Thanksgiving in the Slum

Sometimes I'm just really happy that this is the family I got when I married Aaron.

This was in my inbox last week from my MIL.

Hi all,

It's November again and I think you know what that means: turkey, stuffing, green beans, pumpkin pies, dirty dishes, sore feet, and a long walk down the dirt road.

You and anyone you might want to bring along are all invited.

RSVP by November 22 - the Sunday before - so I can buy and thaw enough turkey and strategically attempt to seat squeeze everyone into the same room to sup together.

WHAT TO BRING - As always, I'll do the turkeys, stuffing, gravy, and mashed potatoes and drinking water. The rest is up to y'all. To ensure a really grand feast, family groups should mastermind both a side dish and a dessert. The rest of you, all I can say is don't come empty handed.

HOW TO PREPARE - We've all heard and some of us have seen, that even if we have to check under the couch cushions for gas money, we are still better off than the rest of the world. We have MUCH to be thankful for. This year we are taking the opportunity to spread our thanks to the other side of the world.

There is a family I know who live in one of the slums of Visak in India. One of their daughters has been blessed to live and study at Grace Life kid's hostels. Her name is Usha and she is a beautiful teenage lover of Jesus. The last time I was there, her family asked if I would come to their home and walk through the slum to their relative's home to pray for their nephew who lay paralyzed from the chest down from falling off a 3rd story roof. I did and I hope I never forget the honor it was being invited into such a situation.

Usha's parents and young siblings are literal, glowing lights in the darkness of the demonic and Hindu slum they live in. Their hut seems to shine at the end of a long, dark tunnel, but it's some kind of spiritual optical illusion. The path, under the open sky and a few overhanging branches is in full light of day, while their hut is so dark they have to guide me in. A filtered light falls from the smoke hole in the back room they've designated as the 'kitchen'. Their beds are a piece of dirty fabric on the concrete slab they are so happy to have under part of their plank and metal sheeting home. A fan hangs from the ceiling of the little room where everyone sleeps. It's wires threaten to strangle me. The blade hits my head even though I'm already stooping. But this family sparkles with joy.

Usha's little sister was born prematurely and suffers from seizures and is "different". Her mother hip holds her 4 year old frame and asks me to pray for her, but before I can open my mouth, the little girl reaches out and touches my chest and then my head, while looking steadily, lovingly into my eyes, and speaks words that might be Hindi or Telegu or some construction of her own and I receive the purest, straight from Jesus, blessing ever. Not because it was sweet having a little kid 'bless' me, but because it was the purest, straight from Jesus, blessing ever. She did it to me twice and I was nearly undone by the deep joy that filled me. And then there was outright laughing when I asked what her name was and they said it was Blessy.

It is very easy to see the Kingdom of God in this slum. The Light is life radiating out of and around this family. The path that leads to their little home is a gauntlet of dark, heavy, empty eyed families spilling out of their huts. There is no light in the eyes that stare back at me. Not even a glimmer.

Jesus said it is more blessed to give than receive. I want us to thank Him for that dynamic this Thanksgiving and get in on that blessing by collecting our extras for Usha's family as they love and follow Jesus in this visibly dark and demonic place. I want them to know that the family of God is proud of them and 'with' them and willing to share what they have with them. I'm not asking for a lot, just the extras that can be collected during this month leading up to Thanksgiving. The pennies and dimes you see on the street. The change you find under the cushions. The coins that fill up the little compartments in your dash, on your dresser, in the bottom of your purse. Bring it on Thanksgiving and I will send it to Kell Frandsen of Grace Life Ministries to deliver to Usha's family.

To be honest. I haven't got very much spare change at all this month. Several weeks without paying work tends to do that to a family. Sometimes I like to think I'm exempt from these things because of all the work and sacrifice we already do to help people. But the truth is that I still have way more, that I don't really need, when I'm honest with myself. I can afford to give something.

For people who live on less than a dollar a day even $5 is a huge gift.

I've set up a donate button for Usha's family. It occurred to me that some of you might like the chance to pitch in your pocket change as well. So I asked her if I could post her letter here. I have learned to see an opportunity to give as a gift in itself, that I need to give to people. Some of you taught me that, when you wrote to thank me for giving you a chance to help in a meaningful way when we started The Charis Project. So here you go.

One Thousand Gifts-Week 38

A quiet night at home, just me and my little girl.

Silly buns with friends.

Watching Little lay out the cards for a game of memory. The level of concentration is astounding.

My kids all singing together, "Twinkle twinkle little star".

Laughter from the bathroom where they're supposed to be brushing their teeth.


