Discovering My New Normal

     I am home... or at least officially back in the States. The jet lag has finally disappeared. The craving for rice has not. Neither has the ache in my heart.

     I am not sure how to fit anymore. As I write this, I am in a beautifully painted room with air conditioning and sipping a cherry limeade. Just a week ago, I was holding hands with a precious little girl in the midst of garbage.

     I said my goodbyes. I held Benjamin in my arms and spent a few minutes with my sweet Angelica. More than anything, I just wanted to slip away quietly. No hoopla. No fanfare. No tears. Just hugs and kisses. I don't let myself make promises to return because I can't do that to my little ones. I can't hurt them anymore than I have to. I hate goodbyes. I'm not good at them. I would prefer to leave unnoticed, out the back door.

     Yet, as bad as I am at saying goodbye, I'm even worse at saying hello. Once again, I would like to slip in unnoticed, through the back door.

     Because I know there will be questions.... How was the trip? Did you have fun?


     To be honest, I love those questions, and I love sharing what God has done and all the funny/crazy stories. But I am not ready to go beyond surface level yet. I don't know how to accurately articulate just what God did in my life. I think I am still in shock just a little it. How do I make you understand what it was like to be in the Red Light District? How do I express the pain I felt while holding Benjamin before I had to let him go? How do I show you pictures and help you focus on the beauty rather than the pain? Most importantly, how do I speak in a way that inspires you, rather than makes you say "Oh, that was a good story".

     I don't know. I have no answers, and I wish I did. I haven't really processed anything yet. I have been giving myself the week to sleep, spend time with my family, and listen to rap music before sitting down and doing some soul searching.

      Then there is always the inevitable.... So what are you doing now?

      To be honest, I think I know, but I am still praying and waiting on the Lord. The decisions I make may not be conventional or make sense, but please trust that I am following the heart of God. It may not be the option in the prettiest package, but as my dear friend Brittany says, "Sometimes God doesn't call us to what we think is the best option". Sometimes, He goes outside of the box.

     That being said, I will keep you all posted :)

     For now, I am trying to reconcile my past... the things I have seen, heard, and felt with my present. It's become a familiar feeling these days, the dull ache of having your heart separated from the rest of your body. My arms are once again empty. I once read a book in which the character delivered a stillborn child. Her arms began to hurt because her body had been preparing to hold the baby, so someone gave her the advice to carry around a sack of flour until the pain stopped coming back. I always thought it was a little weird, but now it makes sense to me. Not that I'm going to be carrying around sacks of flour, but I know the pain of holding someone so dear and then being forced to let him go. To put it plainly, it sucks.

     On the outside, I am still the same. I still remember how to use a flat iron and apply eyeliner. The bottoms of my feet are (thankfully) no longer black. And I still love sweet tea and Chauncey Belser's scrambled eggs.

     But on the inside, I am different... changed. Numb. My life has basically been wrecked by the God who brought me on this journey. I want these changes to last, and that I never return to the person I used to be.

     In case you were wondering, I will still be maintaining this blog, sharing thoughts and stories, and maybe even pictures if I can figure that out. Feel free to stop by anytime.

     For now, I am resting in the present, and resting in Jesus. his grace is enough for today. And I rest in the truth that He who formed my little ones will continue to hold them, even if I can't.   

He sleeps beside me....

It's 10:12 pm on a Wednesday night, and I am exhausted.

I wish that I had a catchier way of introducing this blog post, but after racking my brain, this is all I've got. I could start off with something like the following:

     I've been at the hospital for the past three days!
    
     Cocooning: The art of complete seclusion from society for a period of a few weeks; practiced by families who have just recently adopted a child in order to establish a bond with that child.

Or the ever popular....
    
     There's a baby sleeping beside my bed.

     As catchy as the above starters may be (please feel free to cast votes or add a few recommendations of your own), there really is no better way to describe my current state than sheer exhaustion.

     Why?

     Well, because I have been in the hospital for the past three days, feeling a little like I am cocooning with the four month old baby boy who now sleeps beside my bed.

      Sunday morning, it was too wet to go to Malabon, the poor community where we do ministry and outreach. So Brittany and a few others went to church, and I stayed behind, promising to go to church with the boys that night. At about ten that morning, Ate Cher (Ah-tay Chair) pulled me aside and informed me that one of our babies was in distress and needed to go to the hospital. I would be the one to stay with him.

     Gentle Hands is a little bit like a miniature hospital. We treat tb patients, pull teeth, deliver babies, have oxygen machines, nebulizers, an ICU, small pharmacy, and will soon be the proud owners of an x-ray machine. We are prepared to handle almost anything. When Ate said the baby needed to go to the hospital, my heart immediately began to quicken because I knew this was serious. Hospitals are a last resort here.

