When Linda and I passed a large bus in Manning Park last week, I noticed the words “RescueCambodia.org  emblazoned on its side. Curiosity immediately captured my mind and I hoped it would stop at the park lodge. I had questions.

Twenty minutes later we emerged from the lodge and I saw the bus, parked about 50 steps from our car. With camera in hand. I asked a distinguished appearing man for permission to take a few pictures. He agreed readily and several school age young people came out of the bus, apparently as curious about Linda and me as we were about them. As I began snapping pictures, others joined them.

Then a small elderly woman approached. She was introduced as Marie Ens, founder of Rescue Cambodia. We learned they were on a fund raising tour across Canada and the youths would be performing Cambodian dances at the Penticton Alliance church the next evening.

Wanting to know more, we drove to Penticton the following afternoon hoping Marie would have time for us. The conversation with her was an adventure. Her voice, facial expressions and body demeanor exuded unreserved resolve and passion. Nearly 84, the excitement for her mission has not abated. “My husband Norm and I  served as missionaries in Cambodia many years,” she told us. “We were evacuated several times due to political and military crises, once when the merciless Khmer Rouge were advancing. We were always eager to come back. After Norm passed away, I was urged to return to Canada at age 66. I still wanted to live and serve in Cambodia though, so I went back. I was widowed, with no one supporting me, and only my pension to live on.”

Undaunted, she joined with 3 Cambodians and a missionary couple to start a center for families coping with HIV. Their 16  thatch and brick dwellings quickly filled. “With no anti-retroviral drugs available, the parents soon passed away leaving their precious children in our care.”

In 2003 they started an NGO and registered it with the Cambodian government. 10 homes were built, each with space for 10 orphans. When these were filled, they built another 10 homes.

They now operate 3 orphanages, one of which is the largest in Cambodia. “We have a school, medical clinic, meeting hall, library and pre-school. We also opened an office, built granny and staff housing, planted a large garden, and began raising chickens, ducks and rabbits.”

When students graduate from the school program, they can go to university. Rescue Cambodia pays their tuition and provides free accommodation in their House of New Dreams.

Leaning forward, Marie said with conviction, “The entire Rescue Cambodia operation is run by Cambodians. The teachers are Cambodian and the children are cared for by Cambodian mothers. The food is Cambodian. The children live like other children. We want their Cambodian identity to be firmly established in their hearts and minds. The Director, Sokthon Chhat is Cambodian. I’m an advisor.”

The government has taken note of the work being done by Rescue Cambodia and appreciates the emphasis on the country’s culture. The Prime Minister’s wife has visited several times, initially in her role as head of the Cambodian Red Cross. On one such visit Marie said to her, “I have a deep desire to become a Cambodian citizen.” The response was enthusiastic. “Anyone who has lived in our country as long as you deserves to be a citizen.”

Usually citizenship applications take considerable time and are costly. Marie received hers in a few days at no cost. It was signed by the king. On another visit the PM’s wife presented Marie with a medal of great distinction. “I had tears in my eyes,” Marie said. “She kissed me on both cheeks.”

The government evidently values what the organization is doing. It has provided some financial and other types of support. “They enlarged our water reservoir and cemented it,” Marie said. “They have also paved our long driveway.” When the Prime Minister showed up to see what was being done, Marie said, “in some countries we couldn’t do what we do here. We couldn’t speak of Jesus. But, this is Cambodia.”  “Yes,” he responded. “This is Cambodia. We have freedom of religion.”

Rescue Cambodia demonstrates what is possible when individuals boldly commit to making a positive difference.

In 4 years and several hundred interviews for this column, I haven’t felt moved to tears, in spite of hearing some difficult life stories. A conversation with Jim Marten of Keremeos brought me close. From the early days of their marriage, Jim and Debbie Marten have been on a life and spiritual journey that is almost certainly well outside common experience.

Sitting in our sun room with Linda and me last week, Jim said, “I’ve always valued freedom. Part way through grade 12 I quit school, then went back because employers who paid good wages just laughed at me. My Dad was a Staff Sergeant with the Vancouver Police. We clashed a lot and at age 17 I moved in with my girlfriend’s family. That didn’t last. Later I fell madly in love with Debbie and married her.”