Little money for groceries. But there are free guava everywhere around here. They use the trees for landscaping. The Girl loves to pick them and bring them home to eat.

Quiet children, heads bent in concentration, diligently working on their writing assignments.

Man humming a tune as he sorts laundry.

I let Little walk to visit a friend this week by herself while I watched across the courtyard until she reached the door safe. She looked behind her at least three times as she crossed, to make sure I was still watching, before waving goodbye at the door.

Those little hard and sweet fall apples that smell amazing.

Walking all together, no agenda, just walking all together outside. And climbing a bunch of stuff too.

Hugs from my Boy that he doesn't break.

Lavender flowers in my tea.

That concentration.

My lovely SIL.

Dinner with friends. Good food, good wine, good conversation.

Little-'Mommy, you cute!'

Bouncing

Long talks with the man I love.

The gratitude community is here.

7 quick takes

1. This is the latest video by my friends Levi and Jesse from Drawn from Water.

Drawn From Water, Adopt from Drawn From Water on Vimeo.

I want to adopt one of these babies so bad. If I could figure out how to pay for the whole thing I would. In a heartbeat.

2. I walk very early in the morning around what is essentially a little treed courtyard beside my apartment. I go in circles, that way I can hear if one of the kids wakes up and needs me while I am walking.

Given the hour, I hear my neighbor's alarm clocks when they start to go off as I pass by. This has raised a question.

How on earth is it humanly possible for some people to let their alarm keep going, for 5-10-15 minutes without shutting it off? Does anyone really sleep that soundly? And even if a grown up could manage it, who are these children who aren't woken up by that sound?

My mind is completely boggled.

3. I was due this month. The realization has crept up on me. I have crying fits all over again. This is all I'm going to write about it because I would prefer not to write long mournful posts on the subject. Though I think it's partly to blame for yesterday's sad mournful post about the Girl. November might be sad. You have been warned.

4. I'm almost finished with a children's book I'm writing. I love, love, love it. I also love that my SIL is illustrating it. It is an attempt to show small girls that real beauty comes from the heart, in a way that will engage even very small brains. We have plans for a series. You can be sure to hear more about that as time goes by.

5. I have mice. I caught a glimpse of one on Friday, sneaking along my kitchen floor. My first thought was, "That must be an exceptionally large spider over there that I saw it moving from over here... oh crap that is gray and furry, it's disappearing behind the trash can, find it, get it out NOW!!!" Then I dumped an almost sleeping Little on the couch while I went on a rampage behind the trash can. But of course, it was no where to be found.

I figure the colder weather drove it indoors. Though it's not cold enough that my patio door next to my kitchen where it came in was closed mid afternoon. Pest control arrives tomorrow. In one week it has managed to poop all over the cupboard under my sink, on all my clean towels of course, gnaw a hole in the base board next to the dishwasher, and wreak havoc on my sanity.

I want it gone! But I don't want it poisoned, because I have visions of it creeping somewhere completely inaccessible before it dies and smelling the rotting carcass for months on end. And I don't like glue traps because I don't want to find a mouse, dead, alive, or half dead in one of those. I will ask the pest control people if they come back to check the traps, in which case, I'll just do my best to pretend I don't know about them.

6. Sorry, this one is about mice too. I worked in a greenhouse one winter of my college days. They left poison out to control the mouse problem so every so often we would find dead mice between the rows. The mice we found were all deer mice, which are known carriers of the hantavirus. There was a protocol for disposing of the corpses that involved putting on mask and gloves, disposing of mouse, disposing of mask, and finally tossing the gloves so as to not get sick. I was the one to deal with every dead mouse found on my shift. My co workers were too squeamish. Lest you think that any of my previous comments on the subject are indicative of general ladylike delicacy. I am rarely ladylike. I, alas, do not faint either, except once, from blood loss in childbirth, which was in itself not very ladylike at all. Womanly, but not ladylike.

7.
I just found out that there is an entire free Charlotte Mason Curriculum at Ambleside Online, using mostly books that are available for free download as well. How cool. Especially for someone who wants to home school but worries about the cost. If you don't know about Charlotte Mason they tell you about her teaching philosophy as well. Hers was the idea that young minds should be stimulated, with real literature, the outdoors, discussion, etc. There's a whole lot more to it than that and you can find it if you're interested.

HT to Notable Blogger

As always, thanks Jen@Conversion Diary for hosting these.

Confessions

"Mama. Mama. Mama," she calls, "Just one more thing."