     I ran upstairs to pack a few things, unsure of how many days I would be spending in the hospital (and all the while thanking God I had showered that morning). I tried to send an email to my mom, but my computer died... fairly typical. And no mom, I was not intentionally ignoring you. Please forgive me.

     I immediately went in to what I call my "crisis mode"... basically where I shut down emotionally in order to deal with the situation at hand. I worked quickly gathering my Bible, toothbrush, deodorant, etc.,  counting the minutes, and shoving away images of a dying Lucy that flooded my mind. Could I handle the death of another child?

     The hospital is only two minutes away. I could walk if necessary. We went into the ER, and immediately my sweet boy was hooked up to an iv, his little hand punctured over and over as they tried to find a vein. They drew blood, took x-rays, put him on oxygen, and then led us to our room.

     And there I waited.
                                  ... waited to see the doctor who prescribed medication for pneaumonia.

                                  ... waited as endless interns and nurses walked through the door
                                to take his temperature, ask questions, and simply stare at him.

                                  ... waited for someone to bring me food and clothes.

                                   ... waited for God to answer my prayers so we could go home.
    
     I wish I could say it was an easy time, and really, I can't complain. I had a television and a room to myself. But it was scary. And lonely. And he was scared, and at one point we were almost crying at the same time. Sick children are not easy... especially when they could take a wrong turn at any moment.

     Because what if I make a mistake and something happens and he gets worse? Even now, as he sleeps beside my bed, my mind still runs with anxious thoughts.

     I am more aware than ever of my lack of strength... my lack of control.  I am at the end of me, and more and more I realize just how little I have to give. Really, I have nothing to offer this child... I can't heal him, save him, even properly love him, because I am nothing.

     I need God. Not just want Him, or like saying the words because I sound more spiritual. No, my dry and blistered soul desperately needs the grace of a sovereign God to walk woth me through every moment. On my own, I simply cannot do this. It's too hard.

     It's now Wednesday, and we are finally home. I ask for prayers for my sweet boy who is getting better, but still very sick. I won't go into details,but he has some kind of respiratory infection (maybe or maybe not pneaumonia) and a few other issues that must be dealt with in order for him to be fully healed.

     I told Ate by the end of our hospital visit, Benjamin and I would either hate each other or I would have to adopt him (his name is Benjamin by the way). I really tried to fight it, but I'm leaning more towards the adoption side :) He even smiled at me today... something I have been praying to see, and it's just adorable.

     Please pray for my sweet Benjamin... my fighter with one very tired little body. Pray for wisdom and healing. Pray for strength.

      And even though I am tired and it's hard, I close my eyes and thank God for the blessing of loving this sweet boy. For the past few days, I have had the privilege of being his mom. And now I get one more night.

     Lack of sleep. Rambling thoughts that don't make sense. An extreme craving for French fries.

     All worth it for the little boy beside my bed. Praying Happy Thoughts over him. Praying for healing. Praying for life.
    

Sweet Shalom

     I sit and I watch you, study you. I try and memorize every feature... your soft, sweet cheeks, your perfectly formed lips, dark eyes, tiny nose, and a forehead that wrinkles with each facial expression.

      You yawn. You cry. Today you laughed.... a soft little giggle that brought a smile to my face. You look into my eyes as I look into yours, and you wonder who I am. No, we have not been attached these last nine months, but I have been given the grace of knowing you in your first few days.

     I snuggle you. Hold you close, even after you have fallen asleep, because you need to be held. Or maybe I need you more.

     I knew you were coming, and looking back, I can see so clearly how God has been preparing me for you. I still didn't expect you. But you snuggled into my arms and into my heart.

     The future is so uncertain. Soon, too soon, I will have to let you go. Another good bye... more painful than the last. And I give you to God, prepare my heart to miss more milestones, more moments, more laughs, smiles, hugs, and kisses.

      I can't focus on the future though. If I do, then I will miss out on the blessing of now. I will miss out on the joy of holding you in my arms, treasuring you now.

     Because, in this moment, it doesn't matter that I will be leaving soon. It doesn't matter that you may one day belong to someone else. Today, in this moment, in my arms and in my heart, you my mine. My sweet baby girl.

     How could it be that He is using one so small to heal me? To fix the broken pieces and pour a soothing balm on wounds both new and old.

     I have to trust the One who brought you this far to continue holding you the rest of the way, and I pray our paths will cross again. I pray permanently, and then I release it to Him.

