all the small things

You know that saying “don’t sweat the small stuff?” In a strange way, the small stuff is what makes me sweat -not in the Bangalore humidity sense, but in that it keeps my heart beating and in tune with the world around me.

Yesterday I was out walking and I decided I really wanted an apple. I stopped to see Mr. Shoba at his fruit and veg stand and he picked out a bright red-yellow one for me.

Then without knowing why, I asked him for a second apple. I walked off eating the one apple and stuck the other one in my bag. I wasn’t halfway down the block before I saw why I had gotten the second apple -an old lady curled up on the sidewalk with her weathered hand outstretched repeating “ma, ma, ma, ma” as people quickly passed her by.

Apples aren’t the only thing I crave. My friend Rachelle and I had heard about a temple where they sell organic raw milk (pretty amazing, considering the milk here doesn’t have to be refrigerated and all the cows I see are grazing in fields of garbage).

The other day we set out in search of this creamy paradise. We arrived at the temple and stood in line with hundreds of men, women and children who I’m pretty sure weren’t there for the organic milk. We walked along in the streams of devotees through the temple and low and behold we came to rooms filled with organic goodness. Rachelle and I tried everything from chocolate cream pastries, and spring rolls, to lemon rice, somosas and lemon ginger juice. We never did find the milk, but nevermind, we explored, tasted, and got to be part of something beautiful.

A few weeks ago in Sri Lanka, we stopped along the side of a huge canyon to admire the view. A couple of cute old ladies flew down on our group of whiteys trying to sell their spices. I didn’t need spices, but the ladies were just too cute. I forked up my 200 rupees and they told me about their grandchildren who needed new clothes.

Along with the spices they handed me a business size card with their address scribbled on it and asked me to send all my old clothes to them. I think I will bring the spices home and put them out in the kitchen to remind me of these lovely ladies. The best 200 rupees I spent that whole trip.

Last month I went along with our Community Relations team, Harrison and Miguel, to an IJM Pastor’s training in a rural community a couple hours outside Bangalore. I didn’t feel comfortable speaking to the group of pastors (the role of women is different here in India, and especially when it comes to our work, I don’t want to present any kind of hindrance), but I went along to take pictures and run the Powerpoint. At the end of the training, a pastor’s wife and her sister came up to me with huge smiles and told me all about a tailoring class they have started offering at their church, to give women in the community a viable skill. They asked me to pray for them and their families and the women they minister to -ME -a young girl with Powerpoint skills. What a joy.

My dad is a master of the small stuff. When we were all traveling around North India, he was constantly taking advantage of the little joys -bicycle rides, tea at every stop, street food, pictures with scooters and motorcycles, rickshaws, etc.

When we were in Jaipur, we hired a driver to show us around and quickly become good buddies with him -Saileem.

In the morning on the first day, Saileem’s seatbelt wasn’t working, and my dad noticed and tried to help him. Saileem just grinned and shrugged it off, but dad isn’t one to give up. By the end of the day when Saileem dropped us off at the airport, the seatbelt was working perfectly and Saileem wouldn’t stop talking about his great “uncle helper” who would be his forever friend. We said that he has a home if he ever comes to Washington and shook hands and namaste-ed all round. Nothing small about that.

I just finished reading “City of Joy,” and no, it’s not a small book, but it’s full of what would appear to be small people doing small things. But it’s anything but. Mother Teresa said, “Do small things with great love,” and that’s just what the men, women, and children living in the “City of Joy” (aka Kolkata’s biggest and poorest slum) do every small day of their lives. And it’s huge.

I want to get smaller every day.

Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
as few human or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
has made my eyes so soft
my voice so tender
my need of God
absolutely clear.
-Hafez

27: the new 17

I’ve decided 27 is the new, more comfortable, more self aware 17.

It’s 17 without the “does this look good on me?”, “do you think he likes me?”, “is my hair too big?”, “why isn’t she talking to me?”.

27 means being ok with ordering sweet lime soda instead of beer. It means staying home and reading on a Friday night every once in a while and not feeling lame. 27 means blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind and just laughing about it rather than questioning your worth.

