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| right outside the church there is a field with cows. close by the cows are make shift homes made of bamboo and cloth. a beautiful tapestry of exotic colors creates a pattern as its draped over the mini archways that create the roof. small children come dancing from the peculiar caves. a woman peers through. eyes that have seen too much loss. nomads. the floors are fantastic rugs that have hugged the land of a thousand different peoples. they have no place to call home, except for the space between their draped sheets. i wonder what they know of the wilderness.
the sun is merciless here in daliwal. there is no place to go to be relieved. even the attempt to take a cold shower from the well is a short lived pleasure.
rachel, hannah and i took showers in a small, dank space located by a mountain of cow manure and wasp nest. it was quite the adventure as we danced and screamed our way around the muddy floor, hoping to avoid the nonsense having to do with bites and stings. nonetheless, we did get clean eventually. the water washed away hundreds of miles of dust...
later as i emerged from the basement, i looked up to find a sea of faces. i smile and find myself a place to sit knowing that i can blend...there were so many women at the seminar. so many hungry women. they come holding their little ones. each one's eyes attentive and listening although shy and afraid to speak. i hope one day they are not afraid.
i awoke the next morning around 5 am. i wandered outside to see if the nomads were feeding their animals yet. but as i looked across the road, the field was empty.
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| 1 may 2007, traveling to daliwal
we were to wake the next morning by 4.45 to be on the bus by 5.30. and so it was.
we packed our bags and kept moving. the day consisted of mostly quick bus changes and sweat. i don't know if i have ever sweat so much doing nothing. i will never forget the ride. it seemed a mobile circus; loud melodic hindi music, an open door and a mad driver taking corners around the mountain at 45 mph. the bus would come to a screeching halt. the small colorful world within would change again. something about 300 beautiful faces passed by me as i clung for dear life. the world outside was a bleak, sometimes dead world. in moments green huts, the next followed by barren land and hungry faces. ten hours later we arrive on the other side of punjab. i don't know that i have ever seen anything quite like this place. after a quick lunch that was all too big like always, we went down a dusty path that led us to the steps of an old church.
from a white washed tomb a man in shrouded cloth emerged. he is the pastor of this church and the uncle to Aneil. his skin is dark and worn. upon his hip sits a beautiful young boy with bright eyes. so alive. the ancient eyes smile from behind his glasses. he offers us a cot to sit upon. the church is a large room without chairs, something i find common here in india. fans in all corners of the room displace the sweltering heat for a moment, and i feel dizzy.
i covered myself in cold water and hoped for a moment of relief. as i hung my head and concentrated on the mission at hand i begin to hear singing. Aneil and his friends lifted their voices to sing a song. so foreign, so beautiful. i closed my eyes and realized i was thousands of miles away from what i've always known as home. will it be here?
i shake my feet and watch a black cloud of flies scatter and resettle on my dirty body.
when it came time for the meeting, i really didn't know what to expect. a multitude of brown faces followed us into the village. every person from outside their shops and homes watches-stares - as the white man passes by. our western fear keeps us from touching anything. conspicuously avoiding the dirt and feces along the cobble stone path. the crowd grows larger.
the pastor is outside the home of which we finally stop. a muddled voice declaring 'hallelujah' for nearly 45 minutes. slowly some people (mostly women) began trickling in and find a place on the hand- woven rugs. i felt i had stepped into another bygone era, a time and civilization that i imagined no longer existed. the mud homes, the bare feet, the womens heads covered with beautiful scarves. the group chants an unfamiliar tune and their voices carry...
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| in the spirit of last year's blog entries, i will post some of my journal entries from india. i was the team chronicler so it may not read the same. however, i'm letting you into my world by sharing these stories and thoughts with you. therefore, they become your stories too- like family. and that is what we are...
25 april 2007, delhi, north india
upon arrival in delhi i wasn't sure what to expect. tired, yes, but also looking forward to new things...
masses of people walking the streets at such a late hour (2am) and the familiarities of all third world- the smells of burning trash, diesel fuel, spoiled food and honking horns. reminiscent of my days in china. fond memories that is. i almost felt like i was coming home.
Yona Babu was kind from the beginning. he is our voice while we are here.
our journey from the airport was hassle free...all of course while most would turn their heads to watch the silly foreigners go by. they do not blend and that is obvious. once again, thankful that i have always blended. as we drove past the sidewalks lined with weary bodies, i asked the LORD that we would not grow numb.
27 april 2007, delhi
when i awoke, i got a chance to finally see delhi in the daylight- it was another world. cows, whose back were well over my head, in every alley way and sleeping by the fruit stands. revered as sacred to the people, these cows often eat more than the people do. the air was filled with smog and the sound of vendors selling samosas and chapati. 6am
i proceeded to take a bucket shower at the hostel which proved to be wonderful after two days of travel. 90 F at 7 in the morning and my body felt refreshed in the cool water. lots of little eyes watched the pseudo-indian girl scrabble around looking for familiarity. they giggled at my awkwardness.