     But for now, you are mine... my peace to an aching heart. My Shalom.

Pop Tarts and Cinnamon Rolls

     One of my favorite stories in the Bible is the story of Elijah. After being threatened by the evil queen Jezebel, Elijah runs away, and he settles into a cave on Mount Horeb. While in this cave, God told Him to walk outside because His presence was about to pass by.

     Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire came a gentle whisper... (1 Kings 19:11-12)

    I want to hear from God. In fact, while I have been in India, there have been several things that I have been praying for guidance and clarity. I want desperately to make the right decisions. Often, I come to the point where I am so frustrated that I simply cry out, "God, I'll do anything. Just tell me!"

     And so often, I expect God's voice to come in the form of a grand gesture... like a loud booming voice or writing on a wall. But I love this story of Elijah because it reminds me that God speaks in gentle whispers, through a quiet voice that I must tune my ear to hear.

     Two weeks ago, I was really craving cinnamon rolls. I rarely eat them in the U.S. but for some reason, I couldn't wait to go to Manila so I could have a cinnamon roll (being in a foreign country makes you do weird things). Long story short, the next morning, Beth came to our morning devotions with a box of warm cinnamon rolls from a local bakery.

     Another weird craving I have been having is for pop tarts. I hate eating breakfast, but I love pop tarts, and they were nowhere to be found in Kolkata. Yet, lo and behold, there they were at a grocery store in Dehli.

      You see, sometimes God uses really grand gestures to speak to us, but often, He uses the small things like cinnamon rolls and pop tarts. Sure, I may not have the answers to my questions, but He uses the simple beauty of every day moments to remind me that He loves me, He sees me, and I matter to Him.

     The Author of romance loves doing these things to surprise and delight us (and he knows that the way to my heart is through food). Yet, so many times, I dismiss these things as mere coincidences and forget that He orchestrates the moments of simple beauty and joy.

     How is God romancing you today? How is He speaking to you? You may not be getting the answers you desire just yet, but I promise you that they will come. In the meantime, He is still wooing you and drawing you to Himself, reminding you that He is trustworthy. He is faithful. He is joy.

     Because sometimes He speaks through gentle whispers... softly beckoning us to come and rest... to come and fall in love. And sometimes he uses cinnamon rolls and pop tarts.

**Flying into Malaysia today I saw the most beautiful sunrise with fierce oranges and reds against a nearly black sky... just another way He romances me :)

Jishu Naam Ki Jai

Jesus's Name is Victory....

     This is one of my favorite songs I have learned while in Kolkata. It's just a simple phrase, repeated over and over, but oh, the power behind that statement.

     I've said good bye to Kolkata, my internship time drawing to a close. Yesterday (Monday), we boarded a plane to Dehli where we will be until Friday when we leave India (for now).

     This has been one of the most incredible experiences of my life so far. Mom asked me once if I felt like it was worth it. At the time, I was still adjusting and unable to give a good answer. However, I can now confidantly reply, "Absolutely". So there you go Mom.

     I have met some amazing people since I have been here... some white and some Indian... who are battling on the front lines for the souls of the people here. They are counting the cost and believing in God for big things and big miracles. Having the wisdom of men and women like Beth, who has served her entire life in various parts of Southeast Asia, A. an Indian woman who is devoting her life to the people of the red light district, and Pastor I., one of the most godly men I have ever met, has been incredible. I feel like a sponge because I want to soak up everything they say.

     Before I came, human trafficking was an abstract concept to me. I knew that it was a problem, men and women were suffering, and it needed to be stopped. Yet, up until this point it was just a passion... it wasn't personal.

     And now it is. Now, I have seen the faces. I have watched as men negotiated prices for women. I have been inside their homes. I know a little girl whose mother is dying of an incurable disease because of her years spent inside the district. It's no longer just human trafficking.... Now, it's L., S., R., and P. (names).

     And I fell in love with the children of Kolkata. Really, the children of India in general. They are beyond beautiful, and are currently distributing the pieces of my heart that have been broken before them.

     I have also gained a greater awareness of God's heart for me and how He has shaped my passions. I really love street children, and I am just drawn to them for some reason. I am not sure yet how God is going to use that, or where, but I just really love working with the most vulnerable, and I can't wait to see how He uses this.

     More than anything, I have gained a greater understanding of the power of Jesus's name. He is the only hope for complete and total restoration. I can take a woman out of a brothel, give her a job, money, an education, a home, but I cannot change her heart. There are broken pieces and walls that only He can see, wounds so deep that only He can restore to glory. He is a big God... so great and powerful.

