i can't believe it has been two and a half years since i wrote on here. wow, look at where i was then, and where i am now. i was so inspired by my environment there - all the beautiful people, the culture, the Himalayan landscapes. i miss having so much going on around me. so much to keep me thinking and reflecting on this life and God and humanity. it used to overwhelm me at the time, but now i miss it. now that i am back in the US, living in michigan, and staying at home all day with my son, i forget to think about stuff and reflect on the deeper things of life. of course my son brings out a whole new kind of inspiration, but i find myself tied up with so many spills to clean up, diapers to wash, and mouths to spoon-feed, and the busy-ness consumes me.
i love where God has lead us and for the gifts that he has given me, but i miss living in constant awe of God, his creations and other people. here in lansing, i am surrounded by the gray of a cement city and rainy skies. the people stay behind their locked front doors, only to emerge to the porch on an unusually rainless day. i went from a place where we'd be surprised if there was a moment that no one was coming through our door, to here, where we are surprised (and almost startled) when there is a knock at our door. i used to sit and listen to the street sounds outside my window at night: the hindi beat of music, the sing-song sounds of foreign languages, barking packs of dogs, rickshaw bells and taxi horns, street vendors or processional parades of a wedding or a funeral. it was "noise" but it was the sound of life happening. now i hear nothing from my windows. even when i step ouside i hear the silence of people living privately. only an occasional siren in the distance. my ears are filled with the repetitive tunes of baby einstein and the repremanding voice of judge mathis on tv.
going from my senses being constantly overtaxed to the gross under-use of my senses has really done a number on me. my challenge before was to find those small moments of quiet and privacy to reflect and refuel. my challenge now is to break out of my fortress of constant quiet and privacy and throw myself back into life out there.
writing on this blog is my first step.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Bringing Life to Places of Despair
Today we decided to go out and see Pashupatinath, the most sacred Hindu temple in Kathmandu. It is located on the banks of the holy Bagmati River so followers can take a dip for spiritual cleansing and blessing. It is inhabited by a large population of Sadhus (Hindu holy men) who have devoted their lives as a sort of monk-hood to the god Shiva, the god of death and destruction. They wear bright yellow and orange and paint their faces like Shiva’s. They cover their bodies in ash and dread their long locks. They sit within the temple giving blessings to temple visitors for money. Some even do different bodily contortions or poses of meditation for passers-by. Besides the many Sadhus, the temple grounds are infested with monkeys. They know they will always have enough to eat there with all the puja (offerings of food, fruits, rice, flowers and dyes) offered by devout worshippers to their idols. Today we went so my visiting friend, ‘Becca, could get the Hindu temple experience here in Nepal. It is a good place to observe, as an outsider, some of the rituals of daily life as a Hindu. Since Nepal is primarily Hindu, this is a good place to get a glimpse into the lives of the people.
Because Hindus believe in reincarnation, they believe that after death one must be cremated and given back to the earth. Pashupatinath is the holiest place in Kathmandu for such cremations. All along the river that runs through the temple grounds are cremation ghats (concrete slabs on the river bank for cremations) where bodies are brought throughout each day and wooden pyres are built for the final ceremonies. It is important for the cremations to occur on the banks of the river, because the ashes must be dumped there. In this way, the body of the deceased rejoins the earth to become a new life, so they believe. The river is very polluted, not only because the pyres are dumped in there, but it is also filled with trash, dead animals and sewage. Ironically this is the same river where people come for bathing and spiritual cleansing.
After walking around the temple for awhile we decided to sit on the steps by the river bank and watch all the activity. Coming from a Western culture it is very eerie to be a spectator at a cremation. But here in Nepal it is part of daily life. We watched body after body be brought to the ghats for preparation. By the time they arrive to the ghats the families have already treated, wrapped, oiled and decorated the bodies depending on what is ritually required for each caste of people.
We watched as one family brought their loved one to the ghat with drums and musical instruments. The family members, who wore the clothes of laborers, were participating in this Hindu ritual, but were also doing all the rites of a Buddhist family. The body was draped in layers of Buddhist prayer cloths and scriptures in Tibetan script were read over the body. As it was finally laid on the ghat, a woman collapsed in grief, crying loudly, inconsolable. Her family members lovingly carried her away as she sobbed and the pyre was lit. Was this her husband, her father, or worse, her child? My heart ached to see such pain in her face.
