For the past week in Atlanta, I unpacked bags, did several loads of laundry, and then repacked my suitcase...but this time with long skirts, sweat pants, scrubs, and medical supplies... for Kenya. Looking back on the last 6 weeks in India, my heart is still heavy and feels somewhat tied there...as though India anchored my heart to its people. Reflecting on my trip has unveiled haunting memories and horror stories that were hidden in my heart, and I found myself breaking down in uncontrollable sobs at random times during the past few days. I have come to realize that doing research on human trafficking is one thing, but seeing it and holding it in your arms is another. My mind often trails back to the many faces of the men, women, and children I met, wondering where they are tonight, and where they will wake up tomorrow morning.
I recently learned that prostitution was legalized in South Africa for the world cup, and so I have been praying for and thinking about the 100,000 prostitutes that were flown into the country for this event. An organization called Exodus Cry created a 30 day prayer guide to lift up the victims, and if you are interested in participating for the last few days of the World cup you can find the guide right here: http://www.exoduscry.com/downloads/south_africa_prayer_guide_print.pdf.
The Nutrition program in Birla Slum for the teenage girls and women (who were forced to partake in child marriage around the age of 12) is going well! I received news that they have had the first two meetings, and the girls seem excited to participate. They will receive the first of their monthly hygiene packs (with soap and feminine pads each month, a new toothbrush and toothpaste every 3 months) this coming week, as well as have a health lesson on "5 keys to healthy diet," teaching them about the importance of nutrition. I will hopefully be skyping the 26 girls in the program once I return to the US again...
For the next three weeks, my family will be serving at a mission hospital in Kapsowar, Kenya. I will be working with my Dad in the hospital most of the time, as well as making several trips to a nearby orphanage called Kapchesewes to play and do crafts with the 35 children there. We have been to this village on two trips before, so the familiar faces make me feel like I am coming "home" in some ways.. I am currently sitting in a missionary Guesthouse in Nairobi that my family has stayed at on all 4 of our previous trips to Kenya--we are even sleeping in the same room for the 4th time haha! It is 12:15am right now (7 hour time change from the US) and our flight to El Doret leaves tomorrow at 8:15, and then we have a two hour bus ride after that, so I'm going to scoot to bed and crawl under a mosquito net.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Bloom.
On Wednesday afternoon, I hopped on the bus to Birla slum, huddling with Elyssa (the student from UGA) under our rain jackets as water poured down outside. We jumped over puddles and sludged through manure and mud, led down winding paths by the man who runs the “medical clinic” in the slum. We weaved down narrow alley ways between cinderblock walls, over streams of sewage, under ropes and hanging clothes, finally arriving at a steep set of stairs that led up to the “clinic”, or more explicitly, a 15 by 15 foot room with a metal closet that had a few sheets of pills. I stood outside, watching the storm rage over the slum, and looked down three stories below as 60 children between the ages of 1 and 7, scurried up the black staircase, clenching metal cups in their tiny palms. The kids gathered on woven mats on the floor in the room , waiting patiently for their milk and vitamin mix that they received every Monday and Wednesday. One girl who was older than the others came over to the edge of the stairs and said, “Hi. What your name?” She shifted the baby on her hip and waited for my response. “Hello. My name is Emily. What is yours?” She smiled and said, “Em-lee. My name Seneha (Sin-eh-hah).” As we talked, I found out that the 10 year old girl brought her siblings to receive the vitamin mix each week, but since she was over 7, she was not given the nutrition mix. When asking the man who ran the clinic about the older children, he said that there was simply not enough money to give the mix to anyone else. Troubled by this reality, my heart was heavy for this precious young girl who was still growing and needed good nutrition to develop properly, and I began to pray about how I could help.
That night, I lay in bed wondering how to reach out to the teenage girls in the slum. My thoughts wandered to the many chapters and powerpoint slides from my Developmental Psychology class last semester at Vanderbilt--where I learned about the body’s critical development periods and the importance of having vitamins during children’s early years in order to be healthy. If the body did not have a strong foundation for growth, it would suffer serious consequences later on, especially during pregnancy. How could the young girls in the slum receive the crucial vitamins they need? What if there was a nutrition program for teenage girls? What if the girls were able to come for an hour each week to receive the milk and vitamin mix as well as learn a lesson about health and hygiene? What if they were given soap and a toothbrush and toothpaste and feminine pads on a monthly basis? I prayed for discernment and shared my thoughts with Elyssa that night. What if we put together a year long health curriculum and program for 20 teenage girls? The next day, we mentioned the idea to the man who runs the clinic, and he said that if we put together a program and provided the funding, he would be willing to administer the lessons and distribute the vitamin mix as well as hygiene supplies. He said that around 10 girls would attend the first few weeks, but the class size would probably grow as the year went on. My mind racing, I went home that afternoon and began planning and organizing and dreaming about the possibilities. Using a health curriculum made by the World Health Organization as a basis for our program, I began to draw up outlines for physical, mental, and spiritual health lessons tailored towards teenage girls. And within hours, Elyssa and I had put together a one-year plan for teaching young girls alternating lessons about health, hygiene, & nutrition and then character development, also supplying them with basic hygienic supplies to practice what they were learning in class.
This past Monday, the clinic had its first meeting for young women…and 26 girls showed up. I was back in Bangalore, preparing to leave to come home, but Elyssa called to tell me the news about what a success the first day had been. Tears poured from my eyes as she told me about the girls’ excitement, and their eagerness to learn, and how readily they drank the milk and vitamin mix. Though I am back in the US, I am finishing up the health curriculum and emailing it over to the clinic coordinator in the next few weeks, and I’m already looking forward to my first skype meeting with the girls in the program!! We are calling the class “Bloom Nutrition Program,” in hopes of coming alongside these girls as they bloom physically and spiritually, blossoming into healthy and beautiful young women.
That night, I lay in bed wondering how to reach out to the teenage girls in the slum. My thoughts wandered to the many chapters and powerpoint slides from my Developmental Psychology class last semester at Vanderbilt--where I learned about the body’s critical development periods and the importance of having vitamins during children’s early years in order to be healthy. If the body did not have a strong foundation for growth, it would suffer serious consequences later on, especially during pregnancy. How could the young girls in the slum receive the crucial vitamins they need? What if there was a nutrition program for teenage girls? What if the girls were able to come for an hour each week to receive the milk and vitamin mix as well as learn a lesson about health and hygiene? What if they were given soap and a toothbrush and toothpaste and feminine pads on a monthly basis? I prayed for discernment and shared my thoughts with Elyssa that night. What if we put together a year long health curriculum and program for 20 teenage girls? The next day, we mentioned the idea to the man who runs the clinic, and he said that if we put together a program and provided the funding, he would be willing to administer the lessons and distribute the vitamin mix as well as hygiene supplies. He said that around 10 girls would attend the first few weeks, but the class size would probably grow as the year went on. My mind racing, I went home that afternoon and began planning and organizing and dreaming about the possibilities. Using a health curriculum made by the World Health Organization as a basis for our program, I began to draw up outlines for physical, mental, and spiritual health lessons tailored towards teenage girls. And within hours, Elyssa and I had put together a one-year plan for teaching young girls alternating lessons about health, hygiene, & nutrition and then character development, also supplying them with basic hygienic supplies to practice what they were learning in class.
This past Monday, the clinic had its first meeting for young women…and 26 girls showed up. I was back in Bangalore, preparing to leave to come home, but Elyssa called to tell me the news about what a success the first day had been. Tears poured from my eyes as she told me about the girls’ excitement, and their eagerness to learn, and how readily they drank the milk and vitamin mix. Though I am back in the US, I am finishing up the health curriculum and emailing it over to the clinic coordinator in the next few weeks, and I’m already looking forward to my first skype meeting with the girls in the program!! We are calling the class “Bloom Nutrition Program,” in hopes of coming alongside these girls as they bloom physically and spiritually, blossoming into healthy and beautiful young women.
Monsoons and “missing yous:” Last Week in Goa Part 1.
My last week in Goa was drenched…in heavy rains, with sheets of water that swept over the rolling hills and waves that crashed into the coast just 60 meters from our guesthouse…in sweat that poured from my body in the thick and muggy air…in tears of joy and frustration and heartache. In the mornings, I tutored children at preschools and met with principals and teachers. The little children were a handful—over 60 munchkins that screamed, kicked, cried, sang songs, jumped around, and pretty much did anything and everything but sit still. The hours from 8:30 to 12:30 were a test for my patience, and filled with countless silent prayers for stamina and grace, for focus and energy to teach and love these kids, for humility to serve the teachers in whatever way I could.
Each day, after eating a plate of rice and chicken masala or dahl fry (both curry-like sauces) with my hands, the afternoons were filled with jewelry making, stitching, and nutrition programs. I bought over 50,000 beads in Bangalore and carried them to Goa for the girls to begin making some bracelets I designed. Sitting crosslegged on the floor of the aprartment, I watched the women smile and laugh, threading beads onto string and then wear them on their wrists, exchanging Hindi and English words and teaching each other to count to ten. In Hindi, counting from 1 to 10 is: “Ek, do, ti, char, panch, che, sath, art, no, duhs.” As Friday afternoon came to a close, I glanced around the room and was overcome with the sweet sight… the 8 precious women gathered on the floor around me had become friends and sisters over the past few weeks, and my experiences with them were so dear to me. As they were about to leave, Deepa called me to the balcony and pointing to three boys playing cricket in the dirt below, said, “mine.” Her young sons waved up at me, and she asked, “Teacher—you coming Monday?” With tears building in my eyes, I shook my head and said, “No, sister. I am leaving tomorrow.” “No, teacher! Stay!” She grabbed my hand and spoke quickly to the other girls in the room in Hindi, and she must have told them I was leaving because they exclaimed, “No, teacher! When you coming back?” I told them I would try to come next summer, but I wasn’t sure. I hugged each girl goodbye, and whispered, “yadhara” (miss you) to each one…until Suman walked up to hug me for the last time. She was a 16 year old orphan, and I had grown the closest to her during my time there… as I wrapped my arms around her, I felt hot tears welling in my eyes and had to force myself to let go of the precious girl, “Bye, Teacher.” Her big dark brown eyes glimmered up at me, and I struggled not to burst into tears as I told her, “No, Suman, I am not teacher. I am your sister.” Pointing to myself, I said “dost” (sister in Hindi), and her face lit up as she laughed and said, “Oh teacher!” and hugged me one last time. She slipped on her flip-flops and looked back at me and waved as she walked out the door, and I felt like she had hooked my heart with fishing line and was pulling me with her. I was quiet as I packed up the bracelets the girls had made and lifted my backpack onto my shoulders, glancing back at the oven I had bought which was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, and imagined a baking sheet with cookies inside. I uttered a soft prayer that the oven and 8 baking sets would be used, and that the woman who committed to selling some biscuits in her shop in Baina would be able to one day. Stepping into the hall, I locked the door to the apartment for the last time…this summer, but hopefully not forever.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Nutrition and programs in Goa :).
Back in Goa again :).
I flew to Goa with two UGA students on Saturday, and we have been preparing the programs for the team of 18 girls from the US that are here to volunteer for the summer. The girls arrived late last week, and their joy and energy has boosted my spirit so much! Their hearts for the people here and the encouragment they have offered has been tremendous--they are such a blessing! I am realizing more and more the importance of fellowship and the power of groups that come together with one purpose, one mind, and one heart to serve. The potential impact is infinite if we live and work together as one body.
For the past few days, the two other volunteers and I have been meeting with the preschool teachers and leaders in the commnity to understand the current programs and see how we can best serve them. Though I will only be in India for the next week, I am trying to lay the foundation for sustainable programs that can be started with an initial boost of volunteers, but that will continue to be successful and effective without outside support.