     His name means Victory... Victory over sexual sin, addictions, abuse, heart ache, loneliness, shame, guilt, rebellion... over the darkness of this world. My prayer is that more and more from the red light district will come to know Him and that He will have victory over all.

     His adventures are always the best. His dreams are the greatest. Taste and see that the Lord is good, because even in the midst of the rock and the pain, He is sweet.

     Has India been everything I hoped it would be?

    No... it's been more.

    I have been hot, tired, uncomfortable, unsure, and very much outside of myself. I have been on my knees, covered in dirt, sick to my stomach, and heart broken. I have kissed their cheeks, looked into their eyes, shared their smiles, opened my arms wide, opened my heart even wider, held them close, and shared countless moments of songs, laughter, prayer, and joy. I have seen darkness, and I have seen light.

   And I have come to life.
    

A New Communion

    The wine and the bread... two objects I have seen all my life. The body and the blood, broken and poured for us. We take and do likewise as he did on the night before he was crucified. We take and we remember.

     Throughout this internship, we have been reading a book entitled One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, which is one of the most beautifully written books I have ever read. Throughout the book, Ann speaks of communion, of the bread and the wine. She speaks of learning to be continuously grateful... for every moment... the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, because these moments make up our life stories.

     It is in these moments when we are grateful, thankful from the inside out, that we are truly able to experience communion with God. Communion... fellowship... a relationship where I know my Beloved deeply, intimately, and He knows me. I can love Him because I know Him. I can trust Him because I know Him. Because I know that every moment where I am acknowledging His hand, His touch, His love... in this present moment, I am drawing closer, falling more deeply in love.

     While in Kolkata, I have been trying to figure out what to do with my life. I have a greater awareness of my passions, but I am still very unsure about the next step. I have been trying to figure out the next year, five years, ten years. Is India home? Where is home?

     And God stopped me from my anxious wanderings, and whispered gently, "Today, India is home. Let me worry about tomorrow. Today, it is home." Today. This moment. The present. I am alive in this moment. I am engaged in the present. I am grateful for this moment.

     There is so much rest and peace that comes to an anxious soul when I simply stop and wait. I stop straining to see the future, and instead I focus on the present, and my world is brighter. Colors are vibrant. People are noticed, appreciated. The air is cooler. Loved ones are cherished, instead of cast aside because I am too busy. My sense heightened. I feel. I touch. I can hear his whisper, instead of trying to tune my ear to a cry from the distance. There will be no greater purpose than the present, no greater grace than in this moment... becuase that's what He gives... grace for the moment, strength for today.

     I am grateful for so many experiences, people, and moments from my time here. And because I love lists, here are a few things that deserve special attention:

1. The Godly wisdom I have had poured into me by Beth, Janelle, Emily, and A. They lead by example, and they speak truth into my life, pushing me to give more, serve more, love more, and allow me the freedom to let God move in my heart.
2. Jessica, our Indian intern, who I swear is my twin. She has also led by example and taught me so much about how to pray continuously and worship every moment. She is a gift and a blessing to me.
3. Chelsea and Carolina... my partners in crime. Three different personalities, three different sets of gifts, but God knew what He was doing when He brought us together. I am a better person because of them.
4. The children of the ECC who have completely stolen my heart. I don't know if I have ever been so attached to a group of children and so burdened. They are so precious. Miracles-- every single one.
5. My ice cream girls... the ones who call me Auntie Joy, and make my heart light up every time I see them. Beautiful.
6. The amazing church in Kolkata with a pastorial staff that longs to see God transform their city. This church is going to change the world.

     I am learning the art of gratefulness. When I am overwhelmed, I stop and I look for things in that moment, and I thank God... coconut water, that woman's smile, a cool breeze, my shoes, feet that can move, cool water...

     Tonight at Beth's house, we took the bread and wine. We circled around the elements, prayed, and sang.

     Intimate, quiet communion. Fellowship with the God who has brought us together and captivated our hearts. Moments of reflection. This do in remembrance of Me.

      He is sweet. He is good. He is a God of communion, relationship, knowing... and I want to know Him more. A Holy Experience. The present.  

And I know that there are angels all around...

     She is a tiny little thing with dark brown skin, big brown-almost black- eyes, and a smile that lights up her entire face. Five years old, and one of the cutest little girls I have ever seen.

     We caught up with her and her older brothers as we were leaving the Evening Care Center and walking to get a taxi. She held my hand.So small... she doesn't even come up to my waist yet. We walked through the mass of men, vendors, smokers, and women headed home... or atleast, I think they were headed home. I tried to lead her as best as I could, wanting to shield her from everything... from hands that may reach out and grab her. From the dog bigger than she is. From the open flames of street food.

