Dark Bird

Loneliness is a curious bedfellow

crawling between blankets

when the night is pale

his cold edges

encircling

how I have shivered

at this touch.

But today I turned

to offer my hand

and asked what he had to teach me.

I let him carry me to my knees.

In the moonlight

he grew slim

and stood before me as a mirror

his void reflected back

this wide-eyed gaze

this warm skin

the film of breath upon the glass

alive with longing

Slowly he became a bird

of darkness

hovering above my hands

I kissed it softly

cradling it like a beloved child

my lips on cold feathers

gloriously alive

I have not yet been claimed by death.

It spread its wings before me

until they became a

dark doorway into the

house of joy.

Lent

(Written on Ash Wednesday two years ago.  What began as a lament for a girl begging on the streets of Mumbai and became also a lament for the little girl within me.)

Little girl, who peers through smears of soot

which blur and run in the rain,

this lament is for you.

Life once fluttered around your shoulders

shimmered as it nested in your hair

chirping and humming as the air filled with light.

It lies broken now beneath the earth.

I too, have been marked with ashes

the dust of ancient hosannas

and so we meet death in each other's eyes.

Beneath the shroud of water and cloud

the throaty wail begins.

This lament is for you.

For you behind the windowpane

with prickling skin and ragged palms

as raindrops melt the waxen glass

you who have no name.

Behind this jail of ashen skin

we strain to hear the rooftops wail

in the dusky moments before breath

we wait for the creak of footsteps on the stair

for the rustle and murmur from corners of the room

for the ancient words that light the air

“Talitha Koum! Little girl, get up!

You no longer dwell in the cold, dark places

the death-fumed spaces

You are named in to life!

Exhale the stale air of the tomb,

you are fresh and new! Get up!”

But today the stench of decay

hangs in the folds of cloth

as my palm meets yours across the glass

we are blue-lipped with death

we have not yet learned to breathe

Let the Naming begin.

Walking the Dog in the Moonlight

His breath exhales like a steam engine

into the clear darkness

chugging along this gravel track

intent on a scent imprinted on the road

fully given over to the mystery

of those who came before.

The stars gleam haughtily from their perch

like birds of prey

coolly observing our shadows

cast by the sickled moon.

My nose turns up, straining

to catch the scent of things to come.

We pause where the road bends beneath

the ash tree

its silhouette a paper cutout

against the moonlit barn.

And I wonder about Abraham

twenty years after that night, 

clinging to a promise

grown paper-thin with time

crying at the stars

“How long, O Lord?”

Until, perhaps, he did not cry out at all

but only stood bent and still

listening to the deep hum of nothing,

breath swirling away from the

goat-skinned flaps of his tent.

Morning Walk

I stumbled today

in my own footprints

embedded in the morning path

I have daily walked

with half-closed eyes

the world a peripheral blur

and with my hands in the earth

a spider's lacy web

drew my eyes up to the trees

she crocheted herself, speckled

across the trail

alluring me through her doorway of mindfulness,

of beauty transient

on my knees

the soft, white underbelly

of a thousand leaves

invited me to honor each luminous vein

and through the green-gray trunks

a fawn stilt-walked

among the milkweed

the thick sheet of haze

parted

and the blue hills rolled on

and on

Oh, daily, Lord

turn these downcast eyes to You

and all your faces.

Poem of the...fortnight?

If there is anything redemptive about August in Virginia, it's the abundance of things fresh and crips from the vine/bush/tree.  Today at lunch I ate entirely too many cherries and remembered this poem, written last summer during cherry season.  Thought I would share one of the things that helps me survive the southern summer!

The Orchard

Leaves of light flank the painted mountains

like ladder rungs under the press of sky

in the weight of morning we walk the dusty road.

The world is cool beneath the branches of the cherry tree

limbs trembling with vermillion orbs

that glow like bulbs and lay hot in the palm

the electric sun longs to bake the flesh into

crisp pies and sticky jams

The earth is good. It slakes our thirst

with taut fruits and foamy soil

we are our true selves as sweetness

runs down our chins and stains our fingernails

The flies buzz their hallelujahs

around our ears

and old women in scarves

hold fistfulls of cherries and chuckle

in a language we do not know.

Poem of the Day

Carpet

I saw once in Jaipur an upper room

filled with rows of boys

embroidering saris

stretched taut on open frames

kneeling

their eyes squinting close as the golden thread

vanished and appeared in the silk.

In the room below, a wiry man

flung water from buckets over

freshly-woven carpet.

Whiskered, shirtless,

he brushed the water with

a bundle of reeds

to open the fibers.