My heart feels the most excited for the Nutrition Program. One of the men who works with the preschools has had some basic medical training and he leads a clinic in Birla slum twice a week. On Mondays and Wednesdays, he teaches a health lesson and then gives out vitamin supplements mixed with milk to over 60 children (ages 1 to 7 years). Each week, he has to turn children away because of a lack of funds... he also used to do the nutrition program in Baina slum but has had to stop that program because of a lack of mone as well. It only costs $10 a day to feed the vitamin mix to the 60 children, and so I am looking for ways to support the program coordinator so that he can continue to expand the ministry. I am also talking to the coordinator to try to start a nutrition program for teenage girls, especially the ones that are at risk for pregnancy... he says that there are girls who would come for a health lesson and vitamin mix if there was funding, so I am praying and thinking about ways to make the nutrition program a reality for these young women. I brought a nutrition curriculum to India as well, so we are looking to teach the lessons (with the 18 volunteers) to the younger children that come to the clinic on MOndays and Wednesdays.
The possibilities are endless and exciting in Goa! Each meeting and each person we talk to, there seems to be another opportunity to help and nationals willing to oversee programs. We are praying for wisdom and humility to address the needs of the people here the best that we can, recognizing that we can only do so much and need to establish focused goals for the programs, in order to ensure their impact and sustainability. I am trying to wake up each morning with a grateful heart, remembering that each day is a gift and a chance to love and serve everyone I come into contact with. The importance of working as a team is becoming more and more evident as well, as I am inspired by the passions of the volunteers and the Goans that are our new friends--and as I am once again reminded of the value of human life, the unique skills and talents that each person carries with them, and my heart longs to appreciate and celebrate each person I meet.
I flew to Goa with two UGA students on Saturday, and we have been preparing the programs for the team of 18 girls from the US that are here to volunteer for the summer. The girls arrived late last week, and their joy and energy has boosted my spirit so much! Their hearts for the people here and the encouragment they have offered has been tremendous--they are such a blessing! I am realizing more and more the importance of fellowship and the power of groups that come together with one purpose, one mind, and one heart to serve. The potential impact is infinite if we live and work together as one body.
For the past few days, the two other volunteers and I have been meeting with the preschool teachers and leaders in the commnity to understand the current programs and see how we can best serve them. Though I will only be in India for the next week, I am trying to lay the foundation for sustainable programs that can be started with an initial boost of volunteers, but that will continue to be successful and effective without outside support.
My heart feels the most excited for the Nutrition Program. One of the men who works with the preschools has had some basic medical training and he leads a clinic in Birla slum twice a week. On Mondays and Wednesdays, he teaches a health lesson and then gives out vitamin supplements mixed with milk to over 60 children (ages 1 to 7 years). Each week, he has to turn children away because of a lack of funds... he also used to do the nutrition program in Baina slum but has had to stop that program because of a lack of mone as well. It only costs $10 a day to feed the vitamin mix to the 60 children, and so I am looking for ways to support the program coordinator so that he can continue to expand the ministry. I am also talking to the coordinator to try to start a nutrition program for teenage girls, especially the ones that are at risk for pregnancy... he says that there are girls who would come for a health lesson and vitamin mix if there was funding, so I am praying and thinking about ways to make the nutrition program a reality for these young women. I brought a nutrition curriculum to India as well, so we are looking to teach the lessons (with the 18 volunteers) to the younger children that come to the clinic on MOndays and Wednesdays.
The possibilities are endless and exciting in Goa! Each meeting and each person we talk to, there seems to be another opportunity to help and nationals willing to oversee programs. We are praying for wisdom and humility to address the needs of the people here the best that we can, recognizing that we can only do so much and need to establish focused goals for the programs, in order to ensure their impact and sustainability. I am trying to wake up each morning with a grateful heart, remembering that each day is a gift and a chance to love and serve everyone I come into contact with. The importance of working as a team is becoming more and more evident as well, as I am inspired by the passions of the volunteers and the Goans that are our new friends--and as I am once again reminded of the value of human life, the unique skills and talents that each person carries with them, and my heart longs to appreciate and celebrate each person I meet.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Singing. And the Future.
Each Sunday, Steph and I, along with some of the other people here long term, lead songs for the kids at Latha and Suresh's. In the laughing and dancing and singing with about 80 children for about 20 mins each week, I have felt such a joy and zealousy for the future, hope for this precious younger generation. They are passionate, excited, thankful, eager to learn, and challenge me with their faith and selflessness... these are the same 220 children that come for dinner and tutoring during the week, and they are a gift. Their smiles and "Hello Auntie"s are like a candle in my heart, a fan to my flame, a reason to press on... it is for these children that my spirit starts to flutter in my chest---it is for their lives, their education, their protection, their growth, their future that my blood pressure rises and I have a burning desire to fight. It is this generation...the younger generation...our generation that can stop the cycle, that can end the sex-slavery.
Once the girls are sold and trafficked, they are swept away--caught in the current, sucked down by the undertoe, and trying to pull them out is like trying to rescue a swimmer in a storm...its like fighting against an entire ocean that is crashing and swirling and ripping them from your grasp. But if we can protect the girls on the front-end, stop them from being sold in the first place, help them get an education and a way to support themselves, giving them hope and a reason to believe in themselves------then, we can change the future... of the entire world.
Bread Baking to media making to picture taking… sure why not?
Rahab’s Rope operations in India have taken a major shift in the last month. In the four weeks that I have been here, the organization has decided to transition its major programs to Vasco de Gama, essentially closing down the training center in Bangalore and moving everything to Goa. As far as the women who have been participating in the program in Bangalore, Rahab's Rope is helping one of their best sewers to start a training program of her own, giving her the sewing equipment she needs to teach classes to women about 2 hours from the city. The other women in the jewelry and sewing programs have been with Rahab's Rope for years, and the organization is trying to help the girls stand on their own two feet and support themselves, because there are so many other commercial sex workers that need help and could be enrolled in the programs.
Doors have continued to fly open in Goa, and its been an adventure to have the opportunity to help Rahab’s Rope establish its first prevention programs, since its previous focus has been aftercare.
1) By investing in two preschool ministries in slums on the coast, Rahab’s Rope is working to combat sex trafficking on the very front end. Children from these two preschools have a 100% rate of entering Standard 1, and for the past 6 years, there has not been a single drop out. In the preschools, the children are supported by caring teachers, taught the importance of education, learn discipline as well as basic academic skills, and are better prepared to enter the government schools by the time they are 5 years old. Rahab’s Rope has committed to funding several students tuition, paying for breakfast/snack programs to ensure the children are getting at least one nutritious meal each day, supplementing the pay of at least one school teacher, and funding programs for the Sunday school.
2) Tuition is the Indian way of saying “tutoring,” and Rahab’s Rope is currently organizing a Tuition Program for Teenage Girls in Birla slum who have dropped out of school. During three-hour lessons, the girls will re-learn material they either failed or missed while they were in school, receive a nutritional snack, engage in fellowship and devotion, and be encouraged and supported on a personal level. The goal of this program is to reach out to the girls who have the highest risk of becoming prostitutes through protection and prevention, keeping them out of the slums during the day and helping re-enroll them in school so they can continue with their education.
3) David, Steph, and I have been conversing and planning and throwing around ideas for a nutrition program as well. There is a medical clinic in Baina slum that is currently vacant, and we have been trying to figure out a way to re-open the clinic by implementing some sort of medical/nutrition program for the slum residents, looking at the clinic as an effective way to identify sex-trafficked victims and commercial sex workers. Prostitutes and victims of the sex industry are often beaten, abused, diseased, and sick, and so by offering medical care, we hope to meet the immediate physical needs of women and children in the slum as well as locate girls that need to be rescued and can be enrolled in one of the Rahab’s Rope programs.
As far as the baking program, I will be setting up the kitchen in the Rahab’s Rope apartment next door to Baina slum, getting the oven and cooking supplies ready for training. When we were in Goa a few weeks ago, one of the women in the stitching class said she would sell some biscuits (cookies) in her store, so I am planning on meeting with her and getting the program rolling. I am currently working on setting up a cost bracket and formula spreadsheet for the 5 products we will bake and sell, and I am really wishing that I paid closer attention during my calculus class last fall…
Along with building relationships with women in the community, I have been spending most of my time putting together media material for Rahab’s Rope, working on brochures, sex-trafficking awareness resources, and other projects. I also had some fun designing a few bracelets and money pouches for the women in Goa to go along with the HOPE Campaign Proposal that I’ve been putting together. “HOPE” stands for Rahab’s Rope’s four-fold approach to fighting sex trafficking in India: Providing HOPE through Healing, Opportunity, Power, and Education…we’ll see how the campaign goes haha…
These past few days, FLEXIBILITY has been a mindset I’ve had to embrace, learning to put aside my own aspirations and just go with the flow…trying to serve whomever, whenever, however I can, even if its not who, when, how I planned. IT’S NOT ABOUT ME has been another message I’ve had to replay over and over in my mind, learning to let go---to let go of expectations, of anxiety, of stress, of frustrations…and to cling to love and hope and humility. I may have come to India to be a bread baker, but if I need to be a media-maker and bead-stringer and picture-taker to best serve the people around me at this moment, then that’s exactly what I need to do.
Doors have continued to fly open in Goa, and its been an adventure to have the opportunity to help Rahab’s Rope establish its first prevention programs, since its previous focus has been aftercare.
1) By investing in two preschool ministries in slums on the coast, Rahab’s Rope is working to combat sex trafficking on the very front end. Children from these two preschools have a 100% rate of entering Standard 1, and for the past 6 years, there has not been a single drop out. In the preschools, the children are supported by caring teachers, taught the importance of education, learn discipline as well as basic academic skills, and are better prepared to enter the government schools by the time they are 5 years old. Rahab’s Rope has committed to funding several students tuition, paying for breakfast/snack programs to ensure the children are getting at least one nutritious meal each day, supplementing the pay of at least one school teacher, and funding programs for the Sunday school.
2) Tuition is the Indian way of saying “tutoring,” and Rahab’s Rope is currently organizing a Tuition Program for Teenage Girls in Birla slum who have dropped out of school. During three-hour lessons, the girls will re-learn material they either failed or missed while they were in school, receive a nutritional snack, engage in fellowship and devotion, and be encouraged and supported on a personal level. The goal of this program is to reach out to the girls who have the highest risk of becoming prostitutes through protection and prevention, keeping them out of the slums during the day and helping re-enroll them in school so they can continue with their education.
3) David, Steph, and I have been conversing and planning and throwing around ideas for a nutrition program as well. There is a medical clinic in Baina slum that is currently vacant, and we have been trying to figure out a way to re-open the clinic by implementing some sort of medical/nutrition program for the slum residents, looking at the clinic as an effective way to identify sex-trafficked victims and commercial sex workers. Prostitutes and victims of the sex industry are often beaten, abused, diseased, and sick, and so by offering medical care, we hope to meet the immediate physical needs of women and children in the slum as well as locate girls that need to be rescued and can be enrolled in one of the Rahab’s Rope programs.
