Plummeting

Last week I plummeted into the depths of despair. I was warned about this before coming here. I knew it was coming at some point. But normally this part of cultural adjustment happens earlier on in the game, not after 7 months of living in a new country/culture. I thought I had made it through the tough part without having to deal with these feelings. I was wrong. I'm not really sure what spurred it on, but I think it was a mixture of my own depression and pity party, and a deep oppression against my soul. My circumstances didn't change, only my reactions to them. This work is hard. I know that. I knew that before I came. But when you are about to embark on an adventure that you know is hard, it makes it all the more exciting. Once you're in the adventure, and it's hard, it is no longer as exciting. Then your mind begins to head down the slippery slope of despair with feelings of inadequacy, discouragement and wondering what in the world you are doing. That is, if you let it. I did. My work seemed mundane. Fighting injustice isn't just going into brothels and rescuing slaves. That is the climax. There is all the work in between. There is prep and post work that goes on behind the scenes that is not quite as thrilling. Add to that the difficulties of adjusting to this city and culture, on top of feelings of homesickness and loneliness... you can plummet pretty quickly. Again, if you let yourself. If you drop your gaze from Christ. It's crazy how your mind can make things out to be exponentially larger than they are. None of these things are things that cannot be dealt with and worked through. None of them are the end of the world, by any means. In fact, it's more the comforts of American I miss, rather than the necessities. I am by no means suffering here. And I feel like a wimp. I'm selfish. I really am. And I let the enemy stick his foot in the door of my soul... for several days.

I'm not really sure what sparked my gradual ascent out of my self dug pit of despair, but I got out, and started breathing fresh air again. It was God. And maybe a little sense talking from my amazing mother who told me to get over myself. Like mother like daughter. I would have said the same. And coming out of it was oh so glorious. Realizing how deeply good God is and how deeply in need I am of being redeemed is overwhelming. I realized that being here is not just about trying as hard as I can to impact other's lives, but I'm here so that God can draw me closer to his heart, in good times and bad. I'm not just here to help rescue the oppressed, but to be rescued by my Jesus. He continually purges me of things that I often didn't even know were there to be purged. Being in a place of complete vulnerability brings out the yucky things in you that you didn't know existed. And it is good. Painful, but good.

The day I climbed out of this despair I was able to write a story about a recent rescue operation our team conducted. The victim statements I read through were probably some of the hardest ones I've had to read through in awhile. Their stories were absolutely tragic. I cried. But for some reason, I didn't feel the deep sadness I usually feel. I felt an extreme sense of hope. Even though they've been rescued, they still have a long road of healing ahead of them. But there is hope. There is hope only because of Christ. And I also realized what an honor it is, to be putting the words of their stories on paper. It may not be that significant, but it's what God has called me to do for this season. And in the end, I love it.

So when you feel yourself beginning to plummet, don't take the shovel of self-pity and dig yourself deeper into the pit. There is nothing down there for you but mud. Look up. Look up to the beautiful blue sky. There's a world out there that needs you. Yes, some of us stay in the pit longer than others. Sometimes I unfortunately choose to sit and wallow for awhile. But once I look heavenward, I realize how much I was suffocating myself. You can't breath down there, and you begin to choke. Get over yourself. Get over your selfishness and pride. Realize how blessed you are.... and go do what God has called you to do. Because no one else can do the job that you were created to do. There are other people stuck in their own pits of despair. You might be their only lifeline. Let God rescue you, and then go forth and rescue others!

"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will SOAR on wings like eagles; they will RUN and not grow weary, they will WALK and not be faint." ~Isaiah 40:29-31

The Nations are up for Grabs

“The nations are up for grabs… and who wants them?

Who wants Laos?

Who wants Cambodia?

Who wants Tunisia?

Who wants Turkey?

Who want Eritrea?

Who wants Algeria?

Who wants India?

Who wants South Africa?

Who wants South America, Peru and Colombia and Brazil and Belize?

Who wants these places?

Who wants China?

Who wants Indonesia?

Who WANTS them?

They’re asking the question ‘who is this man and what does this mean?’

And the nations are up for grabs.

There’s a destiny and a place for you…

If you want it.”

~

Tonight at connect group, my pastor here in South Asia was telling us about a saying they have here. Summarized in English:

There was a man who was about to jump off a bridge into the river, committing suicide, and it was raining. Someone walking by offered him an umbrella not knowing what he was about to do, but the man declined. Why? Because he knew he was going to die, and staying dry, being comfortable, didn’t matter to him.