It means ordering hot chocolate instead of wine just because you feel like it. 27 means knowing yourself and letting others know the real you, too.

At least that’s what I want it to mean.

How to win by losing

I’m standing at the counter waiting to pay for my apples and someone who just came up gets helped first -what??!

I’m walking along and a car turns right into the 6 inches of street right in front of me and would have run me over if I had not stopped -what in the world??!!

I’m next in line at the grocery store and as I set my basket on the counter, a guy comes up and sets his basket in front of mine -WHAT??!!

A lot of things just don’t make sense. But logic often isn’t the point. Here are some things I’m learning (again):

1. In order to find myself, I’m supposed to lose myself.

2. In order to be “rich,” I’m supposed to give away everything I have.

3. In order to have enough love, I need to give all my love away.

4. To live fully, I need to die.

5. To be vulnerable with others, I need to be honest with myself.

6. To be comfortable with others, I need to be comfortable with myself.

7. If I want to get where God wants me to go, I need to be ok not knowing the next step.

8. To be whole, I’m supposed to let myself be broken.

9. To hear God, I need to listen to His silence.

It’s not easy. It often goes against everything in me. But I guess that goes back to lesson #1.

The Ants Come Marching (And Joy Wins)

I am in a couple of wars.

One is with the ants in our kitchen.

Our first battle was over the counter top. After I started cleaning it each evening before bed, they moved down to the cupboards. Last week I decided I needed to take a more aggressive approach. I cleaned the kitchen top to bottom, taking everything out of the cupboards and scrubbing them inside and out. You wouldn’t believe the things I found -half empty macaroni and cheese powder packets, 5 bags of open chilis, a cardboard box of granola with holes eaten through -it was obvious the ants have secretly ruled the kitchen for quite some time.

After 4 episodes of Gilmore Girls, 3 cups of tea, and countless rags, the kitchen looked pretty good (if I do say so myself). I went to bed confident that I had reclaimed our territory.

The next morning I got up and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, happily noting the ant-free counter top. I got out my granola from the cupboard, unscrewed the heavy duty plastic lid, and poured myself a bowl. Something caught my eye and I looked closer at the oat clusters -those were not raisins. Yes, the ants had made a very strategic move -from the cupboard walls to the inside of my supposedly air tight containers. I had oatmeal for breakfast instead.

That night I got out my glass jar of honey and saw the little guys swimming just before pouring them into my tea. Fine, I drank it black.

But this morning was the last straw. I made toast and got out the peanut butter jar from the plastic bag I cautiously keep it in. A spoonful was in my mouth before I noticed the squirming legs. Really ants? You had to go for my peanut butter? That was a low blow. Oatmeal again.

I rethought my war efforts for awhile (aka I went and ate some ant-free chocolate kept in the safety of my room). I was tired of fighting. I guess there are times you have to admit defeat.

The other war I’m in is a little more intense -this one is with anxiousness and dis-contentedness, hopelessness and depression. Basically the opposite of joy.

It’s a fight against the first thought that pops into my head in the morning -you can’t do it. It’s a fight against the feelings of ineptitude when I don’t do something right the first time. Against the worries that I have nothing to offer anyone today. Against my heart’s anxious pounding at the thought of being miles away from anyone who really knows me (deep down). It’s a fight against myself -a struggle to lose my own desires, worries, insecurities, stresses and rest in Jesus. A struggle to see others rather than myself, to give instead of want, to love rather than judge, to listen instead of rant, to create instead of obsess.

I get so tired. But this is one fight where I can’t admit defeat. The stakes are too high and everything has already been done to ensure the ultimate battle for joy (not happiness) is won.

Back in high school my best friend Rach and I were just beginning to recognize this daily fight for joy one night after youth group. We sat in the parking lot in my car and turned David Crowder Band on as loud as the speakers would go and yelled “YOU ARE MY JOY” over and over and over with the song. Not “please be my joy,” “give my joy,” “help me to have joy,” -YOU ARE MY JOY. Done.

