“I just can’t sell the idea of spending that much money to go to India, they don’t understand why you need to go to India”
I can understand this point of view, there are a lot of reasons for it, first and foremost, maybe I wasn’t specific enough, maybe it’s simply because I am not well-enough known there, either way this isn’t meant as a rant against anyone, this is me realizing exactly why I am going to go back to India; with or without the apparent money, whether it’s now, or I have to work for it for months…..

There is a little girl, around four years old now, living on the streets of Pune. I held her for hours one day. She sat in my lap and would turn around occasionally to stare up into my eyes with her deep, dark brown ones, they held secrets I will never know, and even at two years old, probably a profound depth of pain and suffering that I will never understand. Sometimes she would sleep, other times she would sit up and laugh and avidly watch what was going on with everyone else in the room. We ate lunch together, both of us dirtying our hands, while I ate steadily, she ate hungrily. I helped her dip sweet biscuits into a cup of chai without spilling it, and without losing the entire biscuit in the chai (it‘s never as fun to drink soggy biscuits). The entire time she latched onto my right hand with her tiny hand. And when the hours were up, I had to let go of that hand. I had to release her - back to the streets. Her older sister picked her up to carry her out the back door, and she looked up at me with those huge, deep eyes, and tears started their journey all the way down her face; they didn’t stop, she kept crying, and trying to get back down to come back in. I couldn’t stare at those eyes anymore, I had to leave the room. I had to leave so she could go back to the streets, I had to leave before I lost my own sanity.

It may not seem valid to go to another country to ‘just hang out’ with some street kids, or other people who live on the streets, or kids who used to but now are fortunate enough to live in a house with people who love them, take care of them, and make sure they have a chance other than the hopeless cycle of life on the streets.
It may seem much more valid to have an organization, some sort of visible project that lasts for a week and demands the sweat of your brow, like building a house or a church. (I am not saying these things aren’t important, I think they all have their place) But wandering around India, feeding random people out of a backpack, spreading Jesus where you can, giving listening ears, eyes to see and weep over, and a broken heart to offer on someone else’s behalf - a pencil and a camera to carry stories to another people who are also in poverty- poverty of love, how is that obsolete? A burning heart to try and get someone to just look into another pair of eyes affected by our way of life, and to get that someone to really look back- and to see, to understand what it is to feel real empathy for someone else, to feel real pain over someone else’s pain, to feel real repentance over our actions, the ones we weren’t aware could cause such pain, and to feel something other than indifference, something other than a cold heart of stone, these things are worth more to me than all the money in the world. How can you even compare the kingdom of God, how can you put God’s love on the same plane as money? They are two entirely different substances.

And it’s true, I don’t necessarily have to go all the way to India to love my neighbor…. Not in the sense that there are plenty of people right here before me to love (which should by no means be neglected either) But if the only way people can learn to love each other is by knowing a bit of them, by being entirely confronted by them and not turning away, then going somewhere, and in a sense bringing those people back with you, is of infinite value. Beyond that, how is it loving on my part, if I know what I do, if I’ve seen what I have, and do nothing, say nothing?


We can’t just keep ignoring our brothers and sisters, our family, while we sit around in all our comfort here. We don’t know what real poverty is, if we want the comfortable life that globalization and our nation’s setup provides for us, then we are also held responsible for those from whom we steal our comfort. We are responsible for those who provide us with an abundance while they have a lack.

We can’t turn our eyes away anymore.

I can’t turn my eyes away anymore.
I’m going back, and I’m bringing their stories, bits of themselves. Jesus gave his life so we could give ours. Let’s not toy around with that. Let’s not ignore blood that was given on our behalf, just for a little bit of fleeting comfort.
I don’t care if people think I’m crazy for it.
I don’t care if they think it’s dangerous or it really is.
My father is going to help me go. And that’s that.

So, a brilliant idea today while flipping through 2009 writer's market book. (these things are enormous, by the way) I was looking for possible magazine's to send articles into in the future, and I think I've found one :

Aventura

no joke. honestly.

....it very well might not get published...but who knows, miracles happen. ...and if I have something to say, I have something to say to these people too. They deserve the privilege of looking into another pair of eyes and seeing something worthy to cause compassion.

anyway, if anyone has any great ideas of how to get to india for really cheap.... really soon.... please let me in on the secret. i'm pretty determined to go back for a couple months.

...... But we all die someday.

I'm lying on the hard floor, reading of India by the blazing woodstove. The narrative weaves in and out of modern day India, then moves onto the problems faced by a society if they want to keep growing(in a positive manner). Indians seem full of hope and passion that they can change their situation, collectively. I listen to the language of subtle deception; one that preaches hope, one that preaches success, one that promises a better life- one with more ease, one that proclaims people can indeed be lifted out of poverty. But they speak in the language of ethics, they speak in the verbiage of 'prosperity' for all. They speak in statistics and societies and governments. This seems to be a fairly common language for us all, evidently. ...but then the candle is snuffed out, the smoke goes in trails through the air, and I hear words in the silence:

"...but we all die someday"

The dialogue continues, I feel my heart start to contract, in despair I want someone to realize, I want someone to not be disillusioned. I want someone to realize what all this subtle language implies. I want someone to not ignore the fact that we are all of us, while living, hurtling toward death.
I am not negating the importance of some of these things.
What I am saying is that there is a lack.

We speak in technical terms and goals.

But we don't speak in tears and compassion and brokenness and real hope.

We don't speak in the language of love.


We only speak in the language of a fixed world. A better "us" and more comfort and ease.

....but we all die someday.

And really, all this, is it just to provide our own distraction, just to ease the boredom of days gone by and keep our eyes flitting to and fro, but never for one moment contemplating the thought that we are all taking slow and involuntary footsteps toward death? Or the consequences of what this means in relation to the life we live?


I will say it again:

someday I die.

If I don't learn to love like Jesus what else is there?