Morbid, I know. But you know there’s another famous saying, “Nothing is worth living for, unless it is worth dying for.” (Jim Elliot, missionary and martyr)

What is it that we live for, that is actually worth dying for? And if it is worth dying for, why do we insist on comfort along the way? Why do we often only do/go where God has called us if it is safe and not too terribly uncomfortable? What is your umbrella that you insist on having? If God is the river and we are jumping in wholeheartedly, having an umbrella doesn’t matter. In fact it’s silly… and petty.

There is an ADVENTURE out there for you, for me. And how many times do we miss out? Adventures are messy, dangerous and you sometimes have to do things you don’t necessarily feel like doing. But that is what makes it an adventure.

The nations are up for grabs. Who wants them? What nation will you claim, will you pray for, will you go to? What person will you share God's life and truth with? What girl will you help rescue from a brothel? What boy will you help educate who otherwise would live on the streets? What elderly man will you feed, who otherwise would starve? What crippled woman will you pray for healing for, who has to beg like a dog every day of her life? What struggling single mom will you befriend? What coworker will you reach out to? Who’s story will you share? Who will you speak up for, who otherwise couldn’t speak for themselves?

The nations are up for grabs.

There is a destiny and place for you…

if you want it.

Beauty. Glory. Redemption.

My Easter was spent in Darjeeling and Kolkata. If I were to express the vastness of God's glory that we experienced and His sweet redemption, it would take pages. Here are a few snippets:

Darjeeling is in the Himalayan Mountains. I always loved the ocean more so than the mountains; I grew up near the ocean. Until now, I realize they each display different aspects of God's heart. I have never seen mountains like these before, and we were only at the base. I have never felt such an intense feeling of God's true glory...

Friday, April 2, 2010
I sit here looking at the same mountains of Darjeeling that Mother Teresa looked at way back in 1931. What is it about mountains that so display the majesty of God? Their vastness and beauty I suppose. It's not a wonder that Mother Teresa heard from God in this quaint little city of Darjeeling. These mountains display God's heart in a way I rarely experience. These mountains emulate peace. It's as if they were saying, "I'm here Michelle. I'm here." I feel God's comfort in their vastness. Sitting here I am reminded of the extreme hopelessness and need in the world, but somehow know it's going to be alright. Though these mountains are enormous... though poverty, disease, slavery, abuse, hunger are enormous... "If I have faith as small as a mustard seed, I can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing is impossible for God." ~Matthew 17:20

Saturday, April 3, 2010
My stay in Darjeeling was short but refreshing. I'm sitting in the Badogra airport again after our long, rather bumpy ride back down the mountains. Yesterday was spent wandering down the streets of Darjeeling. What a lovely, quaint little city. We wandered down to Happy Valley, a 260 acre tea plantation, and drank real Darjeeling tea. The rest of our time was spent walking and enjoying the fresh air.  We don't realize how much we suffocate in the big city, until we get out. Weekend retreats are quite necessary to survive our work in the crazy city we live in. The views provided by Darjeeling are absolutely gorgeous. I drank them in. I wanted to drown in it's beauty. Add to it the beautiful brokenness of humanity scattered throughout those mountains and it displays God's glory and holiness ever so much more. I wandered through the oldest church in the town, built in mid 1800's... an old building, slightly dilapidated, but oh so beautiful and still functioning. It was quite peaceful with no one around except a few monkeys. Maybe I'll get married in a church like that someday.

                          

This morning we woke up at 3:30 AM to catch the sunrise at Tiger Hill, over the Himalayas. Our night was rather interesting as we all had large rats in our rooms, and even some in our beds. But all that was quickly forgotten when we were met with the breathtaking view provided by our God just for his children. The hill was crowded with so many people wanting a glimpse of the sunrise. It was quite cold, freezing actually, but the overwhelming sight of beauty shot warmth threw my body. It was very foggy, making it difficult to see all the peaks, nevertheless, the sun slowly found it's way over the mountains revealing several majestic peaks, ones that make me feel miniscule in God's vast creation, yet loved that he would create such divine beauty for me to see. When those snow capped peaks began to reveal themselves, I couldn't help but giggle with joy. This is my God. This is MY God. My sovereign, loving God. And he brought me here, he created me "for such a time as this."

Sunday, April 4, 2010
It is Easter sunday and I am sitting in the courtyard of Mother Teresa's home, the "Mother House." There really are no words to describe the feeling here. Though we did not get to volunteer, we were greeted by a group of nuns gathered around several mentally handicapped children singing and banging their tambourines... praises to God. It took everything in me to not burst into tears as we watched these little ones all dressed up for Easter, some wearing new little shoes that squeaked when they walked. You could tell they weren't used to wearing shoes and were so excited to have them on.... "And this is why Jesus not only died, but rose again... for them."