Of course knowing this and remembering it when your family is falling apart or your spirit is just plain heavy and you don’t know why are very different things. It’s a minute by minute fight sometimes. It can mean driving in the country with the windows down screaming at the top of your lungs, running hard down the street so that the lies your mind keeps repeating are muffled by your pounding feet and heaving breaths, curling up on your bed and quoting a verse over and over with your eyes closed and heart fixed on what is coming out of your mouth, not mind. Whatever it takes.

Joy is all around. But it gets pushed back and hidden by my anxious doubts and distracted thoughts and wandering heart. Joy is here. It’s there. It’s in HIM and HE is everywhere.

The ants win. Fine. I can live without peanut butter and honey. But I can’t live without joy. I can’t ever give up the fight to see HIM everywhere (and lose myself). I have a feeling it’s going to be a long haul. So grateful I’m not alone.

please don’t look at me like that

you look at me
with those big puppy eyes
rubbing your tummy
and pointing to your mouth.

someone told you
(your mom? do you have a mom?)
my white skin means
i have money.
but i have so much more than that.

i know who made you,
i know who held you
before your mom.
(by the way, where is she?)

i know who counted your hairs
and made your eyes so big
and beautiful.
i know who made that fingernail
and put that dimple in your chin.

but i don’t know why
your mom doesn’t come
tell you that playing in the street is dangerous
and it’s time for dinner.
i don’t have an answer for that.

you’re right -i am rich.
i wish i could give you everything.
but here are some biscuits.

 

(i’m sorry for the obnoxious free-form chaos. i am not a poet, but this had to get out.)

real faces

last week i got to meet and shake hands (actually bow and say “namaste”) with some real life clients.

i went on two trips to see some families who were rescued from a brick kiln (where they were working as slaves) about a week ago. we went to check and see how they were doing, help enroll the children in school, make sure they had everything they needed, etc. (we provide aftercare to all their clients for 2 years after they are rescued).

even though i couldn’t speak to the clients (my interviews had to be through translator, of course), it was incredible to just see them. to see the fear in a strong man’s eyes as he recounted the stories of how he had been abused while at the brick kiln. to see the lines of worry that shouldn’t show yet on a 27 year old woman as she talked about not knowing how they would ever escape. to see the brightness of their smiles as they talked about their plans for the future now that they are home. not only are these people enslaved physically, they are emotionally enslaved by their abusers (usually the owner). they forget how to hope because there’s nothing to look forward to. they forget how to dream because their reality is too oppressive. but after a week of being home, i could see the light returning to their eyes as they dared to believe they were free. it was amazing.

the third trip was on the other end of the spectrum -we visited some clients who were rescued from a kiln 3 years ago. their case had finally come up in court and they had travelled from their village to bangalore to testify against their former owner. they were so excited to see us and talk about how they are working and providing for their families. the children are doing well in school and one boy told us he wants to be a policeman when he grows up. we talked and visited and sang songs with them like old friends. it was incredible to see families a few years down the road from rescue and to see first hand what great hope there is for their future.

it was a tangible reminder of why we are here -for these beautiful people whom God so loves.

baby steps

[disclaimer regarding the timeliness/lack there of on this blog: i wrote this a couple weeks ago and forgot to post it.]

i got to visit rachel in hyderabad from july 7-11. she came to bangalore at the end of june, so it had only been a couple of weeks since i’d seen her, but still -seeing her in her world was like the difference between running into a friend at the store and walking into their living room and plopping down on the couch.

she has embraced india -the recycling lady, the pigs on the street, the bus, the saturday produce market, the tea, the curry, the women at OM, and the children, oh the children -at the construction site next to her house, at the slums, at the school, on the street, in the shelter -the children everywhere. she has not been afraid to get to know india in all its forms, and she’s come to love it and be a part of it. and india has come to love her.

i kept seeing that as i got to be a part of her normal everyday world and meet the people she shares life with. all i could think was: i want my world in india to be like this. most of all, i don’t want to be afraid of india. i love to open my arms wide and invite it in to every part of me.

so that has been on my mind lately. living in india can be tough, and it’s too easy to walk down the street and not meet the eyes of my neighbors, not smile at the guy staring me down at the tea stall, ignore the lady with her baby asking for food on the street, only eat what is familiar to me, basically create a world where i feel safe and comfortable. that’s not what i want. it requires a lot of energy and intentionality to break out of that mode though. but i think it’s worth it.

so i’m taking baby steps out of my safe bubble by…

• smiling and saying hi to the security guys outside my apt every time i go in and out.