As far as the baking program, I will be setting up the kitchen in the Rahab’s Rope apartment next door to Baina slum, getting the oven and cooking supplies ready for training. When we were in Goa a few weeks ago, one of the women in the stitching class said she would sell some biscuits (cookies) in her store, so I am planning on meeting with her and getting the program rolling. I am currently working on setting up a cost bracket and formula spreadsheet for the 5 products we will bake and sell, and I am really wishing that I paid closer attention during my calculus class last fall…
Along with building relationships with women in the community, I have been spending most of my time putting together media material for Rahab’s Rope, working on brochures, sex-trafficking awareness resources, and other projects. I also had some fun designing a few bracelets and money pouches for the women in Goa to go along with the HOPE Campaign Proposal that I’ve been putting together. “HOPE” stands for Rahab’s Rope’s four-fold approach to fighting sex trafficking in India: Providing HOPE through Healing, Opportunity, Power, and Education…we’ll see how the campaign goes haha…
These past few days, FLEXIBILITY has been a mindset I’ve had to embrace, learning to put aside my own aspirations and just go with the flow…trying to serve whomever, whenever, however I can, even if its not who, when, how I planned. IT’S NOT ABOUT ME has been another message I’ve had to replay over and over in my mind, learning to let go---to let go of expectations, of anxiety, of stress, of frustrations…and to cling to love and hope and humility. I may have come to India to be a bread baker, but if I need to be a media-maker and bead-stringer and picture-taker to best serve the people around me at this moment, then that’s exactly what I need to do.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Live in the moment.
“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is. You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.” We are merely moving shadows, and all our busy rushing ends in nothing. We heap up wealth, not knowing who will spend it.
And so, Lord, where do I put my hope? My only hope is in you.” Psalm 39:4-7
At church today, I stared into 80 pairs of little eyes that glistened with light…that despite their lives in the slums and all they’ve seen, sung their hearts out to the Lord, thanking Him and praising Him for His blessings. I watched them dance and clap and pray and testify to the way God has provided for them…
Jered gave a message on “Living in the moment,” and I felt more alive in that moment than I have in some time. In being reminded of the fragile nature of my life, I was filled with a fervency and urgency to be thankful for the very breath I was breathing, each beat of my heart, each second I was still alive. Every single breath is a gift—not something I deserve, not something that is infinite, and not something that I have control over. Each moment is a privilege, a piece of grace, an opportunity---a chance to live and love that I will never get back again. Each second of my existence has a purpose and a reason that is far bigger than me, far more important than my desires, far more significant than my plans.
But I have a choice. I can live each moment for me, or I can live it for eternity. I can live it with my selfish ambitions, or worry and fret over what I will do tomorrow, or run around “heaping up wealth” and concerning myself with things of this world like money, education, success, or beauty…or instead of being focused on my reputation, I can be focused on the One I represent, and why He has put me here: to be completely humble and gentle, patient, bearing with one another in love, to serve wholeheartedly and with thanksgiving, to be made alive through grace (Ephesians 4:2, 2:8).
I can live my life for me, or I can live it for others. And the only time I have to live—is NOW. I am not guaranteed tomorrow. So the decision lies in my hands. The answers to the questions are up to me:
Who will I live for?
What will I live for?
When will I start LIVING?
At church today, I stared into 80 pairs of little eyes that glistened with light…that despite their lives in the slums and all they’ve seen, sung their hearts out to the Lord, thanking Him and praising Him for His blessings. I watched them dance and clap and pray and testify to the way God has provided for them…
Jered gave a message on “Living in the moment,” and I felt more alive in that moment than I have in some time. In being reminded of the fragile nature of my life, I was filled with a fervency and urgency to be thankful for the very breath I was breathing, each beat of my heart, each second I was still alive. Every single breath is a gift—not something I deserve, not something that is infinite, and not something that I have control over. Each moment is a privilege, a piece of grace, an opportunity---a chance to live and love that I will never get back again. Each second of my existence has a purpose and a reason that is far bigger than me, far more important than my desires, far more significant than my plans.
But I have a choice. I can live each moment for me, or I can live it for eternity. I can live it with my selfish ambitions, or worry and fret over what I will do tomorrow, or run around “heaping up wealth” and concerning myself with things of this world like money, education, success, or beauty…or instead of being focused on my reputation, I can be focused on the One I represent, and why He has put me here: to be completely humble and gentle, patient, bearing with one another in love, to serve wholeheartedly and with thanksgiving, to be made alive through grace (Ephesians 4:2, 2:8).
I can live my life for me, or I can live it for others. And the only time I have to live—is NOW. I am not guaranteed tomorrow. So the decision lies in my hands. The answers to the questions are up to me:
Who will I live for?
What will I live for?
When will I start LIVING?
Saturday.
I slept until 11 oclock on Saturday, my body craving rest and sleep.
The past few nights have been full of tossing and turning—I lay in bed with my arms crossed behind my head, staring into the darkness, listening to the wind and the hum of bugs outside my window, my mind racing with words and images. Most of the images are of eyes—there is something intriguing about eyes to me, something about looking deep into people’s eyes that pulls at my heart, as if there were a magnetic attraction between my ribs and their pupils. As I stare into the faces of the men, women and children I meet, their dark brown eyes are mysterious pools that hold stories and feelings and sights untold, secret wells of unknown depths…I wonder about what lies in the thick brown waters...especially those of the children.
What horrors have their eyes seen? Have they seen their fathers stumble home drunk? Have they seen their dads beat their moms or burn them with acid? Have they seen their mothers cry and weep for mercy? Have they seen loved ones die from sickness and disease? Have they watched rabid dogs attack a baby they know? Have they seen their own blood from beatings and abuse? Have they watched their sister be raped by a neighbor or boss?
Horrifying and heartbreaking stories haunt my thoughts: women being beaten—to the point of mutilation and broken teeth, husbands having affairs—bringing home other women—kicking out their wives—but hunting them down for money each month and torturing them…children who are beaten while trying to protect their mothers—bitten and punched by their drunk fathers…brothers who pull sex-seeking neighbors off their helpless sisters…children suffering from fevers and sicknesses with no medicine at home…husbands that pour kerosene on their wives and burn them because “they are ugly”…
One pair of eyes has been seared into my mind since Saturday afternoon. They belong to a precious little Muslim woman who came over and had chapattis and cookies with Steph and I for a few hours. As she sat next to me at our table, her petite brown wrist slid out from beneath her black burha (muslim dress) that covered her from head to toe as she reached for a chocolate cookie, and she began to tell us about troubles with her fiancé and family. Her light brown eyes were captivating—standing out against her skin and dark hair—but they seemed to tiptoe around the room with caution as she unveiled some of her heart. Steph commented on what a beautiful woman she was, and embarrassed of the compliment, the precious little woman said that no Indian men thought she was pretty, and she wore a burka to cover her face from a young age, just because she didn’t think she was attractive.
My heart was so heavy for this shining little lady… that she covered her face because she didn't feel "beautiful enough" to be seen. She was without a doubt one of the most beautiful Indian women I have met, yet had no self confidence or sense of self worth. I longed for her to SEE her beauty, her value, her talents, her uniqueness, how she mattered to the God of the Universe who loved her with more compassion than she could imagine…I wanted to reach out and hug her and scoop her into my arms…for her to SEE and know that she is beautifully and wonderfully made...but my words alone could not heal her heart.
So her eyes burn in my mind, reminding me of the need for love, and the importance of treating every human being like what they are: a masterpiece, created by the hands of God, formed beautifully and especially for a divine plan.
The past few nights have been full of tossing and turning—I lay in bed with my arms crossed behind my head, staring into the darkness, listening to the wind and the hum of bugs outside my window, my mind racing with words and images. Most of the images are of eyes—there is something intriguing about eyes to me, something about looking deep into people’s eyes that pulls at my heart, as if there were a magnetic attraction between my ribs and their pupils. As I stare into the faces of the men, women and children I meet, their dark brown eyes are mysterious pools that hold stories and feelings and sights untold, secret wells of unknown depths…I wonder about what lies in the thick brown waters...especially those of the children.
What horrors have their eyes seen? Have they seen their fathers stumble home drunk? Have they seen their dads beat their moms or burn them with acid? Have they seen their mothers cry and weep for mercy? Have they seen loved ones die from sickness and disease? Have they watched rabid dogs attack a baby they know? Have they seen their own blood from beatings and abuse? Have they watched their sister be raped by a neighbor or boss?
Horrifying and heartbreaking stories haunt my thoughts: women being beaten—to the point of mutilation and broken teeth, husbands having affairs—bringing home other women—kicking out their wives—but hunting them down for money each month and torturing them…children who are beaten while trying to protect their mothers—bitten and punched by their drunk fathers…brothers who pull sex-seeking neighbors off their helpless sisters…children suffering from fevers and sicknesses with no medicine at home…husbands that pour kerosene on their wives and burn them because “they are ugly”…
One pair of eyes has been seared into my mind since Saturday afternoon. They belong to a precious little Muslim woman who came over and had chapattis and cookies with Steph and I for a few hours. As she sat next to me at our table, her petite brown wrist slid out from beneath her black burha (muslim dress) that covered her from head to toe as she reached for a chocolate cookie, and she began to tell us about troubles with her fiancé and family. Her light brown eyes were captivating—standing out against her skin and dark hair—but they seemed to tiptoe around the room with caution as she unveiled some of her heart. Steph commented on what a beautiful woman she was, and embarrassed of the compliment, the precious little woman said that no Indian men thought she was pretty, and she wore a burka to cover her face from a young age, just because she didn’t think she was attractive.
My heart was so heavy for this shining little lady… that she covered her face because she didn't feel "beautiful enough" to be seen. She was without a doubt one of the most beautiful Indian women I have met, yet had no self confidence or sense of self worth. I longed for her to SEE her beauty, her value, her talents, her uniqueness, how she mattered to the God of the Universe who loved her with more compassion than she could imagine…I wanted to reach out and hug her and scoop her into my arms…for her to SEE and know that she is beautifully and wonderfully made...but my words alone could not heal her heart.
So her eyes burn in my mind, reminding me of the need for love, and the importance of treating every human being like what they are: a masterpiece, created by the hands of God, formed beautifully and especially for a divine plan.
Friday, June 4, 2010
I let her go from my arms, but not from my heart.
Her name is Palovi (pronounced "paul-oh-vee"), and her mother, Mary, came to the Rahab’s Rope center a few years ago to seek refuge. She had been gang raped—and gave birth to Palovi 9 months later. Mary came with Palovi to the center just after she was born, and they lived there for about four years (until last January). At the center, David told me that Palovi was attached to her mother, refusing to let anyone else touch or hold her, and even ended up sitting in her mother’s lap during sewing classes.
Tonight, Mary brough Palovi to Anatalie’s house where about 12 of the women who lived at the old Rahab’s Rope center gathered to ride to Pushpa’s wedding. As we stood in the street trying to wave down three rickshaws, I felt something brush against my thigh, and looked down to see Palovi leaning against my leg. I knelt down next to her, gathering my yellow sari in my left hand to keep it from dragging in the dirt, and looked in her eyes. “You can be my girl, tonight,” I whispered softly, and held out my right hand. She put her tiny brown fingers in my palm and smiled back at me, and together we walked over to the rickshaws that the other girls had waved down. I ducked to step inside the middle one, lifting my little princess onto my lap, expecting her mother to sit beside me on the three person bench… “My motha,” Palovi said calmly as her mother climbed into the rickshaw in front of us and drove off. The little angel leaned back against my chest, stretched her legs just beyond my knees, grabbed my hand on her leg…and I gently rested my chin in her black hair as two others climbed in next to me, and the rickshaw driver took off down the street. We swerved and turned and shook and bumped and rode for an hour and 15 mins, and I noticed Palovi limp in my arms just 20 minutes into the drive, so I moved my left hand to hold her sleeping head still against my chest, my right hand fingers still clutched in her palm.