After visiting the "Mother Home," we attempted to go see her home for the dying, though it was closed to visitors. So instead, we quickly walked through Kalighat temple just down the street. What an incredibly eery place. We were advised previously by some people not to walk through, but I wanted to see it for myself. It was craziness... people screaming and yelling everywhere, trying to sell you things. We had to take our shoes off to walk in, who knows what we stepped through. As you walk through, there are people pushing and shoving. A man was standing on a pedestal, touching people on the head and throwing some sort of powder on them. Around back there were even animal sacrifices. I don't know if it was a good idea to go in, but I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel what God feels and sees when his children worship idols. I wanted it to break my heart like it breaks his heart. It did. The irony that I saw this on the day that my savior rose from the grave, was quite heart wrenching. I've never fully been able to comprehend idol worship. Now I do.

Finally, that afternoon, we made our way to Mother Teresa's orphanage. The nuns let us in and let us hold and play with the babies. Many of them were mentally handicapped, some were malnourished, and some I'm sure had some sort of illness or disease. I happened to find a girl off to the side, crying. She was probably two or three, rather overweight, and slightly mentally ill. I picked her up and just held her for awhile, calming her nerves and whispering in her ear how beautiful and loved she is. I know she didn't understand, but there is power in words and blessings. I didn't know what happened to her parents or what she had been through, but I prayed that she would be loved and would know the love of Jesus. I finally put her down and found the tiniest baby with the biggest eyes. She was beautiful.  I was able to hold her, whispering in her ear as well, praying blessings over her life. I spent the remainder of our short time there holding this little girl. Those children are so precious. They are closest to the heart of God as one can get I believe.

"If only one little unhappy child is made happy with the love of Jesus, tell me, will it not be worth all of us giving all for that?" ~Mother Teresa

Monday, April 5, 2010
Today we went back to Mother Teresa's home for the dying. It is just around the corner from the Kalighat Temple. How ironic. It's quite the small building actually. There was another group of white people there and it felt kind of awkward "touring" the place. I didn't want the patients to feel like they were on show or in a zoo we were going to see. There was one ward for the men and one ward for the women, that's it. They were all mostly in pretty bad condition, but somehow, someway, there was no sense of hopelessness there. There was actually a sense of peace and hope. These people were dying, but they were being taken care of, they were being loved. People who would otherwise be suffering and dying on the streets. Literally. Alone. Now they would die with dignity. I desperately hoped that they were hearing the truth of the gospel as well. Oh how I hope they do. There were nuns and volunteers seeing to their needs. They would bathe them, feed them, do whatever was needed. It was so simple, nothing elaborate, nothing fancy at all. Just rows of beds. I hope to go back to both this home as well as the orphanage someday to volunteer. What an incredible honor.

~

How blessed am I to have the experiences that God is giving me? I often feel unworthy and unqualified. I'm learning more from this land than I am contributing. But that's okay. We are God's workmanship, and he is never done working on us, teaching us. Mother Teresa has become one of my heroes. No, I don't claim to know what her biblical theology was, and I'm not saying all her beliefs were true. I know many people look at her life and all the good works she did, thinking that's what gets one into heaven. I know it's not. A relationship does, as long as we remember that. We can learn so much from her life, her selflessness, her commitment, her passionate love. Look at what God can do with a life not lived for ourselves. There are no limits.

"Until you know deep inside that Jesus thirsts for you - you cannot begin to know who he wants to be for you, or who he wants you to be for him." ~Mother Teresa

How Can There Be Too Many Children?

Friday was a good day, rich with love and emotion. It didn't start out that way. I went into the office with an overwhelming amount of work to do. Stories that needed to be done, and an office newsletter that needed to get out. When asked the day before if I could go to one of the aftercare homes with some of the staff on Friday, I reluctantly declined so I could get work done. Needless to say, at the last minute on Friday afternoon, I changed my mind and decided to go with the team... work will always be there and could wait.

The six of us left the office around 2pm and made our way to the home, arriving 45 minutes later. This home was in a Muslim part of town, bustling with people going about their daily lives. We pulled up to the home, right in the middle of the busyness, walked by a couple of goats and were greeted by the sweetest elderly man who was the guard at the gate. It was amazing how one could step off the busy streets into a peaceful oasis, or what seemed like one for this city. The front office is in somewhat of a courtyard, with vines growing up the walls, beautiful potted plants and a rustic white door with cracks in it that led into the main area of the home. Girls started coming to this door, shyly peeking in with smiles on their faces to see who was here. It was like this door was the door to the outside world; a world that used to hold tragedy and abuse for them. A world they used to have to face on their own. Now they were safe; now they weren't alone. Somebody cared.

