The weed patch.

The past few days have been a whirlwind... David went ahead to Goa, and Steph went to visit a friend, so I spent the night with Mackey and Nellie. It was so much fun--we watched Ghandi and The Proposal, went to lunch together, ate cookies, talked about our faiths, and they told me story after story from their past 67/ 69 years of life that had us rolling around we we were laughing so hard. I have so much respect for both of them, and it has been such a blessing to listen to all their experiences and the wisdom they have gained through the years.

After lunch yesterday, Mackey and I went to buy vegetables from one of her favorite vegetable ladies to take to some women who Mackey told me "live in the weeds." I wasnt sure what that meant, so i just went alongside her, toting bags of tomatoes and potatoes down a street with overgrown plant life on either side. After we had walked about 10 minutes, I saw three blue tarps, not longer than 15 feet in length, staked down in tents in the middle of the weed patch. A group of about 10 women and children were sitting outside, and rose to their feet when Mackey and I walked up to the edge of the weeds with our grocercy bags. Most of them grinned as Mackey handed out candy from her purse...I smiled, but my heart was breaking inside. These were the poorest of the poor--their starving bodies were draped in rags, most likely the only clothes they owned...a few of the children had no underwear, and the stench suggested they had not bathed in days...their hair matted and filled with dirt, they gathered around and giggled with awe at all the vegetables in our hands. I played with the little girls for 15 minutes or so, just having them sit in my lap as I patted their heads and rubbed their backs, smiling just because that was the only form of communication we shared... I could feel my eyes hot with tears and my throat swollen as I struggled to keep from crying, and Mackey said it was time to head out. I let go of their precious little hands and dusted off my dress, smiling and waving as we walked away. It took all of my will power to keep from scooping one of them up and running away with her... her soft brown eyes staring up into mine from underneath the blue tarp she called "home." I had to turn and look away as we walked up the street, feeling helpless in not being able to help them more, and I think Mackey noticed my heavy heart. She wisely told me in a soothing voice, "It is best not to react out of emotion. Emotional responses do not last--they are powerful for a while, but soon they fade away. One should only act from their spirit, because a broken spirit will last." I thought about what she said, and I began to pray that God would not only continue to make my heart sensitive to suffering, but make my spirit wise with how to respond to pain and injustice.