As I held the precious angel in my lap, I felt my wet tears dampen her beautiful black hair beneath my chin. The rape of her mother, the horror of her conception, the pain she represented… the beauty of her little body cradled in my arms…I shuddered to think of girls her age—just 5 years of age—that are chained in brothels and sold for thousands of dollars at this very moment. As the buildings flew by outside the rickshaw, I wondered what happened behind some of those walls, what the darkness of the rooms held, what the groups of men who sat on the road and stared at me holding this baby were thinking as they pointed and grunted my way—I held the little angel tighter and prayed that God would never let her go. Who would protect her? Who would provide for her? Would she become just like her mother—raped and forever shunned by her family and community?
I cringed as we arrived at the wedding the precious little girl was lifted from my arms, longing to hold her forever and protect her from the world she lives in—that I live in—that we live in.
I don’t know why Palovi felt so comfortable with me, why she trusted me so much, why she curled up and fell asleep in my lap and let me love her and hold her for just an hour tonight, but I am certain that I held part of the heart of God in my arms tonight-- the part that breaks, aches, hurts, and pains for His oppressed, suffering, and helpless children. I am also certain that He placed Palovi in my arms for a purpose, to show me His love for His children, and to break my heart for the little girls in this country in a irreparable way. Each day I am here, I am more aware of my own shortcomings, weaknesses, inabilities, and helplessness... more aware of how much I need grace and how much I don't deserve it, all the while forced to rely on God in ways I never have before. The more He reveals my own weaknesses, the more He reveals His own strength and love to me, reminding me that He holds each of us in His arms every second of every day--He never leaves us, nor forsakes us, and He loves us more than we can even fathom...
Tonight, Mary brough Palovi to Anatalie’s house where about 12 of the women who lived at the old Rahab’s Rope center gathered to ride to Pushpa’s wedding. As we stood in the street trying to wave down three rickshaws, I felt something brush against my thigh, and looked down to see Palovi leaning against my leg. I knelt down next to her, gathering my yellow sari in my left hand to keep it from dragging in the dirt, and looked in her eyes. “You can be my girl, tonight,” I whispered softly, and held out my right hand. She put her tiny brown fingers in my palm and smiled back at me, and together we walked over to the rickshaws that the other girls had waved down. I ducked to step inside the middle one, lifting my little princess onto my lap, expecting her mother to sit beside me on the three person bench… “My motha,” Palovi said calmly as her mother climbed into the rickshaw in front of us and drove off. The little angel leaned back against my chest, stretched her legs just beyond my knees, grabbed my hand on her leg…and I gently rested my chin in her black hair as two others climbed in next to me, and the rickshaw driver took off down the street. We swerved and turned and shook and bumped and rode for an hour and 15 mins, and I noticed Palovi limp in my arms just 20 minutes into the drive, so I moved my left hand to hold her sleeping head still against my chest, my right hand fingers still clutched in her palm.
As I held the precious angel in my lap, I felt my wet tears dampen her beautiful black hair beneath my chin. The rape of her mother, the horror of her conception, the pain she represented… the beauty of her little body cradled in my arms…I shuddered to think of girls her age—just 5 years of age—that are chained in brothels and sold for thousands of dollars at this very moment. As the buildings flew by outside the rickshaw, I wondered what happened behind some of those walls, what the darkness of the rooms held, what the groups of men who sat on the road and stared at me holding this baby were thinking as they pointed and grunted my way—I held the little angel tighter and prayed that God would never let her go. Who would protect her? Who would provide for her? Would she become just like her mother—raped and forever shunned by her family and community?
I cringed as we arrived at the wedding the precious little girl was lifted from my arms, longing to hold her forever and protect her from the world she lives in—that I live in—that we live in.
I don’t know why Palovi felt so comfortable with me, why she trusted me so much, why she curled up and fell asleep in my lap and let me love her and hold her for just an hour tonight, but I am certain that I held part of the heart of God in my arms tonight-- the part that breaks, aches, hurts, and pains for His oppressed, suffering, and helpless children. I am also certain that He placed Palovi in my arms for a purpose, to show me His love for His children, and to break my heart for the little girls in this country in a irreparable way. Each day I am here, I am more aware of my own shortcomings, weaknesses, inabilities, and helplessness... more aware of how much I need grace and how much I don't deserve it, all the while forced to rely on God in ways I never have before. The more He reveals my own weaknesses, the more He reveals His own strength and love to me, reminding me that He holds each of us in His arms every second of every day--He never leaves us, nor forsakes us, and He loves us more than we can even fathom...
Aching tummy, aching heart.
Last night, I tossed and turned from hot flashes and chills for a few hours, but ultimately ended up hunching over the toilet until there was nothing left in my stomach. As I laid awake, sipping on cold water and trying to eat saltines, my mind kept wandering to the images of little Indian girls I met on the street yesterday. While walking down to Anatalie’s apartment to meet up with the women in the sewing program, I turned the street corner and was confronted with a chorus of “Hello sister! How are you?!” There were about 6 ten year old girls, dressed in maroon school uniforms and pigtail braids, giggling to each other as they waved at me. Smiling I replied, “Why hello sisters! I am fine, thank you! How was your school today?”
“Fine, sister. See you!” Their shining faces and swaying backpacks continued down the road, and as I watched the group wander along, my heart was warm from their happy greeting and thoughtful as well…
The average age a girl is sold into prostitution in India is 12 years old. Where would that precious bunch of girls be in two years? Images of commercial sex workers standing on the road at night flashed in my mind, but I became distracted by a man with a cart of bright yellow mangos who was beckoning me to purchase 100g with a “special discount,” and let the thought slip away.
I pulled the sheet up over my shoulder and stared at the wall of our bedroom, praying for the aching in my tummy to ease, but asking for the aching in my heart to grow. I want to love these girls as much as Jesus loves them… I want my heart to ache for them as His does. I prayed for my spirit to break into irreparable pieces, so that I would never forget the suffering of the women and the future of millions of little girls if no one intervenes in the sex trade in this country.
I read a statistic today that said “At the current rate of growth by 2025 one out of every five Indian girl children will be a child prostitute.” While this statement is concerning and shocking and sickening, I struggled to understand just exactly what that meant—the numbers and percentages all become a blur after awhile, until you have a face to put with them….
That face, that child, that little girl, sat in my lap on the way to a wedding tonight.
“Fine, sister. See you!” Their shining faces and swaying backpacks continued down the road, and as I watched the group wander along, my heart was warm from their happy greeting and thoughtful as well…
The average age a girl is sold into prostitution in India is 12 years old. Where would that precious bunch of girls be in two years? Images of commercial sex workers standing on the road at night flashed in my mind, but I became distracted by a man with a cart of bright yellow mangos who was beckoning me to purchase 100g with a “special discount,” and let the thought slip away.
I pulled the sheet up over my shoulder and stared at the wall of our bedroom, praying for the aching in my tummy to ease, but asking for the aching in my heart to grow. I want to love these girls as much as Jesus loves them… I want my heart to ache for them as His does. I prayed for my spirit to break into irreparable pieces, so that I would never forget the suffering of the women and the future of millions of little girls if no one intervenes in the sex trade in this country.
I read a statistic today that said “At the current rate of growth by 2025 one out of every five Indian girl children will be a child prostitute.” While this statement is concerning and shocking and sickening, I struggled to understand just exactly what that meant—the numbers and percentages all become a blur after awhile, until you have a face to put with them….
That face, that child, that little girl, sat in my lap on the way to a wedding tonight.
Wedding.
Pic #1: My Indian nighty and henna tatoos.
Pic #2: Steph and I in saris (pronounced "sawry"), our Indian wedding attire.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Statistics on Human Trafficking.
www.Stopthetraffik.org
- "Human Trafficking is the fastest growing crime worldwide."
- "At least one person is trafficked across an international border every minute."
- The human trafficking industry incurs over $29.4 billion dollars annually.
- OVER 80% of people trafficked are women.
- 50% of people trafficked are under the age of 18.
The Protection Project Review:(www.protectionproject.org)
-"Trafficking for the purpose of commercial sexual exploitation is the most widespread form of trafficking."
-The Trafficking in Persons Report found:
--over 173 countries affected by sex-trafficking
--88 of those countries had reported cases of child sex tourism.
--20 of those countries with forced marriage and bride trafficking
- "Human Trafficking is the fastest growing crime worldwide."
- "At least one person is trafficked across an international border every minute."
- The human trafficking industry incurs over $29.4 billion dollars annually.
- OVER 80% of people trafficked are women.
- 50% of people trafficked are under the age of 18.
The Protection Project Review:(www.protectionproject.org)
-"Trafficking for the purpose of commercial sexual exploitation is the most widespread form of trafficking."
-The Trafficking in Persons Report found:
--over 173 countries affected by sex-trafficking
--88 of those countries had reported cases of child sex tourism.
--20 of those countries with forced marriage and bride trafficking
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
"The Sinful Injection."
The past few days have been a whirlwind of plans, ideas, meetings, relationships, and more, as I have been learning to balance the incredible potential, the heartwrenching suffering, the need for Hope, the fleeting spottings of joy, the beauty of this place, and the strange paradoxical feelings i have towards it. Today marks the third week I have been in India, and I am noticing a clashing in my spirit--I feel a deep sense of compassion for the people I meet and see, a genuine sense of amazement at the beauty of the land of this country, yet an inner anger and frustration and nauseau for the bondage and oppression that is forced upon women and children.
One of our last nights in Goa, Steph and I were eating dinner watching the evening news, and a special on "The Sinful Injection" ran across the bottom of the screen. Taken aback yet interested, we watched on.
A group of people raided a village called Alwar and discovered a horrifying reality. Young girls that had been stolen from Dehli were taken to Alwar, a small village a few hours away, where they were injected with Oxytocin, a growth hormone meant for vegetables and animals. The injection made the girls hit puberty faster, so they could be forced into prostitution. Oxytocin has other aspects, affecting the central nervous system and potentially causing seizures, affecting the thyroid gland which causes a hormone imbalance, increasing sexual appetite, and more. The drug is usually meant to increase milk production in cattle.
Girls as young as 6 years old are being pumped with growth hormones, forced into puberty and prostitution. As I stared at the screen, my stomach lurched in my throat, my eyes burned with tears, my fists clenched my chair with fury, and my mind glared in utter disbelief, especially at the state government's claim that "they had no idea" this has been happening. What sick person had the gall to inject girls with dangerous drugs so that they could sell them into prostitution FASTER??? And an ENTIRE VILLAGE literally being used as a breeding ground for sex-trafficking???? WHAT???? And who knows how long this has been going on--years maybe, and there is no doubt in my mind that there are likely other villages with the same industry and purpose.
The image of these young girls who are kidnapped, imprisoned, drugged, traded, and sold into the sex industry has been plaguing my mind and my heart for the past several days... I have shed many tears and struggled to understand how and why and what can be done to stop injustices like this. Will we as a world just sit and watch as girls are sold for sex across the globe? Will feelings of anger and frustration just disappear into nothing but passing thoughts? When will we take action and stand up for those who are helpless and hopeless?
Read more at : http://indiatoday.intoday.in/site/Story/99132/120/Drugged+into+puberty,+sold+for+sex.html
http://www.bukisa.com/articles/296084_converting-baby-girls-into-adult-women-with-oxytocin
One of our last nights in Goa, Steph and I were eating dinner watching the evening news, and a special on "The Sinful Injection" ran across the bottom of the screen. Taken aback yet interested, we watched on.
A group of people raided a village called Alwar and discovered a horrifying reality. Young girls that had been stolen from Dehli were taken to Alwar, a small village a few hours away, where they were injected with Oxytocin, a growth hormone meant for vegetables and animals. The injection made the girls hit puberty faster, so they could be forced into prostitution. Oxytocin has other aspects, affecting the central nervous system and potentially causing seizures, affecting the thyroid gland which causes a hormone imbalance, increasing sexual appetite, and more. The drug is usually meant to increase milk production in cattle.
