Lost Camera Batteries:(

So, i bid farewell to Katharine and Sandy this evening. An aweful goodbye and one of those strange instances knowing that we will meet again someday. My single goal for the day was to simply take one picture with the girls. It was an epic fail and now they have boarded a train, so I apologize for the grainy photo's of the girls... maybe you'll spot them in there somewhere. But in the place of proper photo's, here is a simple love letter to my friends I drafted the other morning:

When I think on the person that I am not, yet that I wish to be more – I think of Sandy. I idolize those who seem to walk on air. Their steps are soft, the touch is tender, and in their presence you feel comfort. It's like those moments that your senses are tipped off to something familiar and your minds races back in time to a place of great joy- like the scent of cider in the midst of a cold winters day and instantly the memories of Christmas Eve, sleeping on the bare floor of our families soon to be finished home in the mountains of Tehachapi. Too eager to wait for the adornments; the fresh carpet or painted trim, as children we simply new we needed to be home and we needed to be together. So, the family piled into the bottom level floor and the room with the finished fireplace in order to welcome Christmas and our extravagantly dressed tree of homemade ornaments. That is joy and the fresh scent of cider will always beckon me back to this night and the love of family.

Sandy is like that. Being around her is easy and I think I crave it. She is that smell of home that no other building can capture perfectly and the overwhelming peace that paralyzes the body when you’ve embraced family after a long time away. Sandy is in India; it is her epic journey after completing nursing school and in a year of dynamic transition. The Mother House was a place she knew she must go, serve, and maybe even be inspired to Go, to have some of the blanks filled in, in that mental manual of how to live life that each of us writes each day. I don’t know if those answers have come, but what I do know is that wherever Sandy goes, wherever she is led, someone will find home in her. She is quiet, yet strikingly hilarious in her critique on life and living.

And then there is Katharine. I think it is almost a blessing that we don’t live near one another… cause man would we get in trouble. We are similar, like those partners in crime that make life worth living, that seem to make colors brighter and sweets richer because of their energy, because of their laughter. Katharine is a dreamer; she is a penny Tosser into the wishing well. The good in things are exemplified and the bad seem to be swept under the mat to be dealt with another day, a day that usually does not come. You know those people that have that rare gift to make you feel special, like you come to understand those intimate characteristics of why you are so endearing simply because that person is not afraid or ashamed to tell you how wonderful you are… that’s Katharine.

Katharine is an organic farmer in the Okanagan Valley of BC. She has paved a path all her own, without the checklist standards of what makes a young adult worthy or a proven asset. Katharine, I will see you again this year and we will run through the fields of the valley.

Once Considered Trash, Now is a Treasure

This is Tanya, in a classroom of 50 children, she is the life of the party. Her wit is sharp and her smile is radiant.

Tanya attends a two classroom school in the slums of Katabon, Nobadiganta. As we approached the school building, Tanya ran to greet us. Taking each of our hands, Tanya led us to the main classroom and introduced us to her classmates who had been eagerly awaiting our arrival.

It is remarkable to think that this small child so full of energy, was abandoned by her parents at the local garbage, without a means of survival. Tanya was discovered by a woman in the area who has since raised her and enrolled her into school. A child left without hope, now lives with opportunity and love.

It seems like everyday I am confronted with the devastation of brokenness. I have said it before that the need is apparent and it is raw. Yes, this is true. But I think there is something inherent in us that clings to what is good, that seeks out the truth, and hopes for the light of day. So, it is in the life of Tanya that I find beauty, compassion, but most importantly, I have found redemption. Redemption for the bad and the undeserved.

I remember reading or at least overhearing as a child that in our lives, if we can simply help just one person, then the effort was worth giving and our life was worth living. I can say that I have attained to this notion in the past, but in all reality, it is only now that I understand the depth of this truth.

So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I ask for your prayers for Tanya and the 610 students that will now receive free education through Calcutta Mercy Ministries and Project Rhino Education. And if you are able, I ask that you give. $1 a day will provide education to a child who would otherwise go without. It would amaze you how these children run to school, often times without the consent of their parents in the slums who would otherwise have them work for the family. These children are craving something more, something better and now Project Rhino is an avenue of opportunity for these children.

Lazy Sundays

Kolkata is a city of energy, a city in motion. From early morning till late at night, despite the seemingly unbearable heat or the relentless monsoon rains, you cannot stop the people of this city. But for one sacred day of the week, the pace of life slows.

Teenage boys reclaim the streets for a game of cricket; the laundry shop converts its rickety ironing board into a temporary poker table for an evening game of cards among the elders and shopkeepers.