My hand hovers on the doorknob, poised for escape. On the other side of that door is sweet relief that I made it through another day, quiet, and time to myself, time to get things done. I am almost free, but no.

I sigh, turn back toward her. "What is it sweetie?" I ask, trying to keep the irritation from leaking through.

"Mama? When all your work is done can you come in and lay down next to me? And if I'm awake can you rub my back and sing me a song. But if I'm NOT awake can you still give me a hug and lay down next to me for a little while?"

Every night it's the same question. Usually I cut her off mid sentence, so great is my desire to escape. "Yes, I'll lay down next to you, but you'll probably be asleep by then and won't know it," I hedge. "Goodnight, I love you, go to sleep."

I slip out quickly, hoping to cut off any more talk. I'm done. I'm tired. Bedtime exhausts me and I long for it to end.

Some nights I completely forget to go back into that room before dragging myself into bed several hours later. More than I would like to admit. Some nights I lay down, remember, and get up again to go in and hug her, though she never wakes, so I'll know I kept my promise to her.

I don't go back in before she's asleep if I can avoid it. She takes longer to sleep if I'm in with her, and talks and talks until my mind blanks out entirely and I fall asleep before she does. I can't afford naps like that. They have me up far too late at night, doing work that should have been done earlier. Little still takes so long to get to sleep and I feel I have nothing left for the Girl who has finally learned to fall asleep on her own.

Yet every night she falls asleep, happily hoping that I will come in and spend some extra time with her, sing to her, and rub her back.

I'm aware, as I choose not to most nights, that one day I'll wish I had. One day I will regret not taking the opportunity, every night, to spend some more time with my little girl. She will be all grown up and gone and I will wish I could hold her again and spend more time. I even think to myself that if she were to suddenly die tomorrow, the one thing I would regret the most is not going in before she sleeps and laying down with her and singing to her one last time.

I know this is important, and yet, at the end of the day, it feels impossible. Or I just don't want to. Or both. I feel her question like a weight, another burden added to my already full load. Or perhaps it is my own selfishness that burdens me so, I never can tell.

There are so many choices like this that we parents are confronted with. Pay the bills or read a story? Make a healthy nutritious dinner or play together outside and eat something convenient? Lay down with my little girl, or do work that keeps 35 other children I've never met, and hopefully many more, from starving to death or being sold in the street while mine safely rests in her bed on the other side of the wall.

Sometimes the choices we have to make tear our hearts apart. We can never be present as much as we would like. We will always wonder if in the moments when we are, it is enough? Or at least, I will, every night when I hear, "Just one more thing mama, just one more thing," and then shut the door.

the mouths of babes

She loves princesses. She obsesses about hair and curls and pretty necklaces. Yes, already, at almost 6. I have not encouraged this trend, it's just who she is. She loves to plan things, and sweeps us all along with her schemes and imagining.

A few nights ago we were praying together, as we do every night before bed. After prayer time was over I hurried through the songs and the hugs as fast as I could, because I wanted to get her prayer written down before I forgot it. This is what she prayed.

I pray that you would give Chala and the kids lots of money for food, and that the people who are selling the food would give them change so they can buy more stuff. And I pray that the pigs would not get sick and die so they can sell them for more money. (They are raising pigs for market, but lots of pigs in their area have been dying of sickness.) And I pray that they would not get malaria.

Please make it so that in Burma they aren't killing people anymore and so that the Burmas (sic) don't want to kill the tribes anymore so that when they are driving around they won't be killed. Please make it safe for the tribes, Amen.

What could be left to add but a hearty Amen?

In the end we are all God's children, our understanding always childish compared to His. Yet he invites us still to sit with Him "in heavenly places" Eph. 2:6 and participate with his work/be His presence on this earth.

Do any of us truly understand this?

Yet still we pray. Hopefully with at least as much confidence and trust in His response as a 5 year old girl, who believes she is a princess because her father is a King.

One Thousand Gifts-Week 38

The Girl and Little working together to "make me pretty" by brushing my hair, putting in clips, and putting on all of my necklaces at once.

The starlit sky framed by palm fronds.

Little-Do you want to pway dis game wif me mama?

The Boy's when he smiles.

The Girl laughing while telling me about the dream she just woke up from and thought was real.

Boys swinging swords, practicing to be heroes.

A relaxing, post church beach adventure with friends and family. Perfect temperature, warm, but not hot.

The way waves catch and reflect sunlight in a ceaseless dance of light.

Caves etched in sandstone by waves and tides, inverted trenches with rippling walls as smooth as glass.

I forgot how much fun a game of catch with a frisbee can be.