Girls as young as 6 years old are being pumped with growth hormones, forced into puberty and prostitution. As I stared at the screen, my stomach lurched in my throat, my eyes burned with tears, my fists clenched my chair with fury, and my mind glared in utter disbelief, especially at the state government's claim that "they had no idea" this has been happening. What sick person had the gall to inject girls with dangerous drugs so that they could sell them into prostitution FASTER??? And an ENTIRE VILLAGE literally being used as a breeding ground for sex-trafficking???? WHAT???? And who knows how long this has been going on--years maybe, and there is no doubt in my mind that there are likely other villages with the same industry and purpose.
The image of these young girls who are kidnapped, imprisoned, drugged, traded, and sold into the sex industry has been plaguing my mind and my heart for the past several days... I have shed many tears and struggled to understand how and why and what can be done to stop injustices like this. Will we as a world just sit and watch as girls are sold for sex across the globe? Will feelings of anger and frustration just disappear into nothing but passing thoughts? When will we take action and stand up for those who are helpless and hopeless?
Read more at : http://indiatoday.intoday.in/site/Story/99132/120/Drugged+into+puberty,+sold+for+sex.html
http://www.bukisa.com/articles/296084_converting-baby-girls-into-adult-women-with-oxytocin
Monday, May 31, 2010
TWO WEEKS. (From my journal on Thursday, May 27)
From my journal on Thursday, May 27
“Today marks 2 weeks that I have been in India. It seems like I’ve been here much longer. Maybe it is the heat of Goa- there is a heaviness and an intensity that pulls down on every limb of my body. Each drop of sweat that runs down my face and chest and back carries not only the physical weight draining from my body, but effort to understand oozing from my mind, and concern—frustration—a desire to help but not knowing how-seeping from my heart. My spirit is like a confused child, trapped inside a world that is so much more twisted, complicated, evil, hopeless, and fan-less than I ever thought. Even so, my spirit is excited by the simplest things—smiles. Smiles of slum children gathering around me to see their picture on my camera, smiles from women and children in passing on the road, smiles from the girls during the sewing classes—my spirit leaps at the smallest glimpse of hope that flutters in the dark faces around me, clutching onto any sign of joy or happiness in the eyes of women and children.
Though my heart is concerned for the men of this community, it is hardened… I have no sympathy for them, but I have a desire for them to be changed, to have the scales fall from their eyes and for them to see women as precious creations of value and worth, as equals, as needing protection but also needing to be heard.
While my heart longs to cradle and hold each little girl that walks by me in the slum, shielding her from mistreatment and wrapping her in the love of Christ, I also desire to take each little boy by the hand and teach them to respect and honor the women around them…I long for the little boy to see the little girl next to him as a partner, a teammate, a capable and beautiful jewel to be valued.
Two of the afternoons in Vasco, Steph, David, and I visited preschools in the area. After talking to the teachers, not only were we able to learn of the schools’ needs, but education carried an entirely new importance in my mind… not did the preschools prepare the 3, 4, and 5 year olds academically for entering primary school, giving them a better chance to succeed in higher education, but from just a few years of age, the children were taught virtues and values of discipline, diligence, respect, and teamwork. My hope is that as these little boys and little girls are educated together, studying side by side, that they would regard each other as equals---that when the little boys grow up, they wouldn’t beat or burn their wives, or force them to provide irrational amounts of money for the family, they wouldn’t sell their daughters to pimps for extra cash, they wouldn’t spend all the money they make on alcohol or on visits to brothels. Instead, they would honor their wives, protect and educate their children, and value the women around them… If the demand for prostitutes declines, so will the supply.
My fervent prayer is for this younger generation to be filled with a heartfelt conviction for justice, and that they would revolutionize the role of the Indian woman in society, seeing her for the beautiful and precious creation that she is.”
“Today marks 2 weeks that I have been in India. It seems like I’ve been here much longer. Maybe it is the heat of Goa- there is a heaviness and an intensity that pulls down on every limb of my body. Each drop of sweat that runs down my face and chest and back carries not only the physical weight draining from my body, but effort to understand oozing from my mind, and concern—frustration—a desire to help but not knowing how-seeping from my heart. My spirit is like a confused child, trapped inside a world that is so much more twisted, complicated, evil, hopeless, and fan-less than I ever thought. Even so, my spirit is excited by the simplest things—smiles. Smiles of slum children gathering around me to see their picture on my camera, smiles from women and children in passing on the road, smiles from the girls during the sewing classes—my spirit leaps at the smallest glimpse of hope that flutters in the dark faces around me, clutching onto any sign of joy or happiness in the eyes of women and children.
Though my heart is concerned for the men of this community, it is hardened… I have no sympathy for them, but I have a desire for them to be changed, to have the scales fall from their eyes and for them to see women as precious creations of value and worth, as equals, as needing protection but also needing to be heard.
While my heart longs to cradle and hold each little girl that walks by me in the slum, shielding her from mistreatment and wrapping her in the love of Christ, I also desire to take each little boy by the hand and teach them to respect and honor the women around them…I long for the little boy to see the little girl next to him as a partner, a teammate, a capable and beautiful jewel to be valued.
Two of the afternoons in Vasco, Steph, David, and I visited preschools in the area. After talking to the teachers, not only were we able to learn of the schools’ needs, but education carried an entirely new importance in my mind… not did the preschools prepare the 3, 4, and 5 year olds academically for entering primary school, giving them a better chance to succeed in higher education, but from just a few years of age, the children were taught virtues and values of discipline, diligence, respect, and teamwork. My hope is that as these little boys and little girls are educated together, studying side by side, that they would regard each other as equals---that when the little boys grow up, they wouldn’t beat or burn their wives, or force them to provide irrational amounts of money for the family, they wouldn’t sell their daughters to pimps for extra cash, they wouldn’t spend all the money they make on alcohol or on visits to brothels. Instead, they would honor their wives, protect and educate their children, and value the women around them… If the demand for prostitutes declines, so will the supply.
My fervent prayer is for this younger generation to be filled with a heartfelt conviction for justice, and that they would revolutionize the role of the Indian woman in society, seeing her for the beautiful and precious creation that she is.”
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Back from Goa: Part 1.
Goa: I could probably talk for 12 hours and more about this area in southwestern India, though it is the smallest state in the country. Located on the coast, Goa is tropical paradise with palm trees that tower over white sand beaches, flowers exploding from bushes and branches and weaved into necklaces, cashew stores dotting market streets (one of Goa's main products), and fishing boats lining the ocean's edges. However, the state also has the highest percentage of sex-trafficking in India, and Goa's Red light district was anchored in a slum area called Baina until the government tore down several brothels in 2005, scattering over 2000 prostitutes across the area... and it just so happens that the view from the Rahab's Rope apartment building where I lived for the past week---was Baina slum.
I woke up the first morning at 7 AM to the "Call to Prayer" that bellowed--more like blasted from the mosque that stood 50 feet from my window, wiped the sweat from my forehead and reached for my water bottle, wondering why the sweltering heat refused to subside and how it was even possible for the temperature to be in the 90s already. Turning on my side, I worthlessly tried to give the wet cotton shirt that clung to my back a chance to dry out, but for 6 days straight I woke up feeling like I had just hopped out of the pool and was laying on a damp towel. I usually laid in bed and listened to packs of dogs that roamed the slum outside barking to each other, roosters proclaiming the sun had risen, the pitiful fan that hummed as it struggled to propel through the thick air above my head, and the little voice inside my mind that begged for an escape from the heat and threatened to shoot the animals outside if they didn't shut up in the next 30 seconds. After the third morning, the chorus of yips and yaps and cock-a-doodle-doos and man's voice that chanted arabic from the speakers on the mosque did not frustrate me, but instead reminded me of the lives outside my window and provided a backdrop for my mind to think and pray for other people who were waking up to the same sounds... but waking up to such a different world. Though I was sweating on a foam mattress in an apartment, the precious girls I was with during the day before were waking up on the concrete floor without a water bottle by their bed, without a clean pair of clothes to put on, without knowing what/ if they were going to eat that day, without protection from men or gangs in the slum, without a basic education, without opportunity for change, without hope....
and as I thought about the waves that crashed onto the beaches littered with plastic bags and bottles and pools of sewage oustside, I prayed that the humility and compassion of Christ would crash onto me, washing me clean of my own desires and selfishness, breaking down any pride in me, tearing apart any self-centered thoughts, and create in me a new fountain that spews love and hope and joy despite my circumstances, overflowing with grace and concern for those around me....that some how, some way, each day I spent with these sweet people, that I may offer comfort for their hurting hearts and share with them a gift of Hope and Healing...
more on Goa tomorrow :)
I woke up the first morning at 7 AM to the "Call to Prayer" that bellowed--more like blasted from the mosque that stood 50 feet from my window, wiped the sweat from my forehead and reached for my water bottle, wondering why the sweltering heat refused to subside and how it was even possible for the temperature to be in the 90s already. Turning on my side, I worthlessly tried to give the wet cotton shirt that clung to my back a chance to dry out, but for 6 days straight I woke up feeling like I had just hopped out of the pool and was laying on a damp towel. I usually laid in bed and listened to packs of dogs that roamed the slum outside barking to each other, roosters proclaiming the sun had risen, the pitiful fan that hummed as it struggled to propel through the thick air above my head, and the little voice inside my mind that begged for an escape from the heat and threatened to shoot the animals outside if they didn't shut up in the next 30 seconds. After the third morning, the chorus of yips and yaps and cock-a-doodle-doos and man's voice that chanted arabic from the speakers on the mosque did not frustrate me, but instead reminded me of the lives outside my window and provided a backdrop for my mind to think and pray for other people who were waking up to the same sounds... but waking up to such a different world. Though I was sweating on a foam mattress in an apartment, the precious girls I was with during the day before were waking up on the concrete floor without a water bottle by their bed, without a clean pair of clothes to put on, without knowing what/ if they were going to eat that day, without protection from men or gangs in the slum, without a basic education, without opportunity for change, without hope....
and as I thought about the waves that crashed onto the beaches littered with plastic bags and bottles and pools of sewage oustside, I prayed that the humility and compassion of Christ would crash onto me, washing me clean of my own desires and selfishness, breaking down any pride in me, tearing apart any self-centered thoughts, and create in me a new fountain that spews love and hope and joy despite my circumstances, overflowing with grace and concern for those around me....that some how, some way, each day I spent with these sweet people, that I may offer comfort for their hurting hearts and share with them a gift of Hope and Healing...
more on Goa tomorrow :)
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Goa Bound.
Today, Steph and I are flying to Goa, and we will not have internet access until Thursday or so. We are going to see the status of the existing sewing program in the area, and see if Rahab's Rope can start up another program or two, baking as a possibility. David has also asked me to write up a possible structure for a scholarship fund to send girls from the slum to school, so I will be writing up various girls' stories and creating cases for possible education scholarships. I will write more when I can, and until then, I am trying to meditate on the truth behind this quote by Amy Carmichael: "After all, cruelty and wrong are not the greatest forces in the world. There is nothing eternal in them. Only love is eternal."
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.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Biscuits anyone? (cookies)
According to a few websites, India's biscuit (cookie) industry is arguably the second largest/ successful in the world, right behind the U.S., so...why not try and bake biscuits? Today, Gowramma, Lakshmi, and I made four kinds of biscuits: butter cookies, sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies, and ghee cookies. I made the peanut butter from scratch, blending peanuts and then adding oil, sugar and salt to taste, and I guess we got lucky because they actually turned out pretty darn yummy. Ghee is pure milkfat. Appetizing, right? It is commonly used in Indian dishes such as chicken biryani or fried rice, and apparently in biscuits as well. The ghee biscuits sorta taste like shortbread... delicious actually, especially with some powdered sugar (that I also had to make by blending granulated sugar) sprinkled on top. After having several people test our biscuits, we decided the butter cookie and ghee cookie were the best, so we are going to perfect those two recipes and maybe try some coconut cookies tomorrow...??? (There are a bunch of coconuts here.... so why not haha?)