Employed as a foreman for a Fraser Valley company, he felt deeply unfulfilled. “Debbie and I had just built a beautiful home,” he said. “We had everything, but I felt like we had nothing. We visited friends working with youths at the One Way Adventure Foundation in Hedley. I felt a tugging at my heart and knew this was what I wanted to do.” The Foundation recognized their potential, and in September 1984 Jim and Debbie and their two preschool daughters moved to Hedley.

It was at the Foundation that I first met Jim. Standing at 6 ft. 5, with a capacity for rigorous expectations, he could have intimidated our students. An earlier experience though, had endowed him with understanding and compassion.

“In 1979 our first child, Cameron, was born. He was 6 weeks premature, but healthy. Not long after his birth, we needed to take him to the hospital due to jaundice.

Complications developed and everything fell apart. He died at 4 ½ months. I punched the walls and cried.” It wouldn’t be the last time he and Debbie wept.

As a worker with deeply troubled youths, Jim was pragmatic, imaginative and energetic. The youths sensed that for him it was much more than a job. He was on a mission to bring healing from their abusive past.

Jim doesn’t hesitate to say he and Debbie were on a spiritual quest to find meaning in life. “We had given up our beautiful new home and a good income, but I began to realize that although we now had almost nothing, we had everything. I found that here God could use us for the purposes of his kingdom. Besides my work with the students during the day, we had two living in our home.”

Whether he and his crew were building a wilderness trail, doing grounds maintenance or paddling the Bowron Lakes circuit, Jim’s energy and enthusiasm lifted the spirits of the youths. Reading accounts of their upbringing, he realized he’d grown up under a good Dad.

The provincial government changed its funding model in the early 1990’s and the doors of the Foundation were closed for the last time. Jim and Debbie and their daughters, Chantal and Larissa, moved to Keremeos. The girls were now well into the teen years. Jim got a job, first at Copper Mountain and then at Broken Hill Properties, 350 kilometres NE of Yellow Knife. Although away from home a lot, his income was ample and life was good. They could not know of the heartache they would soon endure.

Larissa had become rebellious. After a particularly unsettling altercation Jim said to her, “I didn’t respond well. Please forgive me.” Larissa replied, “I pushed your buttons. It wasn’t your fault. We both still love each other.” They hugged.

One day at their church a man said to Debbie, “Ma’am, I see lightning strikes all around you. You need to prepare.” Jim had a dark foreboding. “I thought it was about me. I thought I was going to die.”

Larissa frequently drove to Osoyoos alone. One night she didn’t return at the usual time. A friend called Debbie to say she had seen Larissa’s car beside the road. She wasn’t in it. Debbie called the police and met them at the car. They searched but didn’t find her. In the morning Debbie resumed searching alone and found her daughter lying among a clump of bushes. Her face was peaceful but she had died. She was only 18.

Jim and Debbie Marten didn’t become bitter or blame God. Their faith deepened and their story continues to give hope to people caught in a vortex of fear and despair.

Successful restauranteur Barbara Bushewsky ranks high on my personal list of “come back kids.” Abandoned and adopted at infancy, she never met her birth mother. Her adoptive parents often told her she was different. “I was left alone a lot as a child,” she said. “My self-esteem was very low.” As an adult she experienced marriage breakup and was hospitalized for an extended period after a severe beating by an employee. She has also done battle with cancer twice.

Sitting at a table in a back room of her restaurant and drinking delicious, high quality coffee, it occurred to me that this congenial, spunky woman could have been a candidate for heartache and failure. Listening to her story, I began to understand that one secret of her success is that she will not give up. She seems to have a psychological backbone of steel.

“Living on a Kibbutz in Israel for almost a year made a real difference in my life,” she said. “It was foundational. I met young people from all over the world. We lived together, ate together, and worked together. We also experienced danger together. Because it was the last stop on the bus route in the Negev, we were close to Gaza. One day the bus driver had just closed the door when we were shot at. The Kibbutz helped me understand about being part of a community and making a contribution.”

Her initial work assignment on the Kibbutz was picking fruit. “I was young and somewhat of a trouble maker,” she admitted. “They placed me in the kitchen and I enjoyed that. I had always done well in home economics in school. We were required to learn Hebrew so I attended classes in the afternoons. I left the Kibbutz with an Englishman and accompanied him to London where I worked as a key punch operator. We got married and had a daughter. She died shortly after birth. The marriage survived only a few years.”