Vibrant blues and crimsons

bloomed through the soap suds

with each swishing stroke.

The factory owner surveyed his kingdom

with knees spread wide

lauding the workmanship

driving a bargain

dressing the floors of my home.

His belly ballooned over its

gleaming belt buckle

oiled shoes two-stepping

back from the sludge.

The man with the reeds

bent sharply at the waist

peering closely at the golden weave

refusing to lift his eyes.

Poem of the Day

In honor of my favorite time of day...

Compline

Sleep
is falling
off the bright
ledge of the world
into the arms
of God.

Ordinary

Without apologies or explanation, lets just say I'm venturing into the blogging world again.  This time without any agenda but to share the weight and wonder I keep finding ordinary life.  Without further ado, here is the first venture, my poem of the day.

 Public Library

There is a woman in the corner

beneath the plate-glass window

she clutches her belongings in a canvas sack

its seam slowly unraveling

she mutters stories to herself

and any who will hear

as if she were the children's librarian

gathering a semi-circle of bodies at her feet

hands animated, eyes laughing

as if she were the book itself

the afternoon sun

spilling upon her open pages

I am sitting on the red carpet two shelves over

reading Rita Dove

I cannot hold on to the poem in my hands

I hear only this poem in my ears

47 Days.

That's right. I've been stateside for 47 days. The past month and a half are what I am referring to as forced rest. Because, you see, I'm not so sure I want to be resting anymore. I'm starting to get a little bit antsy. But God knows I need this time to recover from a beautiful but exhausting six months. Not to mention the exhausting four years prior to that. So the fact that I haven't yet found a job has been a blessing. Its provoked good self-reflection, prayer, and joyful times with family and friends. And I have eaten a lot of Bodo's. As a matter of fact, I've done quite a few things! Here are just a few:

Visiting friends in NoVa. Highlights: Anna's baby belly, and my conversion to being a soy milk drinker, thanks to Chris. The Lowlight? Driving to Dulles Airport during the Marine Corps Marathon.

Girls' Getaway to Colorado Springs with my sister. Highlights: Illegal scrambling in Garden of the Gods, Dunkin' Donuts, knitting hats at midnight. Lowlight: Two hours on the runway in Denver, waiting to be de-iced.

Graves Mountain Apple Festival. Highlights: Time with the fam. Apple doughnuts. Lowlight: It. was. cold.

North Carolina! Highlights: Seeing old friends. Uptown Life Group. Wandering around Greensboro with Brooke. Lowlight: Culture Shock at South Park Mall. Tears ensued.

Blackfrier's THeater in Staunton. Highlights: Good company. Good coffee. Elizabethan theater does "Total eclipse of the heart." Lowlight: Kline's closes at 9:30?!

Like I said, it's been good.

Thoughts on returning to America

1. Indian cockroaches keep crawling out of my clothing. I hope this doesn't get me in trouble with US Immigration; they already confiscated my British apple.

2. Virginia apples are so delicious.

3. Dear Old Navy: Thank you for saying that long tops and bright colors are in style. I just might survive here if you would only turn off your AC.

4. I am cold.

5. Dear exercise-obsessed people at Gold's Gym: maybe you should take up rice farming.

6. Dear Silver Honda Civic: I am so sorry I was ever embarrassed about the big ol' dent in your door. I have realized how nice you really are. And I can't remember the last time I was in a car without ten other people.

7. Would it be totally innapropriate to walk around town in a sari?

8. I can call people without having to calculate the time difference!

9. I am in love with thirty people on the other side of the world.

10. I think about them fifty times a day.

11. I'm not who I was.

Abundant August

August has been busy--abundant in both joy and stress. Typhoid fever, malaria, scabies, scarlet fever, TB...I've been getting a crash course in tropical medicine! But by far, the best part of the month was a visit from my Momma! Y'all, she is amazing. She ate with her hands, slept under a mosquito net, survived rickshaw rides, and had some really amazing and productive time with the kids here. I dare you to show me a more supportive, brave mom! Plus, she took lots of pictures with her camera, so now I have photos of myself to prove to you that I am really here!



Medicine Time!


We went for a walk but discovered the path was impassibly flooded!


My housemates


The view from my (former) back window

Making fast friends


Recently, some of the teenaged girls borrowed my camera to have a little fun. They took lots of pictures, including this:


And this:


and this...




I love that one of the boys is completely airborne


And of course I couldn't resist a picture of me in a sari. It doesn't come out every day, you know.


And finally, some pictures of yet another glorious monsoon sunset.

I wish that I could tell you...