Oh--and we also have a little mouse friend in our apartment who strangely resembles Gus-Gus from Cinderella. Tonight, I flipped on the kitchen light and saw a stringy tail slide over the top of our refridgerator, and I MIGHT have screamed a little...okay I definitely screeched, but I was relieved to peek under the fridge and see that it was just a mouse and not a snake or rat or some other scary Indian creature. Steph proceeded to line up three mouse traps and peanut butter on the kitchen floor. I'll be sure to post when we catch Gus-Gus.
While journaling today, I was struck by the words of Psalms: "O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you my soul thirsts for you and my body longs for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water." -Psalm 63: 1
"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God." -Psalm 42:1
"You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living." -Psalm 119:57
How often do I hunger God? Hunger is "a feeling of pain, emptiness, or weakness induced by lack of food; an appetite, desire, need, or craving." How much weakness or emptiness do I feel for the Lord? How much do I desire Him--to serve and love Him, to know Him? How earnestly am I seeking His wisdom, His guidance, His will for my life? When I pray the Lord's Prayer:"Give me today, my daily bread," am I praying for just physical provisions or spiritual sustenance as well? Do I thirst for Him...is my spirit parched without Him? How can I thirst and hunger for Him more?
Oh--and we also have a little mouse friend in our apartment who strangely resembles Gus-Gus from Cinderella. Tonight, I flipped on the kitchen light and saw a stringy tail slide over the top of our refridgerator, and I MIGHT have screamed a little...okay I definitely screeched, but I was relieved to peek under the fridge and see that it was just a mouse and not a snake or rat or some other scary Indian creature. Steph proceeded to line up three mouse traps and peanut butter on the kitchen floor. I'll be sure to post when we catch Gus-Gus.
While journaling today, I was struck by the words of Psalms: "O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you my soul thirsts for you and my body longs for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water." -Psalm 63: 1
"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God." -Psalm 42:1
"You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living." -Psalm 119:57
How often do I hunger God? Hunger is "a feeling of pain, emptiness, or weakness induced by lack of food; an appetite, desire, need, or craving." How much weakness or emptiness do I feel for the Lord? How much do I desire Him--to serve and love Him, to know Him? How earnestly am I seeking His wisdom, His guidance, His will for my life? When I pray the Lord's Prayer:"Give me today, my daily bread," am I praying for just physical provisions or spiritual sustenance as well? Do I thirst for Him...is my spirit parched without Him? How can I thirst and hunger for Him more?
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Dinnnnerrrrr Time.
"Lemon pepper okra battered with a hint of cornmeal powder and browned onions, pasta spirals with squash sauteed in a butter garlic sauce, and finally freshly sliced tomatoes and crisp carrots. Bon apetit."
Bread of Hope.
"Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow." -Dorothy Thompson
Patience is: "passion tamed; the art of hoping." -Lymon Abbott; Vauvenargues
Discouragement has been a battle for me the past few days, and so tonight Steph encouraged me to celebrate the little victories that God has given us.
Victory #1: Yesterday, Gowramma and I baked 44 banana bread muffins in my apartment. Earlier in the afternoon, our neighbor's house maid, Sangitti, knocked on the door and pointed inside, so I said "sure" as she wattled past me and into the kitchen. The three of us made "chippatis", Indian tortillas, and eggs while we waited for the muffins to bake, exchanging stories and laughs through Kannada and English....but mostly, they were the ones just laughing at me haha.
Victory #2: The oven came to Anatoly's apartment last night, so we were able to start using it today. It is super shiny and functions great, and Anatoly was glowing this afternoon as she boiled milk for chai over her temporary stove top. (We will be moving it to a storefront/ training facility hopefully sometime in the next few days. But then again, this IS India, so maybe more like sometime in the next few weeks. Until then, I will be teaching baking classes at her home.)
Victory #3: Steph and I found some fresh veggies in the market and went a teensy bit overboard...we have enough tomatoes, onions, okra, carrots, peas, and squash to last us at least till the end of the week, and that is after we had veggies for dinner for the past two nights. We've made sautees and soups and pastas, whatever sounds good to us at the time haha.
Victory #4: After trudging through the the rain this afternoon to a total of 5 grocery stores/ food marts, I was finally able to find vanilla extract to use to bake some cookies tomorrow. During our three hour search, I gawked at shelves with extra virgin olive oil, flax seeds, Hershey's syrup, Red Bull, vanilla beans, capers, sun dried tomatoes, and more, wondering how vanilla extract--like one of the most common baking ingredients--had not made the cut at Bangalore stores, but Red Bull had? Who knows.
Victory #5: Lakshmi said that she was interested in learning to bake today, so tomorrow she is going to help me and Gowramma. Today, she watched as we made another several batches of muffins as well as translated the banana bread recipe into Kannada (local language).
Victory #6: Gowramma has found another job in a garment factory. This is definitely a victory because she will be able to support her family with a substantial income each month. However, she was supposed to be the main coordinator for the baking program after I leave, so I am just trusting that God will bring another baker into the picture...maybe Lakshmi will be the one :).
It has been difficult to be hopeful these past few days...the more I learn about this culture, the sufferings of the people, the drastic separations between castes and classes, the thousands of diseases, the bondage and mistreatment of women, the extreme poverty, the success of the sex industry in this country, the cyclical lifestyles and patterns in families that seem to indicate there is no hope for change just drains the energy and at times the desire to even try to do something. Regarding our work with commercial sex workers, many times the women can make more money as a prostitute, so they have no incentive to join our programs or they leave the program to go back to "work", so that has been heartbreaking and disheartening. Many of the CSWs dont think they have worth or value or the ability to have a different profession, especially when CSW work is all they have known and moreover, all that their mothers and their grandmothers have known, so change is scary and daunting to them. Steph lived with the the girls in the old Rahab's Rope center for six months last year, and after hearing all of their stories, she emphasized to me the reality of fear that comes with the unknown for these women. Though baking bread/making jewelry/sewing may be better for them in the long run, all they know is the life of commercial sex worker, and thats all they see themselves as.
My heart is to find a way to transform the women's view of themselves, to empower them to step out of the known into the unknown and be freed from their doubts and insecurities. My prayer is that they would have hope and a fighting spirit despite the hopelessness and darkness of their worlds...that their eyes would be opened to how precious they are, how much value they have, how much they can be, and that they would have the strength to change. All these changes ARE daunting and time-consuming and difficult and frustrating, full of obstacles and fears and and mistakes and challenges, and being patient is OH SO HARD. But I'm trying to surrender the desires of my heart to help these women to the perfect timing of God's plan...to ask him to tame my heart and my passion to help these girls, that I would not lose hope in each girls' rescue and healing, but I would wait for His guidance and wisdom on how to effectively love and help.
Today, I had to face the reality that a bakery or a bread baking program could not work right now, and all of my plans and efforts and ideas might not come to fruition during these six weeks, or ever... but ultimately, the success of this project is not why I am here in India. I am not here so that I, Emily, can be successful, nor am I here just to start MY baking program MY way on MY time. Sure, I have pages and pages of plans and budgets and ideas on how to start a baking program in Bangalore, and it is awfully humbling to say all this, but this six weeks is not about what I have in mind, and bread is not the bottom line. LOVE and HOPE are the bottom line, and whatever way I can give these girls those two things is the reason I am here.
Victory #1: Yesterday, Gowramma and I baked 44 banana bread muffins in my apartment. Earlier in the afternoon, our neighbor's house maid, Sangitti, knocked on the door and pointed inside, so I said "sure" as she wattled past me and into the kitchen. The three of us made "chippatis", Indian tortillas, and eggs while we waited for the muffins to bake, exchanging stories and laughs through Kannada and English....but mostly, they were the ones just laughing at me haha.
Victory #2: The oven came to Anatoly's apartment last night, so we were able to start using it today. It is super shiny and functions great, and Anatoly was glowing this afternoon as she boiled milk for chai over her temporary stove top. (We will be moving it to a storefront/ training facility hopefully sometime in the next few days. But then again, this IS India, so maybe more like sometime in the next few weeks. Until then, I will be teaching baking classes at her home.)
Victory #3: Steph and I found some fresh veggies in the market and went a teensy bit overboard...we have enough tomatoes, onions, okra, carrots, peas, and squash to last us at least till the end of the week, and that is after we had veggies for dinner for the past two nights. We've made sautees and soups and pastas, whatever sounds good to us at the time haha.
Victory #4: After trudging through the the rain this afternoon to a total of 5 grocery stores/ food marts, I was finally able to find vanilla extract to use to bake some cookies tomorrow. During our three hour search, I gawked at shelves with extra virgin olive oil, flax seeds, Hershey's syrup, Red Bull, vanilla beans, capers, sun dried tomatoes, and more, wondering how vanilla extract--like one of the most common baking ingredients--had not made the cut at Bangalore stores, but Red Bull had? Who knows.
Victory #5: Lakshmi said that she was interested in learning to bake today, so tomorrow she is going to help me and Gowramma. Today, she watched as we made another several batches of muffins as well as translated the banana bread recipe into Kannada (local language).
Victory #6: Gowramma has found another job in a garment factory. This is definitely a victory because she will be able to support her family with a substantial income each month. However, she was supposed to be the main coordinator for the baking program after I leave, so I am just trusting that God will bring another baker into the picture...maybe Lakshmi will be the one :).
It has been difficult to be hopeful these past few days...the more I learn about this culture, the sufferings of the people, the drastic separations between castes and classes, the thousands of diseases, the bondage and mistreatment of women, the extreme poverty, the success of the sex industry in this country, the cyclical lifestyles and patterns in families that seem to indicate there is no hope for change just drains the energy and at times the desire to even try to do something. Regarding our work with commercial sex workers, many times the women can make more money as a prostitute, so they have no incentive to join our programs or they leave the program to go back to "work", so that has been heartbreaking and disheartening. Many of the CSWs dont think they have worth or value or the ability to have a different profession, especially when CSW work is all they have known and moreover, all that their mothers and their grandmothers have known, so change is scary and daunting to them. Steph lived with the the girls in the old Rahab's Rope center for six months last year, and after hearing all of their stories, she emphasized to me the reality of fear that comes with the unknown for these women. Though baking bread/making jewelry/sewing may be better for them in the long run, all they know is the life of commercial sex worker, and thats all they see themselves as.
My heart is to find a way to transform the women's view of themselves, to empower them to step out of the known into the unknown and be freed from their doubts and insecurities. My prayer is that they would have hope and a fighting spirit despite the hopelessness and darkness of their worlds...that their eyes would be opened to how precious they are, how much value they have, how much they can be, and that they would have the strength to change. All these changes ARE daunting and time-consuming and difficult and frustrating, full of obstacles and fears and and mistakes and challenges, and being patient is OH SO HARD. But I'm trying to surrender the desires of my heart to help these women to the perfect timing of God's plan...to ask him to tame my heart and my passion to help these girls, that I would not lose hope in each girls' rescue and healing, but I would wait for His guidance and wisdom on how to effectively love and help.
Today, I had to face the reality that a bakery or a bread baking program could not work right now, and all of my plans and efforts and ideas might not come to fruition during these six weeks, or ever... but ultimately, the success of this project is not why I am here in India. I am not here so that I, Emily, can be successful, nor am I here just to start MY baking program MY way on MY time. Sure, I have pages and pages of plans and budgets and ideas on how to start a baking program in Bangalore, and it is awfully humbling to say all this, but this six weeks is not about what I have in mind, and bread is not the bottom line. LOVE and HOPE are the bottom line, and whatever way I can give these girls those two things is the reason I am here.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Bangalore meets banana bread...