Then another family approached the pyre. They were organized enough to have pallbearers all dressed in long white tunics and white pants. The women wore nicer clothing and covered their heads with their scarves. The body was draped in yellow Hindu cloth and had hundreds of strung marigolds piled on top. The face of the deceased was of an elderly woman, adorned and decorated beautifully for the ceremony. Following her was a frail and small white-haired man, her husband. As the rites were carried out he began to weep. He stepped up on the pyre to ritually encircle it before it was lit. He was weeping so much a few of his sons had to hold him up as he circled her. We all sat silently as we reflected on the moment. I knew that since the head is the most sacred place on the body in Hindu belief, that it would be the first place to be lit for the cremation. I knew I did not want to watch this but I could not turn away. I had become so drawn in by the emotion. As her frail husband set alight her body he encircled her again, this time stopping at her feet. He leaned down and kissed her feet and held them to his face as he wept. “He spent his whole life with that woman,” Matt commented quietly. I imagined them meeting at their arranged wedding as teenagers and love growing between them over their many years together. I became overcome with emotion and began to weep. I looked up to Kara and ‘Becca after the long silence and noticed the tears pouring down their cheeks. Seeing that little old man mourn his bride was heartbreaking. But a large part of my weeping came from the knowledge that they spent their long life and never knew the living God.
We all walked away silently and headed for the gate. We were all tired, hungry and ready to get back home. As we headed to the road we passed the Home for the Dying and Destitute (Missionaries of Charity) that is located on the temple grounds. We all decided to duck in to say hello and love on some old folks. The residents in this home are all those who have been abandoned by their families and left to die. Their families drop them off at the river hoping for a quicker re-entry into new life; an easy way to wipe your hands of someone you do not want to take care of. The sisters at this home take them in and give them a loving place to live, and for most of them, a place to die. Everyone living at this home is at the end of their life, either from old age or sickness. We had just left a place that signified the end of life and the despair of a Godless destination for those over whom families mourned. But now we entered a place that was full of life despite the end of life being near.
‘Becca had her one-year old son, Chas, with her as we entered the home. As we turned the corner, smiles beamed and arms rose in embrace. As their eyes saw little Chas they opened wide with joy and awe. ‘Becca put Chas down and he ran straight into the arms of a one-legged man that sat on the ground. As I stood at the corner a little old deaf woman came to me and signed, they say a baby is here, where is he? I pointed around to where Chas was, surrounded by joy filled residents, and she leapt with joy and ran to him. Everyone shouted, Babu! Babu! (baby boy), and reached to him for a touch. Everyone who was able touched his face, hugged him, or picked him up. He was passing out smiles and hugs left and right. Peoples’ eyes were filling with tears as they laughed. It has been so long since we’ve held a baby, said one lady. Chas entertained one small crowd by stealing a man’s walking cane and dancing around with it. Everyone laughed with joy, and again, I began to weep. As Matt took Chas around to all the inquiring men and women, I looked again at Kara and ‘Becca and tears flowed down their cheeks again. Before it was with sadness, and now it was with joy. “This is exactly why I brought my sons,” ‘Becca said as she watched her son love on the unloved. He did not see their disabilities, smell the urine, or see their wounds. But he did know when they were smiling and laughing and he laughed and smiled with them.
If only I could see people and love people as baby Chas does. To see the people with Christ’s eyes and love them with Christ’s heart.
Lord, make me like a child so I can bring life to places of despair...
...and there is no shortage of despair here...
Because Hindus believe in reincarnation, they believe that after death one must be cremated and given back to the earth. Pashupatinath is the holiest place in Kathmandu for such cremations. All along the river that runs through the temple grounds are cremation ghats (concrete slabs on the river bank for cremations) where bodies are brought throughout each day and wooden pyres are built for the final ceremonies. It is important for the cremations to occur on the banks of the river, because the ashes must be dumped there. In this way, the body of the deceased rejoins the earth to become a new life, so they believe. The river is very polluted, not only because the pyres are dumped in there, but it is also filled with trash, dead animals and sewage. Ironically this is the same river where people come for bathing and spiritual cleansing.
After walking around the temple for awhile we decided to sit on the steps by the river bank and watch all the activity. Coming from a Western culture it is very eerie to be a spectator at a cremation. But here in Nepal it is part of daily life. We watched body after body be brought to the ghats for preparation. By the time they arrive to the ghats the families have already treated, wrapped, oiled and decorated the bodies depending on what is ritually required for each caste of people.