Barbara returned to Canada and again worked as a key punch operator. While in London she had taken courses, and in Edmonton she continued. Over the years she earned certificates, diplomas and a degree. Her second marriage was to a man who had recently arrived from Greece. He didn’t speak English but she had learned some Greek. “I had a daughter and son with him, but the marriage didn’t last.”

Barbara moved to B.C. and bought a small pizza outlet in Osoyoos. She did necessary renovations including installing a new floor. She sold the business and purchased the present building in downtown Princeton.

One of her staff must have thought Barbara would make a great step mother. She said, “You should go on a date with my dad.” Barbara had already met the dad through involvement in a music group. Corry plays the trumpet and other instruments. The relationship flourished and they have been together 9 years.

Barbara and Corry now own and operate 2 Cowboy Coffee outlets in Princeton. She manages the downtown cafe. Upon entering it, Linda and I immediately sensed a pleasant calm. “I encourage my staff to welcome people when they come in,” she said. “It’s important to show an interest. I ask them where they are from. If they’re new in the community, I offer to help them get involved.”

Barbara’s demeanor exudes energy and friendliness. She takes her positive outlook into the community. “I want to do my part to keep this community together. I’m secretary for the Chamber of Commerce. I’m also active in a couple of seniors groups. When there is an event, I’m often in the kitchen at the sink, washing dishes.”

At the end of an hour, our conversation returned to the restaurant enterprise. “It’s been tough,” she said. “ My day starts at 4:15 am, when quite a few mine and mill workers come in. Things slow down in winter so we need to put something away in summer. I try not to lay off my staff.”

Considering the various challenges Barbara has experienced over the years, how does she survive and thrive? “I try not to dwell on problems. I also try to make tomorrow better. I want my mind to be in a good space.” I was impressed by her energy, love for people, and zest for life. She is indeed a “come back kid.”

A deep love existed between Anita and Huey, although theirs was certainly an unconventional relationship. She was a 16 year old resident in the Penticton group home where I worked for two years. Huey spent most of his time in a cage in her room. He was a green canary, wise beyond his years. He and I became partners in a conspiracy we hoped would free Anita from her damaging, joyless memories.

One of 8 youths in the home, Anita had long ago retreated into a seemingly impregnable mental and emotional stronghold. If anyone approached her, she folded her arms across her chest as though to create a shield.

Staffing at the home consisted of 2 teams, a male and a female, plus a house mother. Each team worked a 4 day, around the clock shift. In our shift change meetings, Anita was discussed almost without fail. Sometimes the executive director of the organization, a psychologist, attended. Even he could give us little helpful guidance.

We knew Anita had at times been locked in a dark closet for several days by her mother’s live in boyfriend. There were indications of possible sexual involvement. Her mother had not defended her and home had not been a place of refuge. Over time I came to believe we needed to devise an unusual strategy to disrupt Anita’s gloomy thought patterns. If we could win her trust, she might not enter adulthood with this unhealthy mindset. Without mentioning it to other workers, I enrolled the canary as my ally.

Next Monday morning I created a brief, crudely drawn cartoon strip featuring Huey and Anita. As concerned about her as I was, in the first frame Huey began planting positive thoughts in her psyche.

“I love your green eyes,” he said. “They’re beautiful.”

Surprised, Anita objected. “Oh no Huey. They aren’t beautiful. My mom’s boyfriend always said I was ugly as a toad.”

“Just because your mom’s boyfriend said it doesn’t mean it’s true.” Huey responded.

Anita always closed the door to her room, whether she was in it or not. I had never entered a resident’s room without permission before. Now I needed to take a risk. She couldn’t mistrust staff more than she already did. I taped the cartoon to the inside of the door and closed it.

A week later, Huey struck again. “You really know how to select clothes Anita. That blue top you wore to school today looks great on you.”

“Stop flattering me, or I’ll throw a towel over your cage,” Anita threatened.

Huey said, “you’re too nice to do that.”

I continued creating cartoons each Monday while she was at school. One day she left her door slightly ajar, as though to encourage the mystery cartoonist. Her interactions with people had not improved, but she folded her arms across her chest less often.

In the evening, Anita always carried the cage downstairs and set it on a chair close to her. Several months after the initial cartoon, Huey had developed the confidence to press harder. He wanted Anita to feel she was making a constructive contribution to group-home life.