     She waved goodbye,  and grabbed the hands of her older brothers. She blew us a kiss, and with a smile, turned down the dark alley towards home.

      I pray harder.

     I have seen those alleyways.

     It feels almost surreal, as if you are walking through a portal into another universe, where suddenly, these women are standing in doorways, some in miniskirts, some in saris, some with lots of makeup, some with little. Some smile, some stare, some just look away. The brothels are separated by language groups... Bengalis over here, Telagus there, Nepali just in front of you, etc.

     I followed an Indian woman into her home, up the stairs into the darkest hallway I have ever seen. Steep staircases. She unlocks the door to her room. We remove our shoes. This is home... one bed that feels more like a cloth covered bench, cobwebs on the wall, clothes folded on shelves, dead garland underneath her picture of Cali. Smaller than my bathroom at home. She talks, we listen, we pray... my feet are bare... standing on holy ground.

     We walk more, and I can feel their stares. The men, look me over, and despite the fact that I am in complete Indian garb, they still notice me. Ugh. It's at these moments when I envy Muslim women. I want a burqa.

     We follow another woman into her home... her room is on the roof. Steep brick steps shrowded in darkness. I am surprised no one has broken their necks on these things. The middle is worn from years of walking up and down. Smaller than the last room... just enough for a bed. This is where she lives, she cooks, she does business with customers, she sleeps.

     I learn that children sleep underneath the bed. While the mothers work, they are often chained to the beds and drugged so they will sleep.
    
     Two more women come, one is an alcoholic. Their eyes are dead. We pray with them. Shoes once again removed. Holy ground...

     I will forever associate tobacco with the men buying and selling women on the streets. It is spit everywhere, with that ridiculous hacking sound. Disgusting. Some of it is red, and you think someone has a bloddy mouth, but really it's just tobacco. Could you imagine having to service a customer with that crap dripping down his chin? There are no words...

      We walk through a narrow alleyway, only able to walk single file. I catch glimpses of women in the dark shadows and corners of their rooms, waiting to be looked over and chosen. There are women standing outside, but many more waiting in doors. It's a buffet for the sexual appetite. Take your pick and feast.

     We make our way back to the ECC, the edge of the district, shoes once again removed before we enter the room.

     I have been given a group of about twelve 9 and 10 year olds, and I adore them. We are creating stories... writing thoughts and feelings, using imaginations, and learning English in the process. I want them to find their voices.

     It is chaotic... so many people in one small room. Yelling for markers to color our pictures. Trying to translate from Bengali to English and back to Bengali. Singing loudly at the top of our lungs. Cookies flying. It is chaos. Sweat on my forehead. Bare feet. Holy ground.

     There is a small group of boys I just love. Nine and 10 years old. Sweetest hearts, and biggest smiles. I watch them protect their younger siblings. I watch them pray and sing. Too cool for hugs, not too cool for secret handshakes. I just love them.

     And I am afraid... because I watched the men around them. I know of brothers who have sold their sisters. Men who were once sweet boys that become pimps, buyers, and abusers. I know the men they have as role models and examples. Good God. I could be a better example of manhood than these clowns gambling and stumbling on the side of the road.

     My heart hurts, breaking for my boys. My heart that is growing attached and will soon be ripped away. Oh God please... raise them to be a new generation of men. Men who follow you no matter the cost. Men who stand for purity and justice. Men who protect their mothers and sisters, who love their wives and children. Men who will not stand for laziness or take the easy way out.

     Jesus. Jeshu. Yeshua. Yahwah.

     He walks here. In the red light district, among the garbage and waste, the idols and the sex. He knows the corners of every brothel room. He created the men and women here... formed them, fashioned them, designed them and knows them by name. This is his home... the places he chooses.

     I am beginning to realize that maybe God isn't very impressed with our clean walls and pristine sanctuaries. He rarely visited the temples. Instead, he walked among the people. He touched their sores. He called them from their sin to a better life. He got dirty, bloody, disgusting for the sake of his people. He demands we do the same.

     I can't help but think that this is where he dwells. He is here, when all hope seems lost. He is working, bringing light to the darkness. I want to be here, where he is. Do you? Are you willing to be dirty and uncomfortable, just so you could catch a glimpse of his face? Or are you content to live life safe inside the padded pew, and wait until heaven to see him. Yes, heaven will be amazing. But why wait when you could have the unspeakable joy of seeing him now? Touching him now? Walking with him now?

     Oh dear friends, I have seen glimpses, and it is beautiful... glimpses in the midst of hell.

     So I take off my shoes... because it is holy ground.