Villian

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.

It’s warm in here (it’s cold outside). I was prepared for a day of waiting in the cold. I even put no closed toed shoes and socks instead of my normal flip flops.  I’m wearing a sweater, but I wish I’d brought another layer. It was 57 when I left my house this morning. And I know that doesn’t sound cold – but it is when you’re used to 110+. It’s cold when you don’t have windows with weather sealing, or heat or insulation.

So I sit here.

I don’t want to be here.

I’ve accompanied the husband of one of the Sari Bari women to get an HIV test. 

I have made him a villain in my mind.

And I don’t want to be here for a thousand reasons.

I don’t want to be here cause it feels overwhelming to me.

And I don’t understand the system.

I don’t want to be here – cause I don’t know what this day will hold – but I assume it will hold a lot of waiting.

I don’t want to be here – cause I would rather be somewhere else.

I don’t want to be here – with him – cause I don’t like him.

(never mind that I’ve never had a conversation with him).

I don’t like him cause I hear the stories my friend tells me about their relationship.

I don’t like him cause I see the marks left behind after they fight.

I don’t like him cause I hear about how explosive and manipulative their relationship can be.

I don’t want to spend the day with him.

I don’t want to be here – cause what if he’s positive too? Then what?! How in the world will we provide care and support for him too?

But this whole day is actually way better than I thought it was going to be.

I got to the hospital and we had a cup of tea

We began to talk

How he was

About his trip to the hospital

About the weather and how cold it was.

We talk about how coming to get this test is stressful for him. (a stress that i cannot even begin to imagine)

We sit and wait and chat (cause of course they aren’t there to start the testing when they’re supposed to be).

And as we chat – moments come up.

He tells me something about Sheila’s wedding – Sheila has been gone for years – but he knows this detail.

And my impression of their relationship – and his love for her slowly becomes slightly more well rounded and true.

He tells me about another incident – which he would only know from her.

And the relationship is slowly reframed in my mind.

He tells me moments  from their 22 years together.

My heart and mind shift just a little more.

And slowly – I am able to see this time as a gift.

I realize that he is not the monster I made him in my head.

I am able to acknowledge his humanity.

I am able to see him for who is – rather than the caricature that I made him into.

He is not a villain. He is not the villain I made him.

He loves his wife. Perhaps imperfectly (but in the end, don’t we all love imperfectly?!)

I shouldn’t be surprised by this anymore.

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me.

It isn’t the second time, or third time either.

Every time I do something within this medical system that is new, and I don’t understand it – I dread it – and it turns out to be okay.

Every time I’m going to be sitting somewhere waiting for hours with someone – I dread it – and it always turns out to be sweet sweet time of conversation.

Every time I have painted someone as the bad guy – and then I actually get to talk to them and understand them a bit – I am surprised by how imperfect my perceptions were.

You’d think I would have learned by now.

But I haven’t.

So today was a gentle reminder of the humanity all around – even in people that I want to vilify.

Prophetic 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 gathering of women
slowly believing
that they are loved and valuable and worthy
providing for their families through an honest day's work

a family
providing a clean way of cooking
so poor women are healthier
mitigating the risk of cooking over the toxic coal fumes

a group of individuals
loving and nurturing children in a state-run boarding school
speaking life and truth and potential over them

these are prophetic communities
windows of what was meant to be
windows of what is to come

Perhaps this is our calling:
to be prophetic communities
in the middle of the mess and chaos of today

we cannot change the whole
it is too big for us
we could spend ourselves
exhaust ourselves trying
to change the whole

but that is not our job
That job is beyond us
but we can be
we can become
postage-stamp sized prophetic communities
that draw
that beckon
that remind us of heaven in our midst
that point us in the direction of justice and truth and redemption
that move us one step closer

we can do that much
at least.

Don'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 snap judgements, or how often my perception turns out to be wrong. That’s right folks, it’s true that you should not judge a book by its cover.

I have been walking past her for years. Literally years. She sits out on one of the lanes that leads to Sari Bari. I always assumed she was a madam, keeping women who work in the trade, and taking a cut of their earnings. She sits there with a hard face.  And often times when I walked by I would smile. If she smiled back it was a huge victory for the day.

For years Sarah and I have talked about her. I’d arrive back at Sari Bari after running an errand and say, “The Big Scary Mashi smiled at me today.”

And then, one day in the summer she walked into Sari Bari. She was dressed up, in a beautiful sari (not what I was used to seeing her sit out on the lane in). She had done her hair, and was wearing some lip gloss. She had come looking for work at Sari Bari. And I was surprised (pleasantly surprised, but surprised none the less). I think she would have been on my list of “people who will never come work at Sari Bari.” And then one day, she’s sitting on our verandah, and a manager and I are interviewing her. (when she left we weren’t convinced that she’d actually come work for us. We weren’t convinced that she actually wanted to work that hard).

But a week or so later she came back to follow up, and find out when we were going to start training.

And in July she started training at Sari Bari.

She is not at all the persona that I had made for her in my mind. She is tender. She has the most beautiful smile. She is smart. And hardworking. She is like a flower blooming in our midst.  Her sewing keeps improving. She is learning. She is there everyday.

And every time she smiles it is a gift. That beautiful smile that lights up the room. And I feel like an unworthy recipient of  her.

And I am reminded, again, that I should never judge a book by it’s cover.  

You never know what sort of treasure and beauty you’re going to find just beneath that hardened exterior.

tidal 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 be fine. But just because i could, didn't mean that i should. So i listened to the voices of myself, and people who love me - and received the gift of time to rest.

