A Sewing Lesson

The other night a few friends and I began to discuss education, ingenuity, and culture. How we as Americans are falling behind in education and intellect, yet how we continue to produce ingenuity- the new, the creative, the inspired. And we are puzzled and we commend ourselves. And it’s true, there are great minds here, but that is not what divides us. There is genius in every culture, in every race and in the expanse of the major religions. There are those who stand apart, because we can rightfully distinguish them as Great.

What we create, others perfect. What we envision and cultivate, others produce rapidly and with excellence. We create functionality and it is genius. But why? How do we continue to lead the world in progress and development, in simply foreword thinking? In the midst of a great recession, where true, Basic Need is Here; we are still prone to ingenuity. It is the fabric of our social character to dream and to aspire to something greater, because it’s possible. So we dream, whether individually or corporately, we strive. For in countries like India, mobility is not reality, it’s not even an ideal. There is no safety, no cushion in their financial state and so they look to be sustained and the solution is work. To work longer, to worker harder, and to work younger. It is in that same longer and harder and younger that we allotted the time to creative.

But look

things are changing. And in this one classroom hut, mobility is being institutionalized. This is REAL. It takes little to change the world. But it takes the most valuable possessions we own; our time and our money.

So Give. Whether you come or you donate, you’re not giving just HOPE, you’re giving New Life. There is no excuse, really. There is opportunity to do Good. Every moment is a decision to either do Good and in that choice, we are either sewing ourselves more tightly to that Good or we are separating ourselves even further from it.

Charity

The questions that surface when we are approached by Charity are numerous and varied. It is something personal, it requires us to think and give beyond ourselves. Because charity does not expect a payback, so we give with intent. And we expect results, we expect good to come from our effort. We expect generosity to be repaid with the currency of progress, of development, of health and wellness, with a smile and with unspeakable gratitude… .

But what I’ve learned is that often times our expectations fall far below what we envision. Its what we read about, its what we [only after the fact and once we have finally seen to calculated results] admire in the silent giver, the unnoticed servant.

Hosted a little fundraiser this weekend with some friends.

Here are some favorites from the photobooth

Thanks Everyone for the Support. All funds have gone

to our Project Rhino Learning Centers

This week and for the last few months I have been plagued by the question of uncertainty, what happens when a student walks away from our learning centers? We often call them ‘drop outs’, the connotation of which expresses one who has given up, who has thrown in the towel, one who is ungrateful and lacks motivation. And I would have said the same thing, but now I know their story, a story that explains why until now they have had no education… how do you communicate to a child or a family the Need for education and its fruitfulness when a child’s basic NEEDS are neglected?, but we have to Try, its the only way change will be come a discipline. And this why I am proud to say that we are dedicated to the Holistic treatment. It is remarkable to communicate to a community that they will be given education... yes, but that they will be given healthcare and nutrition, simply for showing up. That's the fun part of my job!

What I know of our students is their dedication and their gratefulness almost to the point of disbelief. “why?” they ask. Why would anyone care and what have I done to deserve this? And then, once we have satisfied the “why’s”, comes the “how?”. How do I balance this? How do I attend school, excel and still work to help feed my family and myself. How do I focus when my stomach pants for nourishment and I am sick from the leaky roof that drips and floods my room at night, that dares me to sleep and infests my body with impurity?

The struggles, the barriers are not common, they are not even believable until you go and you sit with a child. You sit across from their home, a home in the slums. Another terrible word and another misrepresented connotation. It is not dirt and grime or even scary. But within the walls of the slums there is genius and there is strength and there is the greatest display of endurance and resilience I have ever known, and I expect to ever know.

So, is there Hope? Absolutely. For if we refuse to hope then we diminish the ability to act and it is in movement that miracles take place. It is a partnership, a marriage of sorts, because without the two, we hobble and we stumble. We must believe, we must have faith and in that we have the confidence to Go, to Do. And it is in the doing that we find structure to our Faith.

I never knew the true value of education until now, for in our society if you are simply talented or hardworking, you will succeed. Yet to be given education freely, to be expected to participate in school and to be pursued. That is beautiful.

The obstacles might be many, the mountains of struggle seem too daunting to climb, and those who expect you to fail are a plenty. Yet no one can take away your right to education and therefore your right to live well… This is what we want for our learning center students and this is what we want to institute among the poor and disadvantaged communities of India. May our students know that it is their human right to pursue education, to deepen their understanding of the world in its fullness. And may we as administrators and teachers and leadership demand excellence and honesty and integrity in that which we teach and the knowledge we encourage our students to pursue.

Pieces

I sat with a good friend yesterday. Over dinner, we chatted for hours, those conversations that change who we are and in response the world changes, because forevermore we will approach it differently, a little more tenderly, and with an awareness of the other, calculating in the lives of those we have just come to know, whose circumstances humble us and where are only response is gratefulness.