So I scavangered for my not so often used camera to capture this such special of all days.

This is how I spent my lazy Sunday…

Meet Sandy and Katherine, my trusted companions of the last several days, and my introduction to Kolkata street food

The city herdsmen?

and then finally an afternoon with the folks of Mcleod Street

and this guy...

Entourage

Meet Rupa Doloi. Yesterday morning at the break of daylight, we headed out to Katamtola village on the outskirts of Calcutta. From the daunting streets of the city, lined with Rickshaw drivers preparing for the morning rush hour, the first aroma of street food seeps into the air, and yet the city remains relatively quiet [for Calcutta standards]. Bablu, my kind car ride companion, a man who patiently waits without complaint of weather or time, in order to take me to my intended destinations, whether the market, Mother House, or for my ridiculous cravings of chocolate and soda pop. Today, Bablu takes me to Katamtola, an unassumingly magical place.

I guess the car ride should have prompted me for what I was to see and learn of India from Katamtolla. The thirty-minute drive was an ever-passing scene of the morning dew rising from a lush green forest of tropical vegetation… simply beautiful. The stench of the fish market introduced us to a wonderland of cauliflower fields and bamboo gardens. Bablu, stops at a marshland, homes lined across this mote of water. A young boy greets us and takes our hand to the village. Approaching, beats of Hindi dance music blare from what seems to be a system of surround sound. It is 7 in the morning and Kadmatolla is Alive!

We are swarmed by children, without question or concern the children seem to have awaited our arrival for playtime. I use my few phrases of Bengali to greet the children, thank them for their hospitality and ask their names. My entourage is loyal throughout the duration of our stay, crowding into small homes, the new school room I am there to see and photograph, and to the small creek where we are to wash our hands after tea and cookies, they stay by my side; my child guardians.

We are greeted by Kali, the mother of this community. She walks the avenues of this village with an aura of compassion, yet undoutable leadership. It is Kali alone that petitioned for a feeding program nearly 25 years ago. Today, Kali maintains the daily distribution of food that is provided by Calcutta Mercy Ministries to the nearly 10,000 residence of this expansive village of West Bengal.

Kali has revolutionized the lives of her neighbors and friends. The health of the Katamtola people has undergone a dramatic improvement since the establishment of the Katamtola feeding line, a program that continues to lessen the financial burden of these families. The trickle effect from simply ensuring one’s nutritional assurance is remarkable. Just as clean water can change the dynamics and sustainability of a community, basic nutrition has proven to do the same. Today, the worries of these people are not for their next meal… that is a certainty, today Kali and her family dream of education, of opportunity.

Rupa will be the first of her family to receive education beyond English. Because of online education, we can ensure that a focus on education becomes the fabric of these communities.

I am better because of Katamtola, I am better because I know Kali, Rupa, Sona, and the countless other children that have greeted me with such kindness, with such joy. I am better because I am no longer a stranger or a guest, but a friend.

Calcutta Dreamin

Meet Kari Westlund. My roommate for 3 days, yet a soul mate for what seems like ages. Inseparable since I arrived, Kari hustled me through months of development in our schools, showing me the ropes and guiding me through a grand tour of the city. From scrunched metro rides and market bargaining to chocolate treat binging and daydreaming. Grand dreams, beautiful dreams, what seems like anointed dreams. Dreams of opportunity, dreams for the children of Calcutta.

Over the last few months, I have slowly and with great struggle, walked through the pages of a great classic, “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”. In the character of Francie Nolan, a young Brooklyn girl born into poverty, the bruises and beauty of life are illuminated. Francie’s mouth has yet to be filtered and her pure dialogue of life is a sobering reminder of the less beautiful side of society, of the still strong reality of the have and have not’s and begs the question of our predestined future.

In her critique of school, a system that has proven to be a little rough and unjust to poor students, Francie illustrates the simple nature of love in one teacher who has chosen to be just and in so doing, to be unexpected.

“ On a rainy day, she wouldn’t give a lesson. She’d take a block of paper and a stick of charcoal and sketch the poorest, meanest kid in the room. And when the picture was finished, you didn’t see the dirt or the meanness; you saw the glory of innocence and the poignancy of a baby growing up too soon.”

This is the nature of the people, the people I sit with, I work with, the men and women who I’ve only known by name and email, yet today I call them friends, neighbors, office mates and confidants. In just a few days I have come to know greatness, a greatness of character. I have been surprised by Joy.

