tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14545739963996907872024-03-12T23:36:12.246-05:00On the Knife's Edge"Fullness and Emptiness. Life and Death. Growth and Loss - all at your fingertips...close enough to make you simultaneously ill with brokenness and sadness, and light enough to keep your feet dancing for hours."Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.comBlogger742125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-9455977845676244942019-04-22T19:54:00.000-05:002019-04-22T20:13:37.036-05:00Ritual
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Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-83860566669084886052016-01-02T11:04:00.000-05:002016-01-02T11:04:55.694-05:00The Last Minute Tourist
Against all odds, I finished packing before the last minute. I know...shocking, right?
So today I got to be a tourist in the city that I've lived in for 6 years. Since the clock was ticking, I decided to finally get around to seeing some of the things that most people see within a week of arriving.
I went down to Kumartali. This is where artisans make statues, animals, and goddesses out of mudMelissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-49121394652190726582015-12-30T09:57:00.001-05:002015-12-30T09:57:26.810-05:00that moment
when you try to honor the life that you have shared for the past six years.
when you look up, and realize that you are surrounded by around 50 of the most brave, amazing, strong and beautiful women you could ever imagine.
when you realize that you cannot possible take in all of the beauty and love that is surrounding you.
when you wonder how you ever got to live the past 6 years, all its Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-1138938414580047252015-11-11T03:19:00.000-05:002015-11-11T03:19:57.301-05:00Transition from Kolkata
For the past 5 ½ years I have had the deep privilege of living
in Kolkata, and being woven into the Sari Bari community. There are not words
to describe what an honor this has been, or how much this place, and these
people have changed me for the better. It is not possible to explain how deeply
the women of Sari Bari have impacted me, how they have stirred my heart, what a
treasure it is to Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-1424594865420300942015-06-01T23:38:00.000-05:002015-06-01T23:38:17.008-05:00don't forget to hope
I’ve spent the past few days running around this hot and
humid city like a crazy person. (I’m not exaggerating here).
For the past year and half I’ve been working on getting a
government registration for Sari Bari Trust. I’ve been playing the long, slow
game on this one. Learning what I could learn…from anyone who would teach me.
Taking small, seemingly insignificant steps. Slowly slowly Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-36108055512853876922015-05-31T02:02:00.000-05:002015-05-31T02:02:24.707-05:00Shandhya
On Tuesday Sari Bari said goodbye to another one of our heroes.
Shandhya passed away at 4:30 in the afternoon. She had a stroke in February, and has her recovery was complicated, and slow. Then she had a second stroke in May. We have been saying a slow goodbye to Shandhya for the past 4 months. So I was not surprised on Tuesday to get the news that she had passed away.
I've often said that in Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-3155465575880702015-04-27T03:41:00.001-05:002015-04-27T03:41:18.962-05:00Mercy
Today my heart cries "Mercy"
The almost inaudible plea for mercy
Some days my heard and mind cry "Justice!"
The impassioned fight for justice rings through my being and into my hands, feet and actions.
Some days my heart yells, "Anger!"
The fire in my belly that declares, demands that "This should no, cannot, be"
(whatever the "this" of that moment happens to be")
Some days my heard cries, "Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-2555665659149280842015-03-12T12:44:00.000-05:002015-03-12T12:44:17.118-05:00Kyle Scott in Spring Arbor
My dear friend Kyle Scott is an amazing singer/songwriter. Kyle worked at Sari Bari for 4 years, and has stayed connected to the community since he moved back to the US. He has written an album inspired by the women of Sari Bari, and his time in Kolkata.
AND...he is going to be in Spring Arbor, MI (of all places!) performing his songs on Thursday March 19, 2015 at 8pm at the Kresge Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-63445590596130441972015-02-20T02:01:00.001-05:002015-02-20T02:01:33.656-05:00blocked drain
Last week I came home from work and realized that the drain
on my kitchen sink was blocked.
This is the sort of thing that isn’t a big deal – except
that it is.
Its one more problem to solve.
One more thing to figure out.
Its something that is supposed to work that does.
And in my world, there are lots of things that don’t work –
and I’m used to that.
I expect it.
And at times, Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-32169919407043543362014-12-12T07:28:00.000-05:002014-12-12T07:28:31.238-05:00Villian
I’m sitting in a “waiting room.”
It’s a hallway.
On the fifth floor of the government hospital.
There is a system – although, if you’re from the west you’d
be hard pressed to identify it right away. There are closed doors, and stools
outside the doors.
You put your prescription on the stool, and wait to be
called.
Patients show up hours before the employees – to get a good
spot in line.Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-82009497420420674052014-09-27T04:38:00.001-05:002014-09-27T04:38:14.342-05:00Prophetic corner
Here's another "something" i wrote when i was on my personal retreat last month.
Prophetic Corners
Little postage-stamp-sized corners
of hope
life
redemption
community
snapshots
of the way "it" is "supposed" to be
a few people tending land
stewarding what is entrusted to their care
with great love and hospitality and simplicity
a Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-31844329802368379702014-09-13T05:59:00.001-05:002014-09-13T05:59:21.140-05:00Don't judge a book by its cover.
How many times that this little adage been said?! How many
parents have said to a stubborn child, “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.” How
many teachers and mentors and friends have said this over the course of days
and years? How many times has this little phrased passed my lips, or entered my
ears?
Yet, somehow, I am once again struck by how true this is.
Struck by how often I make Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-51734059016132361062014-08-29T11:40:00.001-05:002014-08-29T11:40:38.675-05:00tidal wave
I was supposed to leave for kolkata on Sunday, but i changed my ticket. After talking with friends, and near strangers who called to encourage me to care for my own soul, and listening to my still voice of my own spirit, it seemed like a no brainer to stay for few more days.
and to be intentional about what i did with that time.