I have regretted more than once how little I’ve written here about my time in India. I could give a number of reasons, like inconsistent internet, slow computers, or the time I washed my flash drive in a bucket with my dirty laundry. But beyond all of these things I am grappling with thoughts and emotions, experiences and memories that are too close to the heart to reveal to you fully. I’m fearful, perhaps, that if I told you what I wish I could that it would be too heavy a burden for you to bear. Because I’m not certain you want to hear it, or what you would do with the knowledge that I now carry.

How can I explain to you the things that confront me daily? Like the time that one of the women here, who was rescued from sex trafficking by IJM, asked me to teach her to read and she picked up the book in front of me, which happend to be Good News About Injustice. Or how about one of our boys, who has half the local town rallied against him because they learned he is HIV positive and they don’t want him in school with their children. Or the signs of abuse I discover on the bodies of children when I apply scabies lotion. How can I explain the chills that run over my body when a child tells me the horrors of living on a railway platform? Or a child, who in the delirium of typhoid fever, calls out all night long for the mother she lost long ago. Or a boy who was infected with HIV by the blood transfusion that saved his life when he was a baby. Or the confusion on a child’s face when he asks, “how long do I have to take this medicine?” and I answer. “For the rest of your life.”

How can I share the intense faith of children who have faced every kind of evil, yet trust in Jesus with their whole beings? Who pray desperately for rain in the midst of a drought, and God sends rain? What words do I have to tell about the love that God gives me daily, which reaches far beyond my own capacity to love?

Its not that I have nothing to write about, its that I just can’t find the words…

If Might be Monsoon If...

It Might be Monsoon If…

1) Its been six weeks since you saw the sun

2) Your jeans are growing fungus

3) You wade through ankle-deep water without breaking stride

4) You blow-dry your pillow every night before bed

5) You think crocs are the best invention of the past 10 years

6) You dry your wet laundry by wearing it

7) You own a raincoat that goes down to your ankles

8) Catching crabs is your kids’ favorite activity--but you’re nowhere near the sea

9) When power cuts plunge the room into pitch darkness, there’s not even a pause in the conversation

Can you picture my life, now?

Rachel Goes North

Last week, I traveled with my co-worker Sabrina up to northern India. Sabrina was scoping out organizations to work with in the future, and I was the trusty traveling companion who was happy to have a change of scenery. We had a whirlwind trip and saw a bunch of different projects. I thought of writing out a detailed account of the trip for you, but even I don’t want to read all of that. So here are a few highlights (or lowlights) of each day.

Day 1: Mumbai- Rode on five trains. Drank a real café mocha. At Victoria Station, was sorely tempted to dance like in Slumdog Millionaire.

Overnight: Kept awake on the Rajdani Express by sonorous snoring from a nearby berth. After falling asleep, was awakened when every cell phone in the train car got a text message when we crossed a state line. “Welcome to Gujarat! Welcom to Harayana! Welcome to Mahdya Pradesh!”

Day 2: Woke up grumpy but was cheered up by our friend the coffee-walla. In New Delhi, visited both Café Coffee Day (the Indian version of Starbucks) locations in Connaught Place. Went shopping in Main Bazaar. Tried not to melt in the heat. Was unsuccessful. Boarded train number six to Dehra Dun.

Day 3: Woke up in Dehra Dun station. Not sure how long we had been sleeping after the train arrived. (Ooops.) Boarded a bus to Mussoorie, a beautiful hill station in the mountains. Enjoyed scenic views of mist and rock. Prayed our speeding bus would not fly off the side of the mountain.

Day 4: Walked up the mountain in Mussoorie. And down the mountain. And up. And down. Finally had to confront how out of shape I have become. Bought homemade peanut butter and yak cheese at Sister’s Bazaar. Watched an amazing sunset over the Gwalior hills.

Day 5: Back down the mountain into the Doon Valley. (“Doon” means “valley,” of course, but Indians are fond of repeating words in general.) Prayed our speeding taxi wouldn’t fly off the side of the mountain. Noticed the following words on a sign on the side of the road: “the hills are lonely, barren, and steep, and I have miles to go before I sleep.” Was Robert Frost writing poetry to warn Indian truckers not to get drowsy? Arrived at Herbertpore Community Hospital, which is run by the Emmanuel Health Association. Was served the one meal I had hoped to leave behind at PB--egg curry.

Day 6: Took a tour of Herbertpore Community Hospital. Took a three-hour nap.

Day 7: Two words to describe Dehra Dun: hot and crowded. Went to (you guessed it) Café Coffee Day. Heard some good news from an old friend that made me smile.

Day 8: Dehra Dun: visited a cool project called SNEHA. They run schools, healthcare, and community empowerment projects for the slums in the city. Bill Clinton donated their computers.