Just some of my favorites from our Learning Centers

It seems funny now that I am back, I have had no shocking transition or acclamation process, yet in conversations such as those from yesterday I am coming to apply what I have learned in my time in India. Its like my 7 weeks of observation and engagement left me with pieces. Like a puzzle, my heart and mind and soul are a scattering of unidentifiable pieces. Yet as I am back these pieces are coming together. I think it will take a lifetime of piecing together, of rearranging, yet the picture will be made clear and in so doing I will be FULL. For in the perfecting of the puzzle, I will reconcile what it means to BE here in the land of plenty, of ingenuity, of progress and accessibility. Where all things are possible, where dreams become reality. I will reconcile who I am as one privileged with who I have come to admire, those who live without privilege and in so doing make life beautiful, because it is not about the menial, but it is about staking claim on what is real, what is worthy to die for. For faith, for family, for love, and for goodness.

I wont argue that ignorance is not bliss, it is, most of the time. To be guarded from pain, from heartache and need, to be blinded from suffering is quite a nice place to be. But there is only so long that we can live without this knowledge, without this understanding and yet still be complete and yet still be good stewards of that which we have.

Katabon Learning Center Students [December 2010]

I will stand and I will argue and I will fight for this great country, because that is what we are GREAT. But we are not perfect… we are far from it. All is at our disposal and all is accessible. We define what is good and what is bad, what is success and what is failure. We establish the movement, spark the revolutions. And it is in this, this role as leader that we have great responsibility. As a country we recite and claim to attend to some of the most beautiful and idealistic notions of human rights. To be free, simply for Being. To be heard, simply because you have a voice. To be granted the right of happiness, simply because we recognize it has a human entitlement.

The Soles of My Feet

So, since my arrival in Kolkata I’ve had this irritating nuisance. Often times leading to light harassment by the team in the office, or utter embarrassment when I discover the children of the slum schools are uninterruptedly starring at my dirt stained feet. I scrub and rub and wash Daily, but nothing has cleaned me from the dirt smudges that coat the soles of my feet. But what I’m coming to discover is that I don’t want it to be washed away. It is the India with me, the India that never leaves me. It is the India that leads me.

I have never gone hungry, yet you feed me.

Your stomach pants for nourishment, yet you give. Though it is simple, you are unashamed.

Though there is little, you take care to be excellent. Hours of preparation, of meticulous grinding and measuring of spices for the enjoyment of others. Whether I am a well planned out visitor or a last minute guest, you welcome me as one expected and you bathe me in care and attention.

thanks for the photo Lizzie!

I miss you now; now that I am gone and I look forward to greeting you someday soon as my old friend.

Finger Food

So I sit here in Kolkata, just a few days before I depart and I am expectant. Expectant of family, of hugs, of warm greetings, and of conversation. I yearn for a comfortable bed to sleep, to be able to shower without mopping the water into a ‘drain’ and of walking the sidewalks without incessant horns blaring from the ever-trafficked streets. But what I anticipate the most is the story I get to tell you. A great story of the love that is here, of the life that is so raw and beautiful and FULL.

I cannot help but smile when I think of how I get to introduce you to those who have taught me the true nature of service, who have spoken words of life though they are close to death, children who have taught me strength.

I sat yesterday at one of our school, not a new learning center, but a school of several years. The children are from the slums and they sit on cement floors. But I am in love. We signed each others drawings, we made paper roses and marker towers. We played, we sang, we sat over chai and ate biscuits. It is moments like this that the time passes and worries fade away and the world outside seems to not exist and the happiness that we know NOW is the greatest joy we have ever experienced. I am a world away, actually an entire day from home and it is Christmas. But my heart is Full and I am home among children, children who do not ask questions or credential you, but invite you to sit and in that gesture, I am Dede [I am sister].

I eat with my hands and its fun. A lot of effort and little bit of strategy is necessary in the washroom, but its some sort of game or adrenaline rush, the kind of game where you never know how it will turn out or if you will get out clean. This is India without apologies or shame, it’s the way we are. I have sat to dine with Doctors and Missionaries, with Children and Businessmen, and together we all cup our meal in our hands, we smack our lips, and we lick our hands clean.

There is little room here, in a city of 18 million people, space is a luxury for the few. So we hold hands, we bump shoulders and we hope that the path ahead of us is clear of obstructions

A Katabon Christmas

So its Christmas time. It’s kind of hard to believe. The only carols I hear are those whispering from my faulty computer speakers, and the icons of Christmas- Santa Clause, Reindeer, Drummer Boys and Snowmen - are only scarcely recognized, dispersed thinly throughout the city.

What I miss the most is the utter attack on the senses of Christmas. The bitter cold of “the Season”, the infusion of peppermint, gingerbread and pumpkin spices. N’Sync Christmas album looping in storehouses and malls.

