falls, and stand and pretend to fly in the wind, we'll climb on the roof to look at the street, we'll sing songs, and dance in the rain.

But for now I guess I'll just have to wait. That day cannot come soon enough.