After waiting several minutes we were ushered into the main office and met several of the women who worked at the home. Five of our rescued girls live here so our social workers already have relationships with these women who were the caretakers. The main purpose of our visit was to celebrate the birthday of one of our rescued girl's new little baby girl. She was going to be one year old. But first, some of the ladies took us into the main courtyard and we proceeded to get a tour of the entire home, since some of us were there for the first time. This I will never forget.

Two of our rescued girls immediately came to greet us. It was my first time meeting them. They were beautiful and glowing… that is not an overstatement. They stayed with us the rest of the day, practicing their English and showing us around. We saw where the girls ate, where they had their schooling, where they slept, where they played. There were rooms for training in everything: sewing, cooking, beautician, computers, etc. They were proud of what they were learning. With 350 children and young women at this home of all ages, there was a lot to see. Then we came to my favorite part: the baby rooms.

We walked up the stairs and were first ushered into the newborn baby room. With rows of little beds, they were each wrapped up tightly in blankets, with their tiny little heads popping out. One of them was only seven days old. We didn’t know where their parents were; some of them were abandoned, some of them unwanted and some of them had moms that lived at the home. There is something about the sight of a newborn baby that makes you want to cry and laugh all at the same time. It’s funny how you can have the deepest love for a baby, even when you first lay eyes on him or her.

We didn’t get to hold the newborns but were then taken to the next room where the 6 month to 1 year olds were. These babies we got to hold! I have never seen such smiley babies in my life. The little girl I held would not stop laughing and smiling. So much so, that it really made me wonder… how often do these babies get loved? With so many children at the home, the staff cannot possible give attention to everyone all the time. As we met more and more children, the desperation for love and affection became more and more evident to us. The desire to be loved was overwhelming. It broke our hearts.

Then we moved on to the toddler room. As soon as we set foot in the door, several dozen of these little ones ran to us, with huge smiles on their faces, clinging to our legs and reaching to be picked up. They wanted to be held, to be played with. The first little boy that reached out to me was mentally and physically handicapped. He couldn’t use his legs and used his hands to make his way towards me, smiling and reaching up to me. He was rather large to be picked up, but I did anyway. Then we sat and played for a few minutes. It almost wasn’t real. I couldn’t fathom their lives. How can these little ones not have a mommy or daddy to love them? We know that orphans exist, but when you hold one in your arms, so desperate for love, it strikes you in the deepest place that you almost forgot existed.

Unfortunately we only had a short time in each room. We made our way back downstairs to sit with the older girls. They brought the cake out for the birthday and we sang and ate, everyone huddled on the floor in little circles, chatting and giggling. It was surreal being there.

When our time came to leave, we walked out the same rustic door we had walked in through, entering back into the outside world. The feeling was bittersweet. Physical needs were being met in this place… but who would love these children, kiss them, tickle them, give them piggy back rides? Who would hold them?

We made a decision that this would not be our last visit to this home. The fight for justice in this world is not only about rescuing victims from slavery. It’s about holding a baby, holding a child. Even if just for a few moments, those are a few moments that they know someone cares, someone loves them.

Mother Theresa says it best:

“How can there be too many children? That is like saying there are too many flowers.”

(as much as I would like to post pictures, for the safety and confidentiality of the women and children, we cannot show any)

Walle the Gecko

This is our creature friend who lived in our bathroom for a few days.
I named him Walle. He just looked like a Walle. He's a gecko.
I was showering one night and he fell into the bathroom, out of nowhere. Or maybe from our open window.
I was soaping up my hair and there he was, watching me shower, his two little eyes popping out.
I kept waiting for him to get up on his hind legs and ask me if I wanted to save 15% or more on my car insurance. Okay maybe not.
Anyway, I let him sit and watch me shower. Then I tried to set him free.
My efforts were futile and in my last effort I accidentally dropped him into our squatty potty.

I again tried to get him out and then he fell into the water part of the squatty potty.
I left him there, and he lived there for two days. Or maybe I should say he was stuck there for two days.
I used the other toilet. Mostly.
My last ditch effort to try to get him out failed.
So I flushed him.
I was really saving his life, because he would have died just sitting there in the toilet.
Now Walle is floating along somewhere in the makeshift sewage systems of this massive city.
Maybe we shall meet again in the future.

The man outside my building

There's a man that lives outside my building.
Or maybe he lives in the makeshift house outside my building.
He has no legs.
I've lived here for four months and never saw him.
Until last week.
He sits on the side of the road and "walks" with his hands.
He just sits there.
He doesn't beg.
He just passes by and one cannot help but notice.
I almost cannot look at him.
I don't want to deal with how it makes me feel.
That's how selfish I am.
It hurts.
What do I do?
Does anyone take care of him?
I should.


