KodaikanalInternational SchoolChurch
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
images of india [2 = rendu]
entrance to KIS (back view of chapel bell tower)
KIS chapel (front view)
inside the chapel
the flag green = that elevated, oval-shaped patch of grass on which these girls danced around the flag pole for republic day in january
the fiery-headed kid on the left is the one we said goodbye to the other night...the other two trumpets are my dad and my youngest sister, kara
day's work and night games
Psalm 90:1 "LORD, in all generations, you have been our HOME"
it really is such a rush to see a whole hall full
of massive linen bags and trunks and boxes and piles
of clothes, shoes, clocks, lamps, pillows, sports accessories,
whatever the dorm students leave behind at the end of the year
and start to sort it out,
pick out the pairs of shoes and line them up,
stack clothes on different tables according to some system
of types and genders and sizes
so that in a few days all of the school workers
(the ones who sweep the grounds, who dust the desks, who mop the floors, who fix the generators and pumps and wires and roofs, who cook and serve the food, who drive the buses, who clean the toilets and sinks and showers, who set up the sports equipment, who collect the garbage, who really make the school run smoothly)
will be able to come in and pick up their five free items
before we send the rest to Goodwill and Corsock and other local charities
so. much. stuff.
and then to come back to campus in the evening,
hang around flag green while the group gathers for the night games
ready? set, run around in the dark
trying to make it back to the flag pole before getting caught
strange to be the oldest, but the one least familiar with the game...
means i've been gone too long, but easy enough to settle right in,
especially when we sing in church:
"it only takes a spark to get a fire going,
and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing
that's how it is with God's love, once you've experienced it
you spread his love to everyone, you want to pass it on
what a wondrous time is spring, when all the trees are budding
the birds begin to sing, the flowers start their blooming
that's how it is with God's love, once you experience it
you want to sing, it's fresh like spring, you want to pass it on
i wish for you, my friend, this happiness that i've found
you can depend on him, it matters not where you're bound
i'll shout it from the mountaintop (hey world!) i want my world to know
the Lord of love has come to me, i want to pass it on"
(otherwise known as the Arson Song)
ending the evening with a silly-dance in the middle of Seven Roads,
standing on top of the little dinky traffic island
with whitewashed rocks sticking out of the round cement structure,
illegal water trucks rumbling through the intersection,
a few drunken tourists stumbling to their hotels
and a group of kodai staff kids reluctant to go home at midnight
coz we have to say goodbye to one who is leaving the next morning
just a normal day and night
here
in my temporary home
just another reason to store
treasure in heaven, instead
it really is such a rush to see a whole hall full
of massive linen bags and trunks and boxes and piles
of clothes, shoes, clocks, lamps, pillows, sports accessories,
whatever the dorm students leave behind at the end of the year
and start to sort it out,
pick out the pairs of shoes and line them up,
stack clothes on different tables according to some system
of types and genders and sizes
so that in a few days all of the school workers
(the ones who sweep the grounds, who dust the desks, who mop the floors, who fix the generators and pumps and wires and roofs, who cook and serve the food, who drive the buses, who clean the toilets and sinks and showers, who set up the sports equipment, who collect the garbage, who really make the school run smoothly)
will be able to come in and pick up their five free items
before we send the rest to Goodwill and Corsock and other local charities
so. much. stuff.
and then to come back to campus in the evening,
hang around flag green while the group gathers for the night games
ready? set, run around in the dark
trying to make it back to the flag pole before getting caught
strange to be the oldest, but the one least familiar with the game...
means i've been gone too long, but easy enough to settle right in,
especially when we sing in church:
"it only takes a spark to get a fire going,
and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing
that's how it is with God's love, once you've experienced it
you spread his love to everyone, you want to pass it on
what a wondrous time is spring, when all the trees are budding
the birds begin to sing, the flowers start their blooming
that's how it is with God's love, once you experience it
you want to sing, it's fresh like spring, you want to pass it on
i wish for you, my friend, this happiness that i've found
you can depend on him, it matters not where you're bound
i'll shout it from the mountaintop (hey world!) i want my world to know
the Lord of love has come to me, i want to pass it on"
(otherwise known as the Arson Song)
ending the evening with a silly-dance in the middle of Seven Roads,
standing on top of the little dinky traffic island
with whitewashed rocks sticking out of the round cement structure,
illegal water trucks rumbling through the intersection,
a few drunken tourists stumbling to their hotels
and a group of kodai staff kids reluctant to go home at midnight
coz we have to say goodbye to one who is leaving the next morning
just a normal day and night
here
in my temporary home
just another reason to store
treasure in heaven, instead
blip
beep...99.1...beep...100.4...beep...101.6...beep...102.7...beep...