We watched as one family brought their loved one to the ghat with drums and musical instruments. The family members, who wore the clothes of laborers, were participating in this Hindu ritual, but were also doing all the rites of a Buddhist family. The body was draped in layers of Buddhist prayer cloths and scriptures in Tibetan script were read over the body. As it was finally laid on the ghat, a woman collapsed in grief, crying loudly, inconsolable. Her family members lovingly carried her away as she sobbed and the pyre was lit. Was this her husband, her father, or worse, her child? My heart ached to see such pain in her face.
Then another family approached the pyre. They were organized enough to have pallbearers all dressed in long white tunics and white pants. The women wore nicer clothing and covered their heads with their scarves. The body was draped in yellow Hindu cloth and had hundreds of strung marigolds piled on top. The face of the deceased was of an elderly woman, adorned and decorated beautifully for the ceremony. Following her was a frail and small white-haired man, her husband. As the rites were carried out he began to weep. He stepped up on the pyre to ritually encircle it before it was lit. He was weeping so much a few of his sons had to hold him up as he circled her. We all sat silently as we reflected on the moment. I knew that since the head is the most sacred place on the body in Hindu belief, that it would be the first place to be lit for the cremation. I knew I did not want to watch this but I could not turn away. I had become so drawn in by the emotion. As her frail husband set alight her body he encircled her again, this time stopping at her feet. He leaned down and kissed her feet and held them to his face as he wept. “He spent his whole life with that woman,” Matt commented quietly. I imagined them meeting at their arranged wedding as teenagers and love growing between them over their many years together. I became overcome with emotion and began to weep. I looked up to Kara and ‘Becca after the long silence and noticed the tears pouring down their cheeks. Seeing that little old man mourn his bride was heartbreaking. But a large part of my weeping came from the knowledge that they spent their long life and never knew the living God.
We all walked away silently and headed for the gate. We were all tired, hungry and ready to get back home. As we headed to the road we passed the Home for the Dying and Destitute (Missionaries of Charity) that is located on the temple grounds. We all decided to duck in to say hello and love on some old folks. The residents in this home are all those who have been abandoned by their families and left to die. Their families drop them off at the river hoping for a quicker re-entry into new life; an easy way to wipe your hands of someone you do not want to take care of. The sisters at this home take them in and give them a loving place to live, and for most of them, a place to die. Everyone living at this home is at the end of their life, either from old age or sickness. We had just left a place that signified the end of life and the despair of a Godless destination for those over whom families mourned. But now we entered a place that was full of life despite the end of life being near.
‘Becca had her one-year old son, Chas, with her as we entered the home. As we turned the corner, smiles beamed and arms rose in embrace. As their eyes saw little Chas they opened wide with joy and awe. ‘Becca put Chas down and he ran straight into the arms of a one-legged man that sat on the ground. As I stood at the corner a little old deaf woman came to me and signed, they say a baby is here, where is he? I pointed around to where Chas was, surrounded by joy filled residents, and she leapt with joy and ran to him. Everyone shouted, Babu! Babu! (baby boy), and reached to him for a touch. Everyone who was able touched his face, hugged him, or picked him up. He was passing out smiles and hugs left and right. Peoples’ eyes were filling with tears as they laughed. It has been so long since we’ve held a baby, said one lady. Chas entertained one small crowd by stealing a man’s walking cane and dancing around with it. Everyone laughed with joy, and again, I began to weep. As Matt took Chas around to all the inquiring men and women, I looked again at Kara and ‘Becca and tears flowed down their cheeks again. Before it was with sadness, and now it was with joy. “This is exactly why I brought my sons,” ‘Becca said as she watched her son love on the unloved. He did not see their disabilities, smell the urine, or see their wounds. But he did know when they were smiling and laughing and he laughed and smiled with them.
If only I could see people and love people as baby Chas does. To see the people with Christ’s eyes and love them with Christ’s heart.
Lord, make me like a child so I can bring life to places of despair...
...and there is no shortage of despair here...
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Midnight on my side of the world...
It's Saturday night at our flat here in Kathmandu which indicates it is dark and quiet; a typically uneventful evening. It has been a long, but pleasant day. It all started by me waking to the phone ringing in the other room, but I couldn't get up to answer it. When I woke up, both of my hands were (strangely) behind my head on the pillow and both of my arms were dead asleep. Although it was just my arms, it made my whole body feel paralyzed and helpless. Matt just rolled over and laughed at me. He helped me put them down by my sides, but that was just about all the assistance I received.