There's a man that lives outside my building.
He has no legs. 

The Remedy

One of the things I love to do in this country, or in any country for that matter, is to sit and people watch, while listening to my ipod. Usually the songs that are playing in these instances are songs about life... and God. I like to imagine what people’s lives are like. What hardships they face, what joys they just experienced. What they long for. It is particularly fun to do in an airport. However, here in the city, while sitting in crazy traffic, I kill time by turning my ipod on. And then I just watch. This happened a few days ago, as I sat in traffic on my way home. It almost brought me to tears.

Traveling by rickshaw, you see a lot of things. In fact, every time you stop, you get beggars that come up to your rick, reaching in asking for money. Sometimes they leave after you say no, more often than not, they will persist. Sometimes they are in rags, sometimes they don’t even look like beggars. Sometimes they are naked little children, sometimes it is a man with one leg. Sometimes they reach in and touch you, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you know it is a man, and sometimes you know it is man dressed in a sari and lipstick.  And then of course, you see the hundreds of people walking by. Sometimes you will see a bunch of boys playing a game of cricket on the side of the highway. Sometimes you will see a taxi driver stopping to pee, or a child squatting and pooping.

On this particular night, the words from a book I just read, portraying the character of God, came to my mind.

“Michelle, I am particularly fond of him.”

“And that woman, she is one of my favorites, I am particularly fond of her.”

“See that man, he’s lost, but I am quite fond of him too.”

The people just kept passing by. A man selling something on the side of the road. Dozens of men walking home from work. Who knows where their final destination is. Maybe a slum. Maybe a nice flat. Who knows how much money they made that day. What religion are they? Probably Hindu. Maybe Muslim. Maybe they’ve never heard the name Jesus. Maybe they have, and rejected him. The words of the song started playing in my ears…

“Here we are.

Here we are.

The broken and used, mistreated abused.

Here we are.”

Maybe he is on his way to a brothel. Maybe that woman sells herself every night to feed the rest of the family. Maybe he’s a good father, trying his best to make ends meet. The scenarios kept going and going. The words to the song kept coming…

“Here you are.

Here you are.

The beautiful one, who came like a son.

Here you are.”

Later at night some streets are lined with people sleeping on the side of the road, wrapped up in a raggedy blanket or sheet. Some families live under the highway in makeshift tents. The words kept ringing…

“So we lift up our voices and open our hands.

To cling to a love that we can’t comprehend.

Lift up your voices and lift up your hands.

To sing of a love that has freed us from sin.”

At one section of the road there are little alters with Hindu gods set up with incense and candles and sometimes music playing…

“He is the one who has saved us.

He is the one who embraced us.

He’s the one who has come and is coming again.

He’s the remedy.”

The main road to our house is lined with rickshaws and taxis. They are parked for the night. Often the rickshaw drivers sleep in the back of the ricks. A days work done. How much did they make today? A few hundred rupees? Do they have families? How many mouths to feed? I wonder what they spend their money on. Food? Chewing tobacco? Clothes? Why did I just argue with my rick driver for that one extra rupee back he owed me? Did I really need my two cents back? And the words played…

“Here we are.

Here we are.

Bandaged and bruised.

Awaiting a cure.

Here we are.

Here you are.

Here you are.

Our beautiful King.

Bringing relief.

Here you are. With us.”

These people. These people I see on the streets, sleeping, working, driving, pooping, living… they are all created in the image of God. God didn’t just die for me, he died for them. They have giftings, they have talents, they have dreams…

“So we lift up our voices and open our hands.

Let go of the things that have kept us from Him.

Oh I can’t comprehend, can’t take it all in.

Never understand such perfect love.”

Perfect love. God knows their pain, he sees their abuse. And he hurts when they hurt... when we hurt. He’s constantly whispering their name, reminding them that he is there. Maybe they would hear. Maybe not. In the midst of our brokenness, our dirtiness, literally, our filth, He is there. Though the world would like to argue otherwise. 

Seeing these scenarios everyday makes it become nothing unusual, in fact quite ordinary. This is life in this city. It’s not shocking anymore. This is the way it is. But when you sit back, and think, and realize, it’s enough to make you cry. How lost is this world. How lost is this city. It’s a lot to grapple with. It’s overwhelming to think about.

“Come for the broken and beat, for the wounded and weak.

Come fall at his feet, he’s the remedy. He’s the remedy.”

He’s the remedy. He’s the remedy. I have to remind myself of that every day.  But I believe it with all my heart.