“Anita, you could talk to people in the evening sometimes. Your mouth isn’t just for eating.”

She sniffed. “I know you’re saying these things because you love me, Huey, but I wouldn’t know what to say. Anyway, no one ever listens to me. My mom’s boyfriend always told me to shut my mouth.”

“Compliment the house mother on the meal,” Huey coaxed.

“I’ll think about it.”

I didn’t give her any reason to suspect I was the secret cartoonist. I just observed her slow, consistent growth. After 6 months she was leaving her door wide open, even when she was in her room. Was it an unspoken invitation for people to pop in? Sometimes she commented positively on the meal. When there was a laudatory comment on her school report card, she hesitantly showed it to the house mother.

After a year, I still had not identified myself as the one responsible for Huey’s conversations with her. Now it was time for me to move on. There were teary farewells and I walked out of the home. Unexpectedly, Anita met me at my car and shyly slipped a sheet of paper into my hand. I unfolded it and saw that she had drawn a picture of a canary.

Last week, while thinking about the coming of Valentine’s Day, my mind drifted back to the evening I met Linda on a hayride sponsored by the Mennonite church she attended. We had both been raised in the church, but my commitment had lapsed, as had that of my closest friends. I felt drawn to Linda’s fun loving nature and her capacity to laugh easily. Two weeks later I walked half a mile to the nearest pay phone and asked her to go to an Abbotsford Panthers basketball game. I didn’t want my family to be aware if she turned me down.

Looking now at the early years of our relationship, I realize I really didn’t have the understanding or maturity to make it work. Fortunately Linda was more settled and she was thinking beyond a few dates. Even that might not have been sufficient though and Linda’s mom apparently considered me an ill-conceived choice by her daughter. Shortly before we were married, she said to Linda, “I’m concerned about you two.” Understandably, she was probably troubled by the fact that I owned nothing except a recently purchased 1950 flathead Ford.

In today’s pretty complacent thinking about marriage, I wonder if ours would have survived. Like many of our friends, financially we started with almost nothing. Also, I always tended to over commit to work and Linda was at home with our children many evenings. What held us together?

We had grown up in the still quite cohesive Mennonite culture existing at that time. Our parents, and virtually their entire social circle, provided an example of a stable family life. They clung tenaciously to Mennonite roots, culture, and beliefs. Also to the German language. They wanted their children to embrace the simple, unadorned faith that had been passed on to them by previous generations. It was a faith intertwined with a good deal of culture, and had been practised by Mennonites in Ukraine and Russia, and in Holland before that. Although pyrogies, farmers sausage, cabbage rolls and home made white buns weren’t essential to the faith, in practise, a relationship did exist.

In our preschool days, our families spoke Low German at home. It was a dialect that came out of Holland and was the mother tongue of many Mennonites. The written version never really caught on, so in most churches the regular German predominated. Since neither Linda or I had a grasp of the language spoken by ministers, we didn’t understand the sermons until an English language Mennonite church was later started in our community. In spite of this, we understood the teaching that marriage was “for better or for worse, till death do us part.”

Without realizing it, this historical heritage of culture, language and faith seeped into our psyches. And into the psyches of the Mennonite friends we grew up with and who are still important to us. None of the approximately dozen couples we still consider intimate friends from the past have gone through a separation or divorce.

It was a different, more stable time in Canada and certainly Mennonites were not alone in wanting marriages to survive. Our grandchildren, now in their late teens, are immersed in a culture in which there isn’t a high regard for fidelity in marital relationships. It doesn’t even encourage marriage.

Linda was 20 (plus 4 days, as she sometimes reminds me), and I was 23 when we got married. Very young by today’s standards. We tested the bond between us early, tent camping for 3 months on the then undeveloped far side of Sheridan Lake in the Cariboo. The mosquitoes were ravenous and Linda particularly deplored the rain. Those 3 months set the stage for me attending university and for many of the adventures we have shared. In spite of our share of setbacks and failures, staying in the game for the long run has given us a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction.

By their example, our parents and their friends showed us the importance of overlooking slights, forgiving, never giving up and providing a stable home for their children. If we pass on to the next generation this deep commitment to sound values, Valentine’s Day could mean more than a card, a box of chocolates and a glass of wine.