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
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