• smiling and acknowledging the women, children, and men who ask me for money in the streets, even if i don’t have anything to give them.

• eating lunch everyday with coworkers rather than at my desk.

• saying hi to the kids in my apt complex.

• talking to my indian coworkers and finding out about their lives.

• getting “meals” at indian restaurants -which is what everyone gets -the standard lunch or dinner which includes rice and a little of this and that.

yes, they are small things. but i’m hoping my steps will get bigger and i’ll soon find myself in a much bigger world with more possibilities to love than i know what to do with (God only knows).

help wanted

i am the kind of person who needs a lot of help, and for better or for worse, i’m usually not afraid to ask for it. but not everyone finds this an endearing trait. in paris for instance, no one wanted to point me in the direction of the eiffel tower (i’m sorry i don’t speak french, but believe me, if you heard my accent you would ask me to stop). or in korea, who knows how many taxi drivers i asked to please take me home before i just gave up and waited for the subway to open. (i’m not generalizing cultures in any way, i have had equally helpful experiences in both france and korea).

since being here in india, i have been helped in crazy ways. last week when rach was here, we decided to venture out and try to find a spanish restaurant on the other side of town. our rickshaw driver didn’t know the area right off, but he assured us he would get us there. throughout the course of the trip (over an hour), he asked other rickshaw drivers, passersby, taxi drivers, and motorcyclists for directions and when we finally got to the area where the restaurant was supposed to be, he stopped at least 4 times to talk to vendors and policeman about where this elusive place might be. rach and i kept saying we could get out and find a different place to eat, but he just waved his hand at us and went off to ask someone else. he was absolutely determined to get us to our destination. not only was he not afraid to ask for help, everyone around was more than happy to give it. you would think other auto drivers would be caught up in their own destinations, but everyone our driver asked patiently listened and gave whatever advice he could. it was as if everyone was in on it together. in the end, we convinced him we would just find somewhere else to eat, and the amazing thing is, after walking only a couple blocks down the street, we looked up and saw the very restaurant we’d been searching high and low for (or rather our driver had).

but the story doesn’t end there. that night, when we got back to the apartment, we realized we had left an umbrella in the rickshaw. oh well, right? two days later we were walking to church in a totally different part of the neighborhood, when a rickshaw came driving up behind us honking nonstop. annoyed, i turned around to see what this guy was so worried about. low and behold -it was our driver from the other night! he told us he had our umbrella at his house and he’d go get it for us right away. we went along for the ride and got to see a part of the neighborhood only the tenants see….tiny narrow streets with children eating breakfast out on their steps, women out talking to their neighbors, men sitting and enjoying the sunday morning. it was beautiful. after getting our umbrella, he brought us back and took us all the way to the door of the church we were headed to. he didn’t want to let us pay him anything for all his trouble.

i was blown away. not only was this guy going out of his way for strangers, he was using up precious time when he could be driving paying customers around. but time doesn’t seem as rushed to people here in india. people don’t have the same hurried mentality. life moves more slowly and people actually take time to talk and to rest and to just enjoy the day. who knows, maybe this mindset leaves more time for helping?

 

 

i like it

after being here 9 days can i officially say i like bangalore? i’m not sure, but to be safe, let’s make it unofficial -i like bangalore.

it might be because rach was just here for 4 days and we got to bash around the city as if we owned it.

or it might be because of the lovely dosa (something like a thin rice pancake), or because i can get 3 mangoes for less than a dollar from a cart on the street.

it might also be because i live with 3 fabulous roommates who have shown me all around -the grocery store, church, etc.

it could be because i work in a big house with 30 coworkers who are quickly becoming like family. i might like it because at lunch time, everyone gets out their food and shares with everyone, or because Christina brings chai around twice a day, or because i’m getting to write creatively as part of my job.

what’s not to like? but mostly i think i like being here because i know God wants me here and has something for me to do here. whether or not i end up “liking” everyday, i know this is where i’m supposed to be. i like knowing that.