burning-sweating vs. shivering-shaking = frustratingly febrile
downing brufen like lifebreath and getting nowhere
finally visit the dish (the school clinic) to be diagnosed with tonsilitis,
dumped with a packet of meds
of which my nurse-mother advises me to skip most,
just take the antibiotic azithromycin
drink this lime juice, sip this barley-soup broth,
slurp this rice and russum
curl on the couch for a couple days
home is the best place to be sick anyway, don't be sorry
and beep...101.4...beep...99.6...beep...96.1? haha
i'm fine...it was just a blip ;)
burning-sweating vs. shivering-shaking = frustratingly febrile
downing brufen like lifebreath and getting nowhere
finally visit the dish (the school clinic) to be diagnosed with tonsilitis,
dumped with a packet of meds
of which my nurse-mother advises me to skip most,
just take the antibiotic azithromycin
drink this lime juice, sip this barley-soup broth,
slurp this rice and russum
curl on the couch for a couple days
home is the best place to be sick anyway, don't be sorry
and beep...101.4...beep...99.6...beep...96.1? haha
i'm fine...it was just a blip ;)
Thursday, May 24, 2007
graduation gala: their beautiful existence
fresh flowers garland the chapel
pews packed with impatient parents-turned-photographers
processional of the students two-by-two up the aisle
to wed themselves to gratitude for what this school has given them
and to possibilities for their futures out in the human race
"be thou my vision..." to see your beauty in every baccalaureate face
"morning has broken..." on the festivities to farewell them from this place
"and he will raise you up on eagle's wings,
bear you on the breath of dawn,
make you to shine like the sun,
and hold you in the palm of his hand"
benediction and recessional,
round tables dotting the covered courts,
set with the school's fancy creamy-speckled ceramic plates, cups etc,
con candles, foil-wrapped chocolates, slightly doctored bottles of KISAQUA ^_^
commencement took place the next morning on the covered courts,
oh weirdness seeing all those little people on the stage,
seeing another valedictorian cry through words of love to her classmates
poitavanga, go and come;
poitavarain, you will see me again
then the semi-circle line-up to shake their hands,
hug the tearful ones, take pictures,
spin around with my sister for a few minutes,
go get milk-tea and mixture and date bars
on plates of banana leaves and newspaper sewn together
stand in the sun, sit on the warm stone wall
say hello, hello, hello, to former teachers and dormparents and ayahs
say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to the graduates
adios; va y ven; poitavanga, personas bellas
pews packed with impatient parents-turned-photographers
processional of the students two-by-two up the aisle
to wed themselves to gratitude for what this school has given them
and to possibilities for their futures out in the human race
"be thou my vision..." to see your beauty in every baccalaureate face
"morning has broken..." on the festivities to farewell them from this place
"and he will raise you up on eagle's wings,
bear you on the breath of dawn,
make you to shine like the sun,
and hold you in the palm of his hand"
benediction and recessional,
round tables dotting the covered courts,
set with the school's fancy creamy-speckled ceramic plates, cups etc,
con candles, foil-wrapped chocolates, slightly doctored bottles of KISAQUA ^_^
the menu: sweet lime water, dragon fish, stir fried vegetables, steamed rice, chicken tikka, mint chutney, dhall makhani, palak paneer, parathas, pappadam, curd, chocolate cake and kulfi, mmm
the speaker for the evening was Paul Wiebe, who was principal of KIS from 1986-2001, but attended it and served in various capacities on staff and board since 1930-something. PhD in sociology, a history buff, sort of a Santa Claus figure in the way of his generous smiles, and rivets the whole crowd with seemingly endless stories of some of the special people who have passed through Kodai School. then later lets my mother and me know in no uncertain terms that we are his family. that is definitely an honor that touches my heart, to be considered 'family' by this wonderful wise old man. i love Dr. Wiebe, and his never-fail saying: "this is my school; this is your school; this is our school together"
yes, we've all been KISedcommencement took place the next morning on the covered courts,
oh weirdness seeing all those little people on the stage,
seeing another valedictorian cry through words of love to her classmates
poitavanga, go and come;
poitavarain, you will see me again
then the semi-circle line-up to shake their hands,
hug the tearful ones, take pictures,
spin around with my sister for a few minutes,
go get milk-tea and mixture and date bars
on plates of banana leaves and newspaper sewn together
stand in the sun, sit on the warm stone wall