I spent a few days on a farm outside of West Union Ohio. Receiving the gift of hospitality and presence from Tom and Karen Wuest. Days to rest and breathe. To sit and rock in a rocking chair...thinking and feeling and dreaming. I went for walks in the woods. I wondered. I was angry. I cried. I floated in their creek. we shared the table together - and the bounty of the delicious food they grow. I prayed, and rested and received.

I have so many thoughts/feeling/ideas that continue to float around in my soul as a result of that time. there are lots of things written frantically in my journal - trying to get an idea or feeling down on paper. And there are slow movements of my soul - moments, ideas, woven together. I'm not sure how many of them i'll share - or how long I'll take to share them with you.

But for now, here is what i wrote when i first arrived.

Tidal Wave

"...And we watch hell crumble at our feet"

only it's not that easy in my corner of the world.
in my corner of the world we beat back hell
we lay down our very selves
we beat back hell with our own tears and sleepless nights.
we beat back hell with unanswerable questions and systemic injustice hounding at our heels.
we beat back hell when death and indignity beat at our door
       and we are powerless to stop it
but we stand there.
against.
the tidal wave of hell and death and injustice.
       it threatens to overwhelm us
       to sweep us away.
and on more than one day it seems like it will
it feels like it already has.

how?
how can we bear another loss?!
how are we expected to keep walking?

how long?!
how long until we stop beating back hell by milimeters and inches?!

how long?!
until Justice and Truth
until Hope and Life
come.
like a tidal wave
and sweep hell away?

because I am tired.

Today.

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 phone, i know it's Sarah.

and i know there is bad news.
because she wouldn't be calling me while I'm in America for any other reason.

Shonda died.
heart failure.
and i am numb.

it is  too far away.
i can't make sense of it.
and slowly the reality seeps in.
how can she be dead?
why do i have to say another goodbye to another one of my sisters?
I see her steady presence.
sitting by that upsairs window.
day in.
day out.
steady.
strong.
beautiful.

Today I will not go to the burning ghats.
I will not have the privilege of staying until it is finished.
 
Today I will not smell the incense.
I will not smell the crematorium.
I will not witness the rituals.
I will not bathe in the Ganges and wash away the tears.

Today I will not cry with the women of Sari Bari, as we hold and comfort one another.

Today i sit in the green garden and remember my sister.
I breathe in the peace and beauty - and sadness of this moment.
I will remember, and cry alone - separated from my sisters, as we grieve simultaneously.

Today I will feel the sadness of not seeing Shonda by that upsairs window again.
I will feel the heavy reality that she will not tease me next time I walk into sari bari, or to share her beautiful self with us anymore.

Today I sit with this loss.
I remember my hero Shonda.


 

Blurry

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

and love.

Extravagant

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 to find a nursing home that would care for him. It seemed like it would work out. And then it didn’t. it seemed like it would work out again. And then it didn’t. we couldn’t find a hospital or nursing home that would admit him. And we couldn’t leave him dying on the street.

So with the help of some friends we found a room where he could live out his last few days. We found a nursing service that would care for him. And then the nursing service quit suddenly – actually leaving him alone at night. 

Over and over – one thing after another…not working. Seeming to work. Falling apart.

It was too much.

We were in over our heads.

We couldn’t do it.

(eventually we found another nursing service that was amazing)

Simultaneously, I was full of compassion and angry with my friend – because of the choices she was making, and her inability to be present to the last days of her husband.

I would waver – between knowing that what we were doing was right – and it was worth any price to ensure this man died with dignity…and feeling overwhelmed and frustrated, and feeling like it just wasn’t worth it. That we’d made a mistake by getting involved the way that we had.

Why was it, exactly, that I was bending over backwards, running around like a crazy women trying to care for a man that I hardly knew (I think I’d spoken to him once before last week).

But every time I was on the verge of believing that it wasn’t worth it – I would be drawn to the truth of extravagant love.

The value of the one.

The Lord’s deep love for Naba.

The Lord’s deep love for K.

The way the Lord pursues him

And her.

And me.

The God who leaves the 99 in search of the one who is lost and wandering.

His love that is constant.

Steady

Present.

When I am selfish, and confused and petulant.

The extravagance of love.

The love that will not let us go.

On Thursday morning Naba died.

Having been cared for

Honored

His humanity and value

Acknowledged (perhaps imperfectly, but the best we knew how)

The day was full of mercy.

For a thousand little reasons.

For a thousand moments and images.

We walk her to the room where her husband and died.

And she knows before we get there.

I watch as she climbs up on the bed near him.

And prays a blessing over him.

Jisu-babu

Take him close to you

In your great love

In your mercy

Give him your peace

We are together.

We sit.

We reminisce.

She recounts her history with Sari Bari.

The ups and downs, the twists and turns.

She is not alone.

Another trip to the burning ghats.

It never gets easier.

The smells

The sights

The sounds

But I watch her honor the man she loves

I watch her care for him.

She performs the rituals.

And we are with her.

We stay until it is finished.

We always stay until it is finished.

I honestly don't know what to think of so many moments in the past 2 weeks. i just keep thinking of what it means to be human. to be in relationship. to give and receive love.

love.

Extravagant

Messy

Unfinished

imperfect

love.

At 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 emergencies, or crisies, I want to put on my American “get it done…NOW” hat – and try to make things happen.

I want it to be efficient.

And logical.

And most importantly, done…finished…solved.

And then I remember that there is a way (even if it seems like there isn't).

There are systems (even if they are very frustrating to me)

And if I wasn’t here to intervene, the problem would most likely be solved eventually.

And in my better moments, I get to take a step back and acknowledge the truth and beauty, the compassion and grace that is all around.