The Girl singing a new song in the backseat of the car, joyfully off key.

Thousands of tiny, perfect shells smaller than a fingertip.

The love of a husband.

Watching the faces of kids who have seen too much, too young, light up as they have fun.

Remembering that God doesn't abandon us when we make mistakes, and he's not surprised by them either.

(This week I started an experiment. I have such a twitter habit anyway, I started noting gifts in my twitter feed with the hashtag #onethousandgifts. I found I'm catching more things this way, recording them before they slip away. I like the idea of using twitter as place to also give thanks for what He has done, and to join together in doing it. If you want to join just tweet what you're thankful for and add the hashtag at the end.)

You can find the rest of the gratitude community here.

Questions Without Simple Answers

This past week, including tonight, I have seen or heard at least 10 small children crying as they stand outside my apartment. They are fixed in place, staring upward at the window above my front door. The one belonging to my upstairs neighbors. They look like they're going to pee their pants they're so scared and yet they can't look away, and they cry in that panicked sort of way that small children do when their frightened.

This is what they are looking at.

To be fair, I have heard a lot of older kids yelling, "Hey, that's really cool!"

But I don't think it makes up for all the scared little kids.

This is what I hate about Halloween. Most of the year we have a choice about what our children are exposed to, and what we expose ourselves to. But from Sept. 1 to the end of October, we have shoved into our faces, every where we go, images of death and terror. More importantly, our children who have no filters and categories yet for this kind of thing, have it shoved in their faces too.

I don't understand trick or treating because of this either. I understand the fun of dressing up and asking for candy. I don't understand why people think it's fun to scare small children with their decorations and costumes, and I don't understand why parents would take their smallest children to those scary places in return for a handful of junk. I've never actually been trick or treating, so I don't know. Maybe something happens where you learn to conquer your fear? I suspect there are better, healthier ways to teach our children that.

But even if you don't take them trick or treating to scary places, in October a simple walk to the playground can become a terrifying experience for a child, as evidenced by all those I have seen standing outside staring and crying.

I used to object because of the fear that it originated from. If you believe the spirits of the dead can come out and harass you on this night then you darken your home to make it unattractive, dress yourself as a ghost to blend in with all of the real ones and take to the streets of your village to avoid being home when they try to enter. You give money and food away to those who come threatening menace if you don't. You carve a turnip to look like a human skull and place a candle in it to trick the spirits who require human sacrifice into thinking it's already been done.

These are grisly things, and evil. But I could forget about that, since that's not what it's about these days, or so they say. Now it's about the kids, and the candy, and meeting your neighbors. Except when it's not. Fear, and frightening people is still very much the point, however much it's supposed to be the kind that you can laugh off. It's on those grounds that I still object. It's still a night of mischief, it still celebrates fear and death. And it still rubs your face in it in an inescapable way.

What to do with my objection still remains a bit of a puzzle.

There are those who respond to the day by avoiding it altogether, and hide in the back of the house with their lights out.

In response to them is the group who believe that being neighborly and joining in is more important and loving. I think they have a point, but I want to ask them what it is they do on the other 364 days of the year. It's not like you can't cross the street, knock on the door and say, "I made an extra dozen cookies today, would you like some?" on any given Wednesday afternoon.

That's the idea that I find the most compelling. Instead of joining in on a gimme or else night, if we want to care about our neighbors, we can voluntarily give out of love on a consistent basis. Why not invite our neighbors into our homes for a non-scary time of fun?

I like what our church did this year. They held a costume party. Scary costumes were discouraged. There was a climbing wall, bouncers, music, an all you can eat taco stand, and tons of games with prizes for the kids to play. In a way it's silly. Because it's another form of hiding. Everyone go and congregate together and have fun and avoid all those other people who are indulging in the scare factor. But it's also an alternate place to invite people to go, especially for those who aren't sure about opening up their own homes yet.

I have a friend at church who started a non-profit in downtown San Diego that helps refugee families get on their feet once they arrive. They give away furniture, clothes, and toys. They open their doors to let the kids come in and play while their parents find items they need to start life over again. She brought about 50 of those children, and some parents to our church party tonight. Kids from Somalia, Bhutan, and Burma. They had so much fun. There was not a person who could keep from smiling as they shrieked, ran, climbed, ate, won all the games, and paraded their makeshift costumes around.

Would that inviting people in could always be that rewarding.

As you can tell, I'm trying to discover how to take my objection to something that isn't likely to change just because I object to it and turn it into an action, or series of actions, that subverts the dark intent of Halloween. I'm just not sure yet what that is.