A cool breeze swept through our apartment this morning, pleasantly awaking Steph and me around 6:30am. After journaling and a granola bar, we headed town to Mackey's apartment to gameplan for the day. A gorgeous woman wrapped in a maroon sari greeted us at the door, and while I stood admiring her beauty, Steph exclaimed, "Gowramma, its been so long! How are you?!", embracing her friend. The three of us sat outside with Nellie on the porch, discussing Nellie's spotting of "parrots" (at least birds she claimed looked and acted like parrots) yesterday and laughing about Bangalore's lack of extention cords that left Nellie no choice but to make one herself. As we chatted, I passed out pieces of the vegan banana bread I had made the night before, asking for honest feedback. Nellie said "perfectly nice," Steph said "pretty good", and Gowramma took one pinch and then shriveled her nose saying, "Not like. Need more spice." I said AWESOME. Indians dont like banana bread. Good thing I'm not trying to start a banana bread bakery here in Bangalore cuz that could be a problem...
Gowramma, Steph, and I went back to our apartment to try and alter the recipe to Gowramma's taste, and I was saying prayer after prayer under my breath, hoping we would come up with SOMETHING, or my project could just turn into an epic failure. With an extra cup of sugar, an extra two bananas that were extra ripe, and calling our concoction "banana CAKE," Gowramma was smiling and wobbling her head back in forth, the Indian way of saying "yes" or "good." Just for fun, I suggested we try and make "spicy" bread, baking another loaf with just one banana but a few teaspoons of a combination of Indian spices called Garam Masala. Dipping my spoon into the bowl and pulling out a generous helping, I licked the spoon clean and thought, "Hmm. I can't test the spice." Well 6.3 seconds later I was coughing and rummaging around the refrigerator for water, wiping the sweat beads that were forming on my brow, silently cursing the chilli powder that poisoned the aftertaste. Conclusion: Indian spices in banana bread are a bad idea. Who would have thought? Probably any other normal human being could have told you that it was going to taste horrible...Not my brightest moment.
I spent the rest of the afternoon sharing the banana bread with the other women working on the jewelry, and they wobbled their heads in approval. YAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!! I have a recipe that works, women that like it, and an oven that is hopefully being delivered tomorrow... we'll see about that...
Today, while Stephanie and I worked with the women, David Moore met with several property owners to try and secure a new training center/ home for Rahab's Rope programs. He found one apartment that he liked with 5 bedrooms and 2 finished baths with 1 unfinished bath. Adding in the cost to remodel the unfinished bath, David asked the owner if the plumbing in the bath had been completed, and his response was that he would not be allowed to change the bath for superstitious reasons. Puzzled but flexible, David agreed and then asked the man what time he wanted to meet tomorrow to talk things over. The man responded and said he didn't do business on Tuesdays for superstitious reasons. Apparently, many Indians are superstitious and serious about their superstitions...
Sunday, May 16, 2010
12 things I did and learned in the past two days.
Did:
1. Bought and ate lychees from a vendor on Commercial Street. (If you don't know what a lychee is, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lychee).
2. Picked out beads from three little girls to create new jewelry designs for the women in the Rahab's Rope Jewelry-making program.
3. Learned that "Nimma yaseru Emily" means "My name is Emily" in Kannada.
4. Ate Indian food the Indian way. In India, the left hand is considered unclean, so you can only use your right hand to eat....and "fork" and "spoon" are gibberish terms here...so you literally just use your right hand.
5. Said a bad word when a 6-foot long snake slithered across the road in front of me this afternoon, a comfortable 10 feet away...and then found out when I asked Stephanie about it that cobras are common in this area...
Learned:
1. Every 6 hours in India, a woman is beaten or stabbed to death, or harassed to the point of committing suicide.
2. There are 100,000 CSWs (commercial sex workers) in Bangalore alone.
3. In the slum that is a ten minute walk from my apartment, 8-10 baby girls are slaughtered each month.
4. India is growing at a rate of 1.34% increase each year, so at this rate, next year there will be a total of 1.5 billion people in the country.
5. 37.2% of the people in India are illiterate.
6. 2.3 million people in India are living with HIV/AIDS (0.3% of the population) http://www.avert.org/aidsindia.htm
7. Each hour, four women and girls enter the sex industry in India.
Remembered:
1. God is sovereign.
2. God is just.
3. God's love is immeasurable and unfailing.
1. Bought and ate lychees from a vendor on Commercial Street. (If you don't know what a lychee is, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lychee).
2. Picked out beads from three little girls to create new jewelry designs for the women in the Rahab's Rope Jewelry-making program.
3. Learned that "Nimma yaseru Emily" means "My name is Emily" in Kannada.
4. Ate Indian food the Indian way. In India, the left hand is considered unclean, so you can only use your right hand to eat....and "fork" and "spoon" are gibberish terms here...so you literally just use your right hand.
5. Said a bad word when a 6-foot long snake slithered across the road in front of me this afternoon, a comfortable 10 feet away...and then found out when I asked Stephanie about it that cobras are common in this area...
Learned:
1. Every 6 hours in India, a woman is beaten or stabbed to death, or harassed to the point of committing suicide.
2. There are 100,000 CSWs (commercial sex workers) in Bangalore alone.
3. In the slum that is a ten minute walk from my apartment, 8-10 baby girls are slaughtered each month.
4. India is growing at a rate of 1.34% increase each year, so at this rate, next year there will be a total of 1.5 billion people in the country.
5. 37.2% of the people in India are illiterate.
6. 2.3 million people in India are living with HIV/AIDS (0.3% of the population) http://www.avert.org/aidsindia.htm
7. Each hour, four women and girls enter the sex industry in India.
Remembered:
1. God is sovereign.
2. God is just.
3. God's love is immeasurable and unfailing.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Mall in the morning, Jewelry and Sewing in the afternoon.
Friday morning, Nellie, Mackey, and I decided to go to the mall to buy baking soda for my bread baking and some Indian clothes. Gathering our things, we scurried down to the street and marched down the road until Mackey waved down an auto. When most auto drivers see white people, they try and charge them a fixed rate for a ride instead of using the meter, but Mackey will have nothing of the sort. I thought she might slap one man after he tried to tell her that his meter was broken, but then quickly turned it on when she began to walk away. The three of us squished in the back of this little yellow auto-rickshaw, and I was sandwiched between Nellie on my left and Mackey on my right, and though we were speeding and swirving down roads without rules, I could not have been happier. At one point, our driver turned suddenly to the left and Mackey had to catch herself to avoid falling out of the auto. Nellie leaned across me and said, "Mackey don't you worry now. If you hadda gone flyin out, I woudda grabbed me one of your bird legs and Emily woudda taken the other." I nodded through a burst of laughter.
As the day went on, I decided Mackey and Nellie were the female versions of Hub and Garth, the two great-uncles in Secondhand Lions, and I was the girl version of Walter, their great-nephew who gets dropped off at their house one summer. We got lots of looks in the mall, two hollerin old ladies and me waddling up stairs and escalators, through the aisles of a bookstore, grocery store, and clothes store. In the bookstore, I went off to find someone who could help me look for the movie Ghandi, and returned to find Nellie and Mackey crouched over a box of nailpolish. "Emily-lookie here! I done found me some polish for 15 rupees!" exclaimed Nellie. I congratulated her as we walked out of the store and over to KFC. Yes, Kentucky Fried Chicken has a store in the mall in Bangalore, and Nellie told us that's what "we was havin' for lunch", and Mackey and I didn't dare to argue.
So the three of us sat at a table with our fried chicken and coleslaw, the two of them drinking chocolate milkshakes and eating fries as well, with Nellie askin us if we didn't mind if she had some of the skin of our chicken 'cause that's her favorite part. After lunch we headed to the grocery store, and while we were standing in the spaghetti aisle, one of Mackey's favorite songs came on the speakers in the store. She jumped off the ground and turned to Nellie and said, "Oh Nellie, dance with me!" And I watched as the two old women laughed and chuckled, waltzing down the pasta aisle together. What a sight it was to see.
After our outing, Nellie went to take a nap, so I met up with Stephanie. We helped some of the Indian women who help teach the Rahab's Rope jewelry program by organizing beads and string for a few hours. Later, we walked down to Anatoly's apartment to help her take apart a sewing machine that Rahab's Rope bought for a sweet woman named Pushpa. I spent most of the time playing with Anatoly's little boy named Ezekiel. My heart melted as we played together, taking pictures of each other with my camera and laughing about how silly we looked, and I had to fight back tears when I thought about his mother's suffering and pain and horror-filled past.
As the day went on, I decided Mackey and Nellie were the female versions of Hub and Garth, the two great-uncles in Secondhand Lions, and I was the girl version of Walter, their great-nephew who gets dropped off at their house one summer. We got lots of looks in the mall, two hollerin old ladies and me waddling up stairs and escalators, through the aisles of a bookstore, grocery store, and clothes store. In the bookstore, I went off to find someone who could help me look for the movie Ghandi, and returned to find Nellie and Mackey crouched over a box of nailpolish. "Emily-lookie here! I done found me some polish for 15 rupees!" exclaimed Nellie. I congratulated her as we walked out of the store and over to KFC. Yes, Kentucky Fried Chicken has a store in the mall in Bangalore, and Nellie told us that's what "we was havin' for lunch", and Mackey and I didn't dare to argue.
So the three of us sat at a table with our fried chicken and coleslaw, the two of them drinking chocolate milkshakes and eating fries as well, with Nellie askin us if we didn't mind if she had some of the skin of our chicken 'cause that's her favorite part. After lunch we headed to the grocery store, and while we were standing in the spaghetti aisle, one of Mackey's favorite songs came on the speakers in the store. She jumped off the ground and turned to Nellie and said, "Oh Nellie, dance with me!" And I watched as the two old women laughed and chuckled, waltzing down the pasta aisle together. What a sight it was to see.
After our outing, Nellie went to take a nap, so I met up with Stephanie. We helped some of the Indian women who help teach the Rahab's Rope jewelry program by organizing beads and string for a few hours. Later, we walked down to Anatoly's apartment to help her take apart a sewing machine that Rahab's Rope bought for a sweet woman named Pushpa. I spent most of the time playing with Anatoly's little boy named Ezekiel. My heart melted as we played together, taking pictures of each other with my camera and laughing about how silly we looked, and I had to fight back tears when I thought about his mother's suffering and pain and horror-filled past.
"Aint no reason to worry about connecting with nobody. God's got a plan, and He's gonna do with you what He wants."-Nellie B.
45 years ago, two young mothers sat side by side at a church meeting in North Georgia, listening to the testimony of woman named Pearl Jenkins. She served the people of India for several years, and her stories about healing and compassion and sacrifice had the two women impassioned to join her work. One of the young mothers turned to the other and said, "Oh, me. I want to be just like Pearl Jenkins someday." And her friend said, "Me too."
The two women left the meeting and back to their busy homes where their responsibilities as mothers of four kids took over their lives, forgetting about Pearl Jenkins and their covenant to each other that day.
40 years later, one of the women heard about an organization named Rahab's Rope that served and loved sex workers in India, and she decided to join the team and live in Bangalore for 2 years. She began to write stories and reports about her experiences and send them home, and one day she received a response from a fellow church member who said, "The stories you're telling remind me of a woman who travelled and lived in India years and years ago, and she used to come to my church to tell us about her time in India. Her name was Pearle Jenkins." The woman leaped from her chair and praised the Lord with tears of joy as she remembered her conversation with her friend years ago, and how they had promised each other they wanted to be just like Pearle.