Babu went to visit some friends. he is of an event-oriented culture. he returned hours later than he said he would, his deepest apologies.
our breakfast was a wonderful land of spices. all of us learning to refrain from using our left hand while we ate sans silverware. we scooped the dal and chavel... a day of unknowns ahead of us...
Babu offered to take the ladies clothing shopping at the bazaar. we took rickshaws- a scary ride - mind you through a sea of humanity crowded into the narrowest streets i had ever seen. i closed my eyes as we whizzed past children and animals and nearly collided head on with a motorcycle. the young man wheeling us weighed no more than a buck twenty. his veins bulging and sweat pouring down his back in the 100+ weather as he pulled more than 300 lbs behind him...he earns 40 cents with a 50 percent tip. how is this right?
after bargain hunting for some hours, we ended up picking a few outfits that needed tailoring. we decided it was worth the wait. i didn't expect what we were about to step into.
we took two left turns and a right down some crowded, smelly alleys. rice and rats covered the floor, climbing over the bodies strewn in every corner. an alm for the poor.
the brick walls were climbing in mold and other disease i'm sure. we finally stopped at a shop no bigger than my bathroom. inside was a kind old man behind his ancient singer sewing machine. his thread matched perfectly.
muskah, husi and gomel giggled from across the street. curious onlookers. westerners never came down this alley. i took their picture and wondered if they knew what hope is. i felt this alley to be the valley of the shadow of death. my heart hurt. the language barrier felt cruel to me. how i wanted so much to take up their cause. someone needs to teach them, they need love and attention and HOPE. i blew them kisses good bye- this language they knew.
the rickshaw back was like an amusement park ride- minus the amused part. the locals smile at me, for i am hindu to them. we make eye contact and smile.
shortly after, we make our trek to the train station. such a fondness to this place, this asia. masses of bodies everywhere. children begging, crippled men scoot their way toward me because my skin color says i have money. caste is a lie. i ask God to breathe new life into this place. his mangled limbs only speak louder of the mangled system he lives in...
we found our places on the train as our lazy eyes scanned the car. only two days as of yet. i sighed long and deep. i feel so alive and at home, i'm not sure if this is ok or not. perhaps the stench of the train would change my mind. i admit i really have missed asia. it feels so good to be back.
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| had my life been a movie, it would have begun with last tuesday. it would have begun with me standing at the door of my bedroom staring at the empty space that once belonged to my friend Brittany. The camera would have zoomed out from behind me as i dropped my book bag and sighed as i noticed the empty closet space. The narrative of my voice would have said...
"i often wonder why i followed God's voice to nashville..."
the emotive tone of the soundtrack would slowly fade in with 'O my God' by Jars of Clay.
these were my thoughts as i felt the familiar lump in my throat begin to hinder my ability to swallow. Tears were falling from the bottoms of my jaw and chin, slow and cold. yes, i often wonder why i have come to nashville.
The movie would then flashback to my first week here at school.
My experience here has been one that i am unable to clearly express with words. i find that trying to write about it or explain would cheapen all that it has been. however, there are some thoughts i would like to share.
God has made it a habit to trust me these days. when i say this, i mean that the responsibilty of being called his own is quite heavy. heavy indeed. and over the past eighteen months, God has found it appropriate to share his light burden with me- what a privilege to be asked to be God's partner. but yes, he asked me to commit the rest of my life to living for others. so, in the year king uzziah died, or in the year steve irwin died, or in the year of some other great significance i found myself answering God's plea to glean the harvest.
today i find myself balancing two jobs with a combined fifty plus hours, full time student, Residential Assisant and soon to be magazine editor-- all outside my twenty-five plus hours of homework. i average between twenty-one and twenty-four hours of sleep a week. hit the ground running. it think that's the phrase. yet, i find strength in knowing i am not the only one. never alone in this as much as i would like to think i am. pursuing a life to be fit for the third world is no easy task. it is often discouraging to the point of having short emotional break downs in my car down the interstate. i was never that girl. you know the girl that so easily fits into the 'i can do it all' leadership role. regardless, i find myself playing that part and it is stretching me, tearing me and humbling me. this wilderness is too much.
i thought, yes, this wilderness is too much. its not romantic. its scary. its not what i hoped. take me back to egypt, i seemed to cry from the door way of my room.
but. but for the first time i am learning the word of God in ways that challenge every decision i make from what i eat to how i spend my time. i find my thoughts and conversations being consumed by ideas of justice and hope for the nations- and even for my room mates.
i smile as i flip through my bible and see all the silly markings i've made all over the books of leviticus, numbers, deuteronomy and ruth. i am reminded of why i came- all contained in these books.