But today we were invited to a different sort of Christmas program. The likes of which are not intended to flatter you, there are no programs to follow along to, no orchestra to choreograph the scenes that will inevitably play out or a musical serenade inviting us to sit, to be still and to listen.

Yet all are welcome and all are encourage to participate. There are no auditions or means of filtering the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ performers. That’s not why we are even here, and it’s not a part of the story. The intent was to Come and to Hear and See that Jesus, Lord, came for all and so we all participate in this thing called Christmas.

Our Katabon Learning Center asked us to join in their Christmas program, to join along in songs of the season. Sitting with legs crossed on a cement floor, we became a part of a community. As I said goodbye, a goodbye that is certain for this trip to India, my heart sank. We had become like family.

They are people with little, but little is all they need. They have given their lives for the lives of others. Educated and intelligent, those who once had privilege, now voluntarily sacrifice for the well being of others. They are changing the world, yet they live in one corner of a slum that was never intended to be their home. I want to sing their praises, make known their names, but all would be in vain, for their one response would be the touch of their heart and a pointing of their finger to the skies.

I have glorified humility, I have been in awe of it, but today I know it and it is defined by those who hold their hands out – available for the leading and open for the giving.

Train Runners

I spent my childhood observing the systematic nature of society, of home, of school and church. Each context unique, with its own inherent purpose, most of the time each has its days of use and hours of ‘operation’… you know, the neon ‘open’ sign sorta thing. Whether through observation or an audible inquiry, our childhood and adolescence are spent understanding rules and regulations, becoming aware of boundaries and the non-verbal queue that protect us from embarrassment and foolishness.

In college and on the cusp of adulthood, we are thrown into the system, expected to assimilate. Yet we are a society that stands on the foundation of independence. We place the concept of independence and of liberty on a pedestal and we worship it. It is our drive and our excuse; it is our purpose for and our reason against.

We are a society of contradictions. We attend to the precepts of equality and of liberty. Yet every sector of our society is filtered through structures and systems that dilute our freedom [the Indians laugh at this]. We demand equality and justice, yet those that survive in our society are those that embrace raw competition, which inevitably places others below us. To gain more, others must loose. To be the best, others must be less than.

We live by this social movement, conscious or unconscious. We pat ourselves on the back at the conclusion of the day. And find relief when we have discovered or role, our purpose in this system. Yet the longer I live here, my idealistic understanding of the world, of society, of structure and norms are slowly crumbling. Because it is in the life of the poor that I have experience service and an attitude of giving. It is in the slums and among the poor that I have seen a social responsibility like none I have experienced before. A child is left abandoned, and the community takes on the child as its own. Throughout the week I visit schools, where children with nothing, share everything. One boy, five years old, without parents or a home gave me his one possession, crafted by his own two hands. He handed me a snowflake, his only toy, made just minutes before. And then he left, leaving to work the trains and sleep on its platforms.

I sat with a kid the other day, chatted with him about his life and in those 15 minutes my theology on the world, my surety of right and wrong was shattered and my deep well of answers, collected from years of experience, was instantly dried up.

We say drugs are bad and will only harm you, we say they are for the weak, for those who cannot cope and want to escape. We say deceit is a tool of the corrupt and those who are unwilling to work for that which they have and for that which they long to posses. We say that family is something to value; it is in family that we understand our identity, by understanding our past and drawing from our heritage to cultivate our future.

We say all these things as if they are truth, as if they are certain. Yet what do you say to a child who has been abandoned and who has been forgotten? What do you say to a child who has raised himself since infancy, surviving on the scraps and garbage of others? What do you say to a child addicted to drugs, because sniffing adhesives is the only thing that erases his pain from hunger? How do you rebuke a boy, who peddles cash, simply to eat? I don’t know what to say, but I am unwilling to say they are wrong or to ask them to change without a means to provide.

This is the story of the boys from the train platform, but not told in its fullness. Because if I was to leave it at this, you would not know of their great strength, their relentless love, and their true honesty.

I have found it difficult to express the nature of my three hours with the boys who live by the train system of India. It is a day I will never forget and conversations that will burden the depths of my soul for a lifetime.

But what I know, is that more than ever I am willing to overcome for their sake, I am willing to speak and act for GOOD, for peace, and love because it is the lives of these boys, boys who hold nothing, not one possession, who crave goodness. More than ever, I am not trumped by the darkness of humanity, for I have learned a lesson…

When you have nothing left, our only possession is our soul and the choice to embrace life with joy and to once again place trust in others, because without the risk to love and to trust, we are empty. These children have nothing, all that was once there’s and all those things that we ascribe as a child’s entitlement have been stripped from them and what is left is a smile, and behind that smile, Strength. The strength of one who at the tender ages of their childhood, refused to be abused and exploited, because in the depths of their soul they know they are worth so much more.

And one after one, these children glowed when asked to be enrolled in our education program. They have fended for themselves for years, taken every responsibility and now they are asked to be given something, to be expected somewhere. It’s Magical!