The days are still hot, but the mornings and evenings are pleasantly cool. Finally, I can sleep with my blanket and not wake up sweating. I love pulling out my long sleeve shirts! Nepal is perfect right now, as far as the climate is concerned. We still get the sweltering tropical heat, but now it is conjoined with the icy Himalayan breeze. It is an intriguing mix. Just as intriguing as viewing the white-capped Himalayas through the branches of palm trees. God's creation is amazing, and here in Nepal, I am constantly reminded of that.
Matt and I prepared ourselves and our stomachs for a challenging lunch today. We were going to the room of a friend to eat whatever she would happen to cook for us, and we had only heard horror stories about her cooking. It is usually cold, way too spicy, and tastes like "the worst food in Nepal" according to friends with experience there. That is not even to mention that her heaping servings are way too big for anyone's stomach...much less weak and feeble ones such as ours. We didn't eat breakfast to make plenty of room. And I packed a liter of water to follow my typical ritual of swallowing entire meals without managing to chew anything. I have quite perfected the skill of swallowing food whole. Most of the the time it doesn't even bother with my taste buds since it avoids touching my tongue. The Nepalis haven't caught on to my scheme, but my American friends see right through it and laugh at me as I do it. But then I am the one laughing when they bite down on a bone or something else inedible from their plates of mystery food. Some friends of ours here have a mantra: Where ever God leads me I will follow. Whatever God feeds me I will swallow. Sad, but true. This is what I repeated aloud to myself as we turned the corner off the main road into their mysteriously beautiful riverside slum.
We walked down a small alley lined with beautiful faces and dirty clothes. We stepped up a neat pile of stones and ducked into Sahida's small room constructed of cardboard, tin, wood scraps and tarp. An old torn up piece of linoleum covered a section of the mud floor and a tiny window in the corner shone the bright sunlight on all the room's inhabitants. We sat on the platform that is used as a bed just after Sahida's eldest daughter straightened out the cloth that covered it. Sahida greeted us with Namastes and kisses while her eldest daughter and some neighbors sat shyly in the darkened corners. Then two of her younger daughters ran in from outside, out of breath from all the playing they had been doing. Their smiles remind us why we'd come all this way.
She served us our food and we prayed for our ability to eat it. When served food in a typical Nepali household, the entire family watches you eat every last bite before partaking themselves. It is quite heavy pressure and often brings me nearly to tears! But today, thank God, despite what I had heard, the food was tasty, not too cold, only semi-spicy, but still way too much. Thankfully we worked it all down - though it took us an hour and a half to scrape the last bites off our tin plates. (I beat Matt - thanks to my water method). While we finished we chatted with Sahida and her family, and her little ones danced for us. "I taught myself," Absana kept telling us. It was kind of obvious, but still quite impressive for an 8 year old. Nepali girls can innately do amazing tricks with their hips and wrists. God's creation is amazing, I thought again to myself.
After several hours there, we made our way back home. Any trip home requires unavoidable meetings with many of our friends on the street and usually a few stops for tea. Today we met Sabila and her boys, and Kushbu and baby Najani. Always a pleasure having tea with these feisty ladies. Matt gave the boys his usual dose of male attention as I held the baby and chatted about this and that. It is always hard for me to hand this particular baby back to her mother. If I could I would steal her and make her my own. This teeny premature baby is perfect in all ways. Again, God's creation is amazing.
Finally at home, we prepare for our WMF community and cohorts to share in worship together. It has been a beautiful day so we head to the roof for fresh air. When we worship from the rooftop we feel as if we are sharing the Lord with those in ear shot. We hope our melodies will move some hearts or at least ease people into peaceful sleeps. We sang by candlelight and had beautiful worship together. As we prayed together, I thanked God for Sahida and her amazing family. I thanked Him for the light in their dark little slum and for the joy and peace that resides under her tin roof. I thanked Him for their dancing and for their bright faces. I thanked Him for my belly full of rice. Then Ramesh began to pray. Ramesh is a recently rehabilitated IV-drug user who has been joining us for worship. His words rang in my ears. He lifted the names of his street friends and asked that God would use him to share His love with them. He said several times "they desperately need you, Jesus" with his face clinched in emotion. As I looked up at him he thanked God for his new life. He thanked God for His love and for caring for even him. Tears flowed from my face as I was floored to be a witness of such words from such a man. I thought to lift my hands in thanksgiving and then I remembered their lifelessness from this morning. I laughed to myself, wiped my tears and smiled. Today was a good day.
God's Grace is amazing.