Day 9: Arrived in Delhi on the overnight train. Had beef burgundy and mashed potatoes for lunch at the Canadian Embassy. I like my new-found Canadian friends. Had fun wandering around New Delhi for the second time in a week.

Day 10: A plane, and train, and an auto rickshaw to get back to Igatpuri!

Here’s one more recap:
11.7 kilos of stuff in my backpack
8 trains
7 visits to Café Coffee Day
6 pairs of earrings haggled over in Delhi
5 times we went out to eat paneer paranthas
4 NGOs visited
3 jars of homemade peanut butter
2 girls with colds
1 tired traveller!
Countless times we were asked “From which country?”
Countless times we were asked if we were married (the answer’s always “yes”)
Countless cows in the middle of the road
Infinite joy upon arrival back at Purnata Bhavan!
And now, for some pictures!

The joy of waking up after another night on a train!


My attempt to take pictures out the window of the taxi. This is drivin through the Doon Valley.


More picture attempts--with crooked results.


Sunset in beautiful Mussoorie.


The view from our friend Susi's house



And the sky just kept getting better and better!


Okay, just one more.


Yeah, we lugged those backpacks all over India!

Happy Birthday Mom!

Light some candles and put on your party hats--its my Momma's birthday! Happy Birthday, Mom! (Mom, I won't tell how many candles are on your cake if you promise to eat some for me.)

Finally, some photos!

I know, I know, I've made too many promises to post some pictures from the past few weeks. My limited internet access made it a little difficult to upload some pics. Sorry it has taken so long! Without further ado, here they are:


Puppies! One of PB's four dogs gave birth to seven puppies a few weeks ago. The children creatively named them names like George, Rod, Tyrone, and Max (sounds like the members of an eighties hair band). But of course, eleven dogs are far too many for the amount of land here, so all but one of the puppies have mysteriously dissappeared since the taking of this photo. We keep telling the children they have gone to a "new home," but I haven't bothered to ask where this new home is. I'm not sure I want to know.


Here are some of the kids playing Karom on the veranda. This is one of the most popular afternoon activities, second to cricket, of course.


Future Bollywood stars?


We had a going-away party for one of the girls here who left to live with some family. A party's not a party without games, so we played "stomp on everyone else's balloon without having yours burst." No, I didn't win the staff round, but I wasn't the first out, either.


Here's a picture from one of my favorite walks around PB. PB is the cluster of white buildings in the center of the photo.


The walk takes me past some rice fields and berry bushes and ends overlooking a beautiful, green valley. The temptation to explore further died when the kids told me stories about the tigers and snakes that live down there!


While all of the children were visiting families in Mumbai last week, the staff went to a wedding! I want to know where I can get a tent like that!


Here we are, awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom.


First rainfall of the year. Monsoon is on the way, and I need to buy a raincoat.


Last weekend I went to Mumbai to stay with some Oasis staff. The woman I stayed with lives north of the city where it fades into fishing villages. She took me to the yard where the fishing boats are built.






We wandered around an old Portuguese fort. I was told Bombay was given to the Portuguese as a dowry while the Tudors ruled in England. Can someone correct my world history?








That's all for now, folks. I need to buy some new batteries for my camera after all this photo taking!

Aruna

Sachin disappeared into the darkness before me like a train into the mouth of a tunnel. From my place in the sunlight, I peered into the dim hallway, trying to make sense of the surroundings. A woman perched on a stool in a doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the lighted room behind her. Somewhere far above us, a dog began to bark. One woman smiled at us as she peered out from her room; another turned her face and melted into the shadows. It was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. We were walking into a brothel.

The Oasis staff at the Aruna project work on Grant Road, one of Mumbai’s red light areas. “Aruna” is Hindi for “bright morning sun,” and the project is truly a bright presence in a very dark place. The drop-in center provides outreach to women and men in the area by offering counseling, events, connections to medical care, and assistance to those who want to leave the trade. They run programs for children of prostitutes and make referrals to International Justice Mission when they have information about minors forced into sex work. As part of the ministry, the staff daily go out onto the streets and into the brothels to pursue relationships with the women and invite them to Aruna’s programs. And in the midst of these places, they pray

As we climbed the dim, creaking staircase, I looked nervously around. What if the pimp sees us? Do we have to have his permission to come here? It turns out the Aruna staff have befriended many of the pimps and the madams as well, even some regular customers. Their compassion and love make no distinctions; all are in need of love, hope, and deliverance. My own ability to love seems withered and frail in comparison.

