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In February, I had the privilege of traveling to Vietnam with Phuong Bui, a member of our congregation, to deliver 408 bicycles that had been donated by members and friends of our church as part of a special Christmas Eve outreach through her foundation, Children of Vietnam. The following is an excerpt from my “God’s Morning, Vietnam!” blog (GWVBUMC.blogspot.com).

Our day began early with a 5:30 a.m. departure from Saigon. There is no such thing as going fast as we are constantly making our way through a maze of motorbikes, pedestrians and an odd assortment of other vehicles. After close to three hours, we finally arrived at the school for the first distribution of 50 bikes where we were greeted like rock stars.

Phuong made a moving speech to the children, talking about how her mother had been a teacher in Vietnam before the war, and then she presented about 25 scholarships to some very happy children. Just $50 will cover a year’s tuition, but for many families even that is beyond reach.

We were then all eager to move on to the presentation of the bikes. We had prepared a sign for each child indicating the donor of their bike over a colorful backdrop of hands washing feet to connect it to our church’s mission; there is a need to be subtle in a Communist country. We took pictures of each of the children proudly receiving their bikes and, though polite and reserved by nature, there was no hiding their pride and joy. We even got one group to do a victory lap around the courtyard.

Driving through the Mekong Delta on our way to Bac Lieu was a fascinating mix of shanties, banana trees, rice fields and overburdened motorbikes carrying everything from roasted pigs to mirrors to large baskets of produce. The roadside was littered with makeshift markets and small business stalls all day long.

We had been invited to a local Buddhist temple for dinner that night and again we were received like royalty, greeted with tea and a vegetarian meal. The head nun graciously invited us to tour the grounds and to take pictures at the evening prayer service. The chanting was hypnotic and what a treat to end the night connected in prayer both worlds and religious traditions apart.

Sunday morning, we headed from Bac Lieu toward Cam Mau and then took a longboat ride up-river to deliver 30 bikes at a remote Buddhist temple. The 30–minute journey through these backwaters of the Mekong Delta in itself was a poignant privilege that I could barely take in: extreme poverty on the water’s edge co-mingled with the stark beauty of the landscape. The feeling of being at the edge of the world far, far away from Bethesda, was overpowering.

When we finally arrived at our destination, the place was buzzing with people and anticipation. Children and adults had gathered from many miles and villages around to receive their bikes and the food distribution from the Buddhist Temple where we had eaten the night before – one poor community reaching out to an even poorer one. Sandy, our blonde-haired traveling companion from Minnesota, was quite the spectacle as we were the first foreigners that many of these people had ever seen in their lifetimes – they kept wanting to touch Sandy’s arms and hands to see if she was made of the same stuff as they were.

Our trip to Phan Ri the next day was pleasant and brought quite a change of scenery. Gone were the rice fields and in their place we saw rubber trees, dragon fruit cactus and evergreens. Our local hosts,  Mi and Long, were both retired teachers who now devote a good deal of their time caring for the poor and most vulnerable in their community. We got to see and be part of their work firsthand as we visited a number of severely disabled and disfigured individuals throughout the community our first night, and then helped with their monthly rice and financial outreach the next morning. It was by far the most heartbreaking and difficult part of our trip.

They started lining up early in the morning, hours ahead of the official distribution time. One by one they came, mothers carrying grown and maimed children, blind men hobbling on canes, one woman literally dragging her body across the concrete sidewalk to the doorstep. An endless sea of human need.

I was often asked to make the presentation of rice and money and, while I felt totally inadequate, did the best I could. I’d kneel low, look into their eyes and use some variation of this simple script each time: “This gift means you are loved and not forgotten. There are people who care about you. May God bless you.” Sometimes I would sing a blessing, always I would say a prayer in silence as part of my sacred assignment. The crush of people, the outstretched hands, the begging eyes: Kyrie eleison. Lord, have mercy.