the wilderness was meant to be like a honeymoon for dear young israel. God was wooing this nation into a place of intimacy and dependancy on him. he led them to the mountain to talk. he just wanted to talk. but israel was terrified. terrifed to know their liberator, terrified to know this beautiful savior. so they told moses to talk to him instead-that was enough for them. (sigh) enough to stand at a distance. they didn't want to know him. they didn't want to know him. imagine loving someone so much you rescued them from death, flexed your muscles to bring them through the sea on dry ground, lead them to a place of intimacy and they turn someone standing there with you and say ' tell him i don't want to talk to him' . God's heart was crushed. his cry from the mountain "me at'tein"--'who will give them a heart?' in Deut 5 it reads 'oh that they would have such a heart as this always'. but the literal rendering in hebrew is 'who will give?' it is considered one of the most emotive phrases in the hebrew scriptures.
last tuesday, i cried as i experienced the brokenness of a relationship, the loss of a friend. reading from esther in class earlier caused me to reflect on the abuse i have endured, the obscure view of men and sexuality and now feeling completely unable--inadequate-- to bring hope and education to women and children in the third world - i sighed to find my room mate ran away. she left a note on my bed. i cried. i cried because i wanted to quit it all. give up. no longer wanting to give my life, time, education, emotions, body to the purposes of God. then i heard him cry 'me at'tein'. and i sat in silence. i didn't want to reject him as israel did at the mountain. and so i looked up and said 'only you. only you can give a heart that would obey your commands. only you can give me a heart that would want to spend and be spent on humanity.'
thank God for the wilderness.
see you all at Christmas | | |
| some of the next few entries run together...
AIDS Hospice: Days 2-4
Antoinette wept yesterday. she cried as i sang these words over her:
"Antoinette you are more precious than silver, Antoinette you are more costly than gold, Antoinette you are more beautiful than diamonds and nothing i desire compares with you."
the words hung heavy in the sweltering tropical heat. i stroked her face and i told her that Jesus sang this song when he looked at her. she asked me to pray for her again as i held back tears of joy and sadness. i reminded her of how important and loved she is.
today i didn't get assigned to Antoinette but i saw her waiting on the porch for me when i arrived. my heart lept for joy as i saw her there. how taxing it was on her body to get out of bed! later when she wanted to take a shower she requested that i come help her again. her hands are soft, her calves are about the size of my forearms which stem from her large swollen feet. her enlarged knees run into her thin thighs. as i washed her frail body reality hit me in the face...so harsh. oh god, my heart hurts so much.
if only this moment could last forever. my tears fall on the oppressed soil as i descend from this small mount that i met the LORD at. descend into this ghetto while we weep aloud...my mind thinks of her smile as we clothed her in a new red dress. will it be her last? Antoinette cried today. she tried to let go--i didn't want to try. how can one love a stranger- turned -sister so fast, so much? her tears run down her cheeks and my hand is touched. "Lord, be her strength and comfort." my tears fall upon the ground. perhaps i will never see her again. my tears fall.
Evelyn was crammed into a dank corner of what looked like a death room. hopelessness covered all over her from head to toe as a thin sheet. i leaned over and lied down beside her. she pulled down her sheet and flies swarmed about her weathered face. eyes turned blue from old age, blindness. eyes blue from tears. her lips were parched and swollen. at first she grasped aimlessly in the air looking for the one who saw her. finally, she grabbed my hands and drew my face near and began kissing me all over as though she hadn't touched someone in years...like it was life.
--abandonment. lonely and forgotten.--
i leaned across the small expanse of her body; mere bones. her skin clung to her frail frame as her knees and elbows jutted beneath her scanty cloth stained in blood and dirt. i shooed away the flies and began singing in her ear. i sang of God's great love for her. i sang of how the kingdom of God belonged to her. i saw a tear roll down her cheek- the only evidence that she could hear me. i just kept stroking her and i could tell that it had been far too long since she had felt love from touch. i felt a peace come over her. it was so real. i didn't know what else to do. she drew me closer and felt every curve of my face with the back of her bony hands. very faintly in my ear she sang me a song of her own- words i choose not to share. i felt that her knuckles were large as they smoothed over my lips, nose, and cheeks...and the flies ceased. for a moment the flies ceased.
the wind blew through the dirty window. twenty minutes had passed too quickly, my time was up. and as i looked upon Evelyn i could see her time would soon be up as well. does my presence make a difference? what will this mean in an hour, a week, a year? my heart churned full of pain; who could know such lonliness? who could feel as they do?
"Jesus, Jesus how i trust you. how i've proved you o'er and o'er. Jesus, Jesus precious Jesus..."
it wasn't until later that i learned from another intern that Evelyn let out a loud groan of sadness that echoed throughout the room as i walked away from the infirmary. how i long to be in places as these again. | | |
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