I knew that i could go back to Kolkata, and in the end i would beMelissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-86975020674623879462014-08-22T08:23:00.001-05:002014-08-22T08:23:57.382-05:00Today.
in the early moments of the day.
my alarm has gone off a couple of times - but i haven't gotten myself out of bed yet
(oh, how i love that snooze button).
The phone rings.
It's a number that i don't recognize - but it's a california number.
and my first thought is, "Sarah is from California"
and even though she's in india - skype assigns numbers based on region...and even before i pick up the Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-32905449922562188182014-07-02T22:18:00.000-05:002014-07-02T22:18:59.031-05:00Blurry
I have found
That the line
Between
Love
Compassion
Support
and
Co-dependence
Enabling
Is, at best
Blurry.
it shifts
and changes
it shifts back again
what was right yesterday
may not be right today.
What is right today
May not be right tomorrow.
so you stumble forward
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Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-84533030513393725502014-06-29T04:55:00.000-05:002014-06-29T04:55:14.823-05:00Extravagant
photo by Sarah Lance
The past two weeks have been the sort where we (attempt) to
move hell.
The husband of one of the Sari Bari women was dying. They
lived together on the street (for a lot of complicated reasons). And while we attempt to draw healthy
boundaries – it just isn’t ever okay to leave
someone dying on the side of the street. Ever. So we made phone calls and tried
toMelissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-31629873798232696922014-06-19T07:25:00.000-05:002014-06-19T07:25:15.699-05:00At the speed of a sloth
Not the speed of lightning.
No where near the speed of lighting.
We’re talking the speed of a snail.
Or a turtle.
Or a sloth.
To my American eyes, that’s how it looks.
that’s how fast crises get sorted out.
There’s (almost) always a solution
An answer.
A way.
But don’t expect it to be quick.
And don’t expect it to be the solution you’re looking for.
Sometimes, in Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-22718599241925693332014-06-03T01:30:00.001-05:002014-06-03T01:30:35.788-05:00fear and compassion
a reflection from a train ride about a month ago:
You never know what a day is going to hold.
What should have been a (relatively) relaxing train ride
turned into a disturbing/challenging start to my day.
I will play this interaction over in my mind.
What should have I done?
How could I have responded?
What was really the most loving response?
Did I allow fear to win the day?
Was my Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-18081056659883875092014-05-28T23:54:00.003-05:002014-05-28T23:54:48.611-05:00commute
Last night as I walked out of Sari Bari, I followed one of my heroes out of the red light area.
She was going to the metro.
She was on her way home.
She was far enough ahead of me that i couldn't catch up with her.
I watched her walk through the crowds.
her off white and peach floral kurta weaving through the busy road.
her purse over one shoulder.
her empty tiffin box in the other.
She is a Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-39204524614767598962014-05-06T13:07:00.003-05:002014-05-06T13:07:50.131-05:00Sari Bari's 4th Unit!
Pinky’s story changed my life. A 16 year-old girl - who had just begun selling herself 10 days earlier in Sonagacchi, one of the most notorious red light areas in the world - shared a small piece of her life with me through tear-rimmed and vulnerable eyes. She lost mother, her father was sick and she had two little brothers. She felt she had no other choice. Poverty had Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-71417343559204929242014-04-28T00:51:00.004-05:002014-04-28T00:51:58.194-05:00History belongs to the intercessors.
Prayer.
I don’t understand it.
who does?!
And honestly, during the past four years there have been
times where it has been nearly impossible for me to pray.
I’ve found that I value liturgy more since I moved here.
Written prayers, the words of others giving voice to what my
soul could not voice on it’s own
Sometimes it feels like God is not able or willing to answer
my prayers.
I Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-51526587218625018492014-04-25T06:15:00.000-05:002014-04-25T06:15:26.095-05:00violence
She had 5 stitches in her hand from where the machete cut
her.
Later we find out that her hand is broken, and will require
surgery.
When I visit her in the hospital, I notice that her
bracelets – the silver bracelets that were her Christmas gift this year – are
bent. No longer round…but wavy.
And I wonder about the force that it took to bend her silver
bracelet (it’s not thin).
I Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-20066157864216342042014-04-16T01:08:00.000-05:002014-04-16T01:08:20.157-05:00Feast or famine
a week ago I bought 12 spoons.
I (probably) don’t actually need 12 spoons.
When I first moved into my flat I bought 8 spoons. I’d
managed to find a completely plain/simple spoon. (this was a small miracle…and
the promise of forks to match the simple spoon left me fork-less for about 2
months. Eventually I caved and bought ugly forks).
About 6 months ago I tried to buy more of my magic Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-80121142950552372992014-04-07T23:25:00.001-05:002014-04-07T23:25:23.434-05:00Woven
It's not how I was planning to spend my day.
It was the end of a busy week, with a busy
weekend ahead, and I was looking forward to spending and extended amount of
time at our Kalighat production unit (where I don't get to spend as much time)
And then I got a phone call. It was D. He is 14,
and his mom used to work for us, until she died 2 years ago. His father had
died 9 months before his Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1454573996399690787.post-87895056009951339742014-03-31T02:47:00.000-05:002014-03-31T02:47:25.827-05:00The plunder of the poor
Suddenly I find myself sitting in the courtyard of a
brothel. A couple of women who work at
Sari Bari live in this brothel, and we were in the process of mediating a
conflict. It was the sort of interaction that is so messy and complicated, and
layered that you can’t possibly discern what really happened.
We ended up talking to the brothel owners son (who manages
the brothel). If Melissa/Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08311005744578579612noreply@blogger.com0