Just a few months later, the other woman was at a prayer meeting when someone mentioned a prayer request for their friend serving in India. Realizing the woman in India was her friend too, she was flooded with the memory of her covenant to her friend to go to India one day and serve the people, and so she emailed her friend in Asia and they reconnected when she returned to the United States for a few months. Now, the two old mothers are living together in Bangalore for 6 months, fulfilling their desires to be like Pearle.
The two women are Mackey and Nellie, and Mackey is the staff member of Rahab's Rope while Nellie is visiting to build a playground for an orphanage. They are the cutest, sweetest, funniest friends, and if I'm half as cool as they are when I'm in my sixties, I'll be set :). I told Mackey that I wanted to be just like her someday and she said, "Careful now, Emily. You just watch what you say out loud now, 'cause Jesus will send you to India in 50 years like He did me! Oh you done it now, can't you just hear Him smilin' and laughin' up there?"
The two women left the meeting and back to their busy homes where their responsibilities as mothers of four kids took over their lives, forgetting about Pearl Jenkins and their covenant to each other that day.
40 years later, one of the women heard about an organization named Rahab's Rope that served and loved sex workers in India, and she decided to join the team and live in Bangalore for 2 years. She began to write stories and reports about her experiences and send them home, and one day she received a response from a fellow church member who said, "The stories you're telling remind me of a woman who travelled and lived in India years and years ago, and she used to come to my church to tell us about her time in India. Her name was Pearle Jenkins." The woman leaped from her chair and praised the Lord with tears of joy as she remembered her conversation with her friend years ago, and how they had promised each other they wanted to be just like Pearle.
Just a few months later, the other woman was at a prayer meeting when someone mentioned a prayer request for their friend serving in India. Realizing the woman in India was her friend too, she was flooded with the memory of her covenant to her friend to go to India one day and serve the people, and so she emailed her friend in Asia and they reconnected when she returned to the United States for a few months. Now, the two old mothers are living together in Bangalore for 6 months, fulfilling their desires to be like Pearle.
The two women are Mackey and Nellie, and Mackey is the staff member of Rahab's Rope while Nellie is visiting to build a playground for an orphanage. They are the cutest, sweetest, funniest friends, and if I'm half as cool as they are when I'm in my sixties, I'll be set :). I told Mackey that I wanted to be just like her someday and she said, "Careful now, Emily. You just watch what you say out loud now, 'cause Jesus will send you to India in 50 years like He did me! Oh you done it now, can't you just hear Him smilin' and laughin' up there?"
Thursday, May 13, 2010
City Market+ 16800Rs ($400)+ 99 degree heat +Mackey, Nellie, Latka, and Suresh= ONE GAS OVEN AND AN AMAZING FIRST DAY IN BANGALORE.
The sun greeted us weary travellers at 5:30am, pouring in through the porch that extends from our second story apartment. Stephanie,a 24-year old graduate of UGA who is on staff in Bangalore for Rahab's Rope, and I had tossed and turned in the 88 degree air and couldnt sleep so we decided to get up and cool off. After a cold shower and coffee, we headed over to Mackey's apartment to meet up with the rest of our crew:
Mackey- a 67 year old teacher who has lived in Bangalore for a year and a half, teaching the sex-workers English and Math. Nellie- Mackey's 68 year old friend who is a welder and carpenter, and she is building a playground for a children's home over the next 4 months. David Moore- co-founder of Rahab's Rope who flew to Bangalore with me last night. Suresh and Latha- a precious Indian couple who have several ministries--they tutor and feed dinner to over 220 children from a nearby slum 5 nights a week, minister to people in over 30 Villages in the state of Karnataka, hold sewing classes for impoverished women, and help with finding women for the Rahab's Rope programs.
Mackey, Nellie, Suresh, Latha, and I split off and went to the City Market to look for an oven for me and welding tools for Nellie. After 6 stores and much bargaining, I found a gas oven for about $400 and am waiting for it to be delivered on Monday. Nellie was a total hoot-bargaining with three Indian men for all sorts of construction tools, pointing and hollerin with her south Georgian accent, and she was overjoyed to find almost everything she needed. Mackey and Nellie have known each other since high school, over 50 years, and watching them cut up in the market and make jokes about each other's pasts had me grinning nonstop.
On top of that, the beauty of the Indian people had me smiling even more. Dazzling fabrics draped over the women's deep colored colored skin, brilliant colored wraps hanging down to their toes. The men were hustling and bustling through the streets with more western style clothing, speeding fearlessly on motorcyles and autos through the overcrowded alleyways and streets.
The five of us ate lunch at Mackey's favorite restaurant called Infinitea, and I had chicken and peach sweet tea--it was delicious :). We headed back to the apartment to make a gameplan before walking over to Anatoly's and Lakshmi's apartment where the sewing program takes place and where I will begin teaching baking classes next week, and then we went to Suresh and Latha's house where the 220 children were doing their studies. They. Were. Precious. When I walked into the porch, a hundred smiling faces and dancing eyes turned to welcome me, and then the sweetest chorus of "Hello Auntie Emily" greeted my ears. It was a good day. :).
ELW
Mackey- a 67 year old teacher who has lived in Bangalore for a year and a half, teaching the sex-workers English and Math. Nellie- Mackey's 68 year old friend who is a welder and carpenter, and she is building a playground for a children's home over the next 4 months. David Moore- co-founder of Rahab's Rope who flew to Bangalore with me last night. Suresh and Latha- a precious Indian couple who have several ministries--they tutor and feed dinner to over 220 children from a nearby slum 5 nights a week, minister to people in over 30 Villages in the state of Karnataka, hold sewing classes for impoverished women, and help with finding women for the Rahab's Rope programs.
Mackey, Nellie, Suresh, Latha, and I split off and went to the City Market to look for an oven for me and welding tools for Nellie. After 6 stores and much bargaining, I found a gas oven for about $400 and am waiting for it to be delivered on Monday. Nellie was a total hoot-bargaining with three Indian men for all sorts of construction tools, pointing and hollerin with her south Georgian accent, and she was overjoyed to find almost everything she needed. Mackey and Nellie have known each other since high school, over 50 years, and watching them cut up in the market and make jokes about each other's pasts had me grinning nonstop.
On top of that, the beauty of the Indian people had me smiling even more. Dazzling fabrics draped over the women's deep colored colored skin, brilliant colored wraps hanging down to their toes. The men were hustling and bustling through the streets with more western style clothing, speeding fearlessly on motorcyles and autos through the overcrowded alleyways and streets.
The five of us ate lunch at Mackey's favorite restaurant called Infinitea, and I had chicken and peach sweet tea--it was delicious :). We headed back to the apartment to make a gameplan before walking over to Anatoly's and Lakshmi's apartment where the sewing program takes place and where I will begin teaching baking classes next week, and then we went to Suresh and Latha's house where the 220 children were doing their studies. They. Were. Precious. When I walked into the porch, a hundred smiling faces and dancing eyes turned to welcome me, and then the sweetest chorus of "Hello Auntie Emily" greeted my ears. It was a good day. :).
ELW
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
"Let your heart take courage."
"I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD...Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage." Psalm 27: 13-14
My heart has been trembling for the past 24 hours: I am going tomorrow. To India. For 6 weeks. Fear has been trying to seep into my spirit, and I've been trying desperately to bolt the doors of my heart, praying against despair. I keep coming back to the Mercy Me Song, "Where you lead me, I will follow, forever and a day" and I'm trying to make this lyric my own, but my eyes keep welling up with tears. The beautiful thing about Psalm 27 is that it doesn't say anything about me doing anything courageous or digging inside my weak self to find some sort of boldness- No. Instead, my heart takes courage in waiting--- in resting, following His command in Psalm 46:10 to "Be still and know that I am God." While I am weak, He is strong. When I am scared, He is standing beside me with His arms open wide, waiting for me to run under His wing and rest. When I cannot (which is pretty much always), He can.
ELW
My heart has been trembling for the past 24 hours: I am going tomorrow. To India. For 6 weeks. Fear has been trying to seep into my spirit, and I've been trying desperately to bolt the doors of my heart, praying against despair. I keep coming back to the Mercy Me Song, "Where you lead me, I will follow, forever and a day" and I'm trying to make this lyric my own, but my eyes keep welling up with tears. The beautiful thing about Psalm 27 is that it doesn't say anything about me doing anything courageous or digging inside my weak self to find some sort of boldness- No. Instead, my heart takes courage in waiting--- in resting, following His command in Psalm 46:10 to "Be still and know that I am God." While I am weak, He is strong. When I am scared, He is standing beside me with His arms open wide, waiting for me to run under His wing and rest. When I cannot (which is pretty much always), He can.
ELW
Sunday, May 9, 2010
HOME...3 days till departure.
Being home for the past few days has lifted my spirit...I feel refreshed and rejuvenated by my family-and especially today, on Mother's Day, I'm reminded of the blessing of being in a family, both an earthly and eternal one. In Isaiah 66:13 our Father promises, "As a mother comforts her children, so will I comfort you." A mother's touch is unlike any other-it soothes, heals, protects, comforts, and connects in a way that no other person can, and my mother's selfless and active love reminds me so much of Christ's sacrificial love-that can transcend all understanding, break down all barriers, cleanse all sin, heal all hearts, make all new, do anything and everything we can possibly imagine. This love, this perfect love that is patient, kind, humble, gentle, calm, forgiving, joyful, protecting, trusting, hope, and causes us to persevere (1 Cor. 13), this is the love that I long to bathe in--dipping my heart into Our Savior's living and loving water, and pouring it into thirsting hearts just like mine.
This morning at church we studied the epistle of Jude and learned about apathy, and I was so convicted. I never want to be numb to the hungering of my heart, to be ambivalent towards the suffering and hurting and darkness of so many all around the world, to forget and become unmoved by the death and resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, to doubt the healing power of love, to be concerned with MY desires-MY dreams-MY life, to live for money and success, to become obsessed with my reputation, to spend hours worrying, to forget why I am here.... and yet I have and i do and I continue to struggle with my own pride and selfishness. Though I have been broken many times, I sometimes find myself blinking an eye when I hear stories of starvation and hunger, genocide, sickness and disease, death, human-trafficking, and other sufferings... after this morning, my greatest fear is that I will fall into a routine revolving around me, my job, my school, my work, my friends, my activities, and my passion will flicker and burn out. I hope and pray my heart will ALWAYS be sensitive to the hurt of any and all people, and that I would grow more and more selfless and be able to see and hear and feel the pain of my brothers and sisters in a more real way every day...so that I can love them better.
ELW
This morning at church we studied the epistle of Jude and learned about apathy, and I was so convicted. I never want to be numb to the hungering of my heart, to be ambivalent towards the suffering and hurting and darkness of so many all around the world, to forget and become unmoved by the death and resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, to doubt the healing power of love, to be concerned with MY desires-MY dreams-MY life, to live for money and success, to become obsessed with my reputation, to spend hours worrying, to forget why I am here.... and yet I have and i do and I continue to struggle with my own pride and selfishness. Though I have been broken many times, I sometimes find myself blinking an eye when I hear stories of starvation and hunger, genocide, sickness and disease, death, human-trafficking, and other sufferings... after this morning, my greatest fear is that I will fall into a routine revolving around me, my job, my school, my work, my friends, my activities, and my passion will flicker and burn out. I hope and pray my heart will ALWAYS be sensitive to the hurt of any and all people, and that I would grow more and more selfless and be able to see and hear and feel the pain of my brothers and sisters in a more real way every day...so that I can love them better.
ELW
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