The days are still hot, but the mornings and evenings are pleasantly cool. Finally, I can sleep with my blanket and not wake up sweating. I love pulling out my long sleeve shirts! Nepal is perfect right now, as far as the climate is concerned. We still get the sweltering tropical heat, but now it is conjoined with the icy Himalayan breeze. It is an intriguing mix. Just as intriguing as viewing the white-capped Himalayas through the branches of palm trees. God's creation is amazing, and here in Nepal, I am constantly reminded of that.
Matt and I prepared ourselves and our stomachs for a challenging lunch today. We were going to the room of a friend to eat whatever she would happen to cook for us, and we had only heard horror stories about her cooking. It is usually cold, way too spicy, and tastes like "the worst food in Nepal" according to friends with experience there. That is not even to mention that her heaping servings are way too big for anyone's stomach...much less weak and feeble ones such as ours. We didn't eat breakfast to make plenty of room. And I packed a liter of water to follow my typical ritual of swallowing entire meals without managing to chew anything. I have quite perfected the skill of swallowing food whole. Most of the the time it doesn't even bother with my taste buds since it avoids touching my tongue. The Nepalis haven't caught on to my scheme, but my American friends see right through it and laugh at me as I do it. But then I am the one laughing when they bite down on a bone or something else inedible from their plates of mystery food. Some friends of ours here have a mantra: Where ever God leads me I will follow. Whatever God feeds me I will swallow. Sad, but true. This is what I repeated aloud to myself as we turned the corner off the main road into their mysteriously beautiful riverside slum.
We walked down a small alley lined with beautiful faces and dirty clothes. We stepped up a neat pile of stones and ducked into Sahida's small room constructed of cardboard, tin, wood scraps and tarp. An old torn up piece of linoleum covered a section of the mud floor and a tiny window in the corner shone the bright sunlight on all the room's inhabitants. We sat on the platform that is used as a bed just after Sahida's eldest daughter straightened out the cloth that covered it. Sahida greeted us with Namastes and kisses while her eldest daughter and some neighbors sat shyly in the darkened corners. Then two of her younger daughters ran in from outside, out of breath from all the playing they had been doing. Their smiles remind us why we'd come all this way.
She served us our food and we prayed for our ability to eat it. When served food in a typical Nepali household, the entire family watches you eat every last bite before partaking themselves. It is quite heavy pressure and often brings me nearly to tears! But today, thank God, despite what I had heard, the food was tasty, not too cold, only semi-spicy, but still way too much. Thankfully we worked it all down - though it took us an hour and a half to scrape the last bites off our tin plates. (I beat Matt - thanks to my water method). While we finished we chatted with Sahida and her family, and her little ones danced for us. "I taught myself," Absana kept telling us. It was kind of obvious, but still quite impressive for an 8 year old. Nepali girls can innately do amazing tricks with their hips and wrists. God's creation is amazing, I thought again to myself.
After several hours there, we made our way back home. Any trip home requires unavoidable meetings with many of our friends on the street and usually a few stops for tea. Today we met Sabila and her boys, and Kushbu and baby Najani. Always a pleasure having tea with these feisty ladies. Matt gave the boys his usual dose of male attention as I held the baby and chatted about this and that. It is always hard for me to hand this particular baby back to her mother. If I could I would steal her and make her my own. This teeny premature baby is perfect in all ways. Again, God's creation is amazing.
Finally at home, we prepare for our WMF community and cohorts to share in worship together. It has been a beautiful day so we head to the roof for fresh air. When we worship from the rooftop we feel as if we are sharing the Lord with those in ear shot. We hope our melodies will move some hearts or at least ease people into peaceful sleeps. We sang by candlelight and had beautiful worship together. As we prayed together, I thanked God for Sahida and her amazing family. I thanked Him for the light in their dark little slum and for the joy and peace that resides under her tin roof. I thanked Him for their dancing and for their bright faces. I thanked Him for my belly full of rice. Then Ramesh began to pray. Ramesh is a recently rehabilitated IV-drug user who has been joining us for worship. His words rang in my ears. He lifted the names of his street friends and asked that God would use him to share His love with them. He said several times "they desperately need you, Jesus" with his face clinched in emotion. As I looked up at him he thanked God for his new life. He thanked God for His love and for caring for even him. Tears flowed from my face as I was floored to be a witness of such words from such a man. I thought to lift my hands in thanksgiving and then I remembered their lifelessness from this morning. I laughed to myself, wiped my tears and smiled. Today was a good day.
God's Grace is amazing.
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