The City of Joy

“God made man because he loves stories.” As long as we have stories to tell each other there is hope. As long as we can remind each other of the lives of men and women whom the love of God becomes manifest, there is reason to move forward to new land in which new stories are hidden. [Henri M Nouwen]

I wrote my senior capstone paper on the language and life of stories, without them where would we find harmony, where would we ‘define’ who we are and where we have come from. Stories are the structure in which we understand life, how we know what’s next and to anticipate where we are headed. Stories make heroes. For heroes and legends and saints are the exception, the breaking of the mold, they are contrary and revolutionary.

We understand life with a beginning a middle and an end, with small or often dynamic climaxes and characters that drive the narrative. The components are often the same; family, school, marriage, career, children, friendships, challenges, love, heartbreak, death and new life. But every once in a while someone comes along and shakes the norm, does the extraordinary and in so doing, makes a new reference of good, of evil, of strength and love and beauty.

The stories of those of Calcutta will grow in time, in relationship, in experience and in simply seeing. So, I guess now I invite you into the stories of those I know, my acquaintances, my friends.

Unlikely Companion

Today I didn’t shower alone, a small friend joined me in this often solitude of activities…

I guess I am thankful, for without the “Tik-Tiki” my morning would have been simply solitary and bland.

To India I Go

On My way to India!! Four years in the making and a good 6 weeks to settle in, to explore, to see, and to discover why I am compelled to do what I do.

Today, I say farewell to Alissa and Blake with a delightful taste in my mouth and a welcomed ache in my stomach… all thanks to a wonderful morning of Thai Cooking!

I love you guys. I love your hard couch/bench that is my resting place each night, I love our walks from 7/11 each night and every morning. I love market shopping, pillow talking, and the side street cuisine that we share for dinner!

How I spent 13 Hours over the Pacific

Today on my plane, a plane ride a lot less intimidating than I remember just 4 years ago, when the crossing of an ocean seemed like Death, I picked back up a book that at first was a thrilling read. “The Language of God” an analysis of the idea of God, the belief in the supernatural and the coexistence of such a being in the midst of Science. The topic is thrilling, not simply because of debate, for if it was for pure argumentative reasons, I would run and hide in a dark corner…Science scares me, because I SUCK at it. My mind does not differentiate between a photon, a neutron, gravitons and gluons, even while I’m typing, part of me anticipates a small red ‘misspelling’ squiggle would appear beneath each word, but none do and so my MacBook schools me once again.

The topic is thrilling because of how God has intrigued the minds of the simplest theologians throughout the centuries along with the genius of the Albert Einsteins, Immanuel Kants’, Galileos’, and the stream of Nobel Peace Prize winners that in their day and their time, patented an ‘Ah-Ha’. One such mind so intrigued is Dr. Francis S. Collins, the head of the Human Genome Project, one of the worlds leading scientists and the author of this book.

His life could fill the pages of a novel, a man born to supremely intelligent parents, graduates of Yale, yet revolutionaries – hippies before the sixties. The Collins headed a ‘New Deal’ type of community organization in a small mining town in West Virginia, led by Eleanor Roosevelt in an effort to make life a little richer and healthier for the miners and their families. Yet, the Great Depression proved to be too debilitating for this effort to persist and the Collins were released from their duties. A few years as an engineer for WWII military planes and Mr. Collins desired for his family to know the simple life and so packed up a gang of young boys and their mother to establish a family farm in a quiet valley of Virginia.

A slave to the sciences from childhood, Frances graduated high school at 16 and went on to a degree in Chemistry, then Medical School. It was here, for the first time that Francis contemplated the actual existence of God and what he found, was the beauty of compassion. Francis’ mind knows facts and figures, hypothesis and theorums, but what he was unable to understand was the joy of the Suffer, the peace of the one who is facing premature mortality, he learned that death can be replaced by LIFE.

The rest of the book and the majority of Francis’s investigation of God and faith is in the understanding of science and particles and origin and evolution. PICK IT UP, READ this sucker, cause what you’ll find is poetry in science… its beautiful stuff. My favorite quote of what I’ve plowed through thus far is from the final words of the astrophysicist, Robert Jastrow:

“ At this moment it seems as though science will never be able to raise the curtain on the mystery of creation. For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled the mountains of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest peak; as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries”

So, I sit here in the Taipei airport anxious for dawn and my first day in Thailand to be greeted by some of the Greatest: Blake, Alissa and of course Oliver. My last bit of America sits in some airport baggage reservoir; a snickers bar for Blake, a stocking and Christmas decorations for Alissa and some anti-diarrhea pills for myself… hope they last meJ Until the New Year, I send you all a belated farewell… Good Night America, can’t wait to see how you’ll hold up.