We stopped at each doorway, chatting with anyone who would take the time. I introduced myself and exhausted my limited Hindi time and time again. As I smiled and laughed and made small talk, my mind struggled to comprehend the abuse that takes place within those very walls. To think that many women were tricked into the lifestyle or sold by someone they trusted, to think vast profit was made by such pain…I wasn’t sure I could do this--it was too hard. Suddenly, in that dim hallway, I realized that I was witnessing the miraculous. As water dripped from the ceiling and pooled on the swollen floor, words of compassion flowed from the lips of the Aruna staff. Between the lines of sodden laundry, the very air around us seemed to sparkle, thick with love.

So at the end of the afternoon I left Aruna not in despair, but with hope. Women wearing heavy make-up lined the streets and watched us as we walked to the train station. The love I had witnessed must have been infectious; I was amazed at the compassion welling up inside of me. I know that God is at work in this very place. It is not too dark or too broken for him. He has not abandoned the men, women, and children on Mumbai’s red light areas. And I have been humbled by this glimpse of His love.

See Rachel Run!

One of the hardest things to adjust to in India is the fact that I am stared at wherever I go. Yesterday I traveled to Mumbai on a medical trip with one of the children and, especially in the train stations, I attracted attention by just breathing. I realize that my fair hair and sunburned nose will always keep me disappearing in the crowd, but you’d think I’d just sprouted a third arm or turned purple.
When we boarded our train to come back to Igatpuri, we climbed onto the wrong car. We were assigned to car S10, so logically we climbed onto the car next to S9. Unfortunatly, logic did not prevail, since the S10 car was conveniently located at the other end of the train. Since we were not allowed to pass through the air-conditioned first class cars which stood between us and our destination, the only option was to make a run for it when the train stopped at the next station. We had about thirty seconds to pass twelve cars and make it to our own.
You can imagine it, can’t you? The sweating, sunburned American at full speed, weaving through crowds of passengers, dupatta streaming out behind her. And, of course, hundreds of pairs of eyes followed my dash down the whole length of the platform, watching the white girl run.
We found our seats in the proper car and I propped my feet up and watched Mumbai fade away through the bars on the window. I was lost in the Maharashtra landscape for some time before I noticed a man a few seats over watching me. He spent the rest of the two-hour train ride staring in my direction. Non maliciously, not suggestively, just…staring. I’m not even sure that he blinked. Oh well. I turned back to the window and decided to just let it go. Its just one part of the whole cross-cultural adventure. But honestly, could anyone possibly be that interesting?

Purnata Bhavan

You may be glad to know that I am alive and well and in India! I arrived at Purnata Bhavan last Monday after a three-hour car journey from Mumbai. The cluster of buildings which makes up the home sits surrounded by mountains that have been carved out by centuries of wind. Everything is pretty dry and dusty right now, but I’m told the hills turn bright green in almost an instant when the monsoon arrives. Not only is it dry, but the weather sure is HOT! it’s a little bit like living in the cabins at Camp Lurecrest on the very hottest days of the summer. But my windows open wide, and the breeze is lovely.

My MJH coworkers will be glad to see a picture of this:

But they may be surprised to hear that its just as easy to use this:

Since we’re getting personal, want to see where I take my bucket baths?

Oh, but just look at the view from the building where I stay! How could I not love it?

I began Easter morning by sitting on a grassy hillside by a mango tree with thirty-some children and staff. We sang Hindi songs (I hummed) and prayed and watched the sun spread its light all around us. Looking at the children, it amazed me to think that they have all been rescued from difficult circumstances. Many have lost their parents to AIDS, some grew up on the platforms of the railway stations, some were trafficked. Some struggle daily for the health of their bodies. But joy seems to fill every nook and cranny at PB. So I found great hope knowing that, though far from complete, the healing process has begun.

England!

I have made it safely across the pond! I arrived in London early Monday morning, and after a nap, my lovely host Nicki took me around the city! No, I didn't see the crown jewels or guards with furry hats, but I got a great panoramic view from the London Eye! (Note above photo.) After a whirlwind experience of the Tube, the Thames, and the West End, I'm already looking for "the loo" and managing to open double doors on the left side. I'm in Hertfordshire, about an hour and a half north of London. My schedule is packed with cross-cultural training on HIV, boundaries, and communicating across cutures. Its busy, busy, busy until I fly out of Heathrow Saturday morning.
Its been wonderful to meet many of the Oasis staff, to learn more about the organization and the amazing things that are occurring around the world! I still haven't quite figured out how to sleep at the right time, but that'll all change soon anyway. And as I learned from working night shift, and little melatonin works wonders.
Thanks to all my well-wishers and encouragers. I miss you all already! Don't worry, I'll update again soon--next post, Mumbai!