say hello, hello, hello, to former teachers and dormparents and ayahs
say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to the graduates
adios; va y ven; poitavanga, personas bellas
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
images of india [1=wonu]
home coming--HOLY CROW
stottaram
appa
amma-land
after an indeterminiable bunch of hours in transit, a burst of energy deposited itself in me as i slung my luggage off the shuddering trolley onto a tottering cart, dove between bodies to careen my way out of the madurai airpot arrivals room and down the dusty crumbling cement ramp under the receiving archway into the arms of my daddy, papito mio
minutes later piled into the mission's pick-up truck, AC miraculously working for once, trying to navigate our way out of the city, dodge the crowds of people and buses and lorries and rikshaws and cycles and bikes and maruti vans and ambassador taxis and then, out in the 'rural' lands, the bullock carts and herds of goats and potholes and stray dogs and little shiny cars and still plenty of people and buses and lorries and bikes and taxis, some trying to overtake, some swerving aside preventing us from overtaking, some finally succumbing to our horn-beeping and letting us zoom around, facing certain (but certainly not) death for the few seconds we spend in the 'other' lane with a looming vehicle oncoming...no problem madam, no problem
my daddy's in the driver's seat, no problem, zoomzoom
take a break for a maaza (or two--the most refreshing mango drink en el mundo, now given in plastic bottles instead of glass, yaar, vat is happning!) and dosa-sambar-chutney, then continue the delightfully, thrillingly, only slightly tensing, bouncing, death-defying drive across the plains, then start the climb
up the ghat
till i can see clear down to tell that the dam is dry
till we come to the jagged rock faces telling me that the Christian grafitti is going strong
till i can sense the seasickness-worthy twists and turns in the pit of my stomach,
and rejoice at the familiar feeling
(and engage in my never-fail strategy of combating this--come visit, come up the ghat with me and i'll teach you how to beat it without having taking dramamine/avamine/vatewer, i've never taken that silly shtuff)
till i can say no more, no words coming to express my excitement, my disbelief at being here, recognizing this valley and that tree and this waterfall and that fruit stall and this checkpoint and that bridge and this path beginning and that jackfruit plantation and this gate and that village and this signage and that km marker and this hairpin bend and that cloud--no, ma, i'm not getting too overconfident in my recognizational skills, i mean--cloudland's peak? aama? seri, ma, shake my head from side to side in amazement, i've climbed it twice in my life and i'm just thinking of all those people who have come before, or the ones who traverse these very slopes with backbreaking loads every day, every day, you understand--blink back tears, blink back tears
how lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, good news
those are pretty big, perfectly placed footprints to follow.
especially for someone so clumsy as me.
but here at home--here's the perfect place to start anew, anew
kodaikanal
rumba nandri
thank you
appa
amma-land
after an indeterminiable bunch of hours in transit, a burst of energy deposited itself in me as i slung my luggage off the shuddering trolley onto a tottering cart, dove between bodies to careen my way out of the madurai airpot arrivals room and down the dusty crumbling cement ramp under the receiving archway into the arms of my daddy, papito mio
minutes later piled into the mission's pick-up truck, AC miraculously working for once, trying to navigate our way out of the city, dodge the crowds of people and buses and lorries and rikshaws and cycles and bikes and maruti vans and ambassador taxis and then, out in the 'rural' lands, the bullock carts and herds of goats and potholes and stray dogs and little shiny cars and still plenty of people and buses and lorries and bikes and taxis, some trying to overtake, some swerving aside preventing us from overtaking, some finally succumbing to our horn-beeping and letting us zoom around, facing certain (but certainly not) death for the few seconds we spend in the 'other' lane with a looming vehicle oncoming...no problem madam, no problem
my daddy's in the driver's seat, no problem, zoomzoom
take a break for a maaza (or two--the most refreshing mango drink en el mundo, now given in plastic bottles instead of glass, yaar, vat is happning!) and dosa-sambar-chutney, then continue the delightfully, thrillingly, only slightly tensing, bouncing, death-defying drive across the plains, then start the climb
up the ghat
till i can see clear down to tell that the dam is dry
till we come to the jagged rock faces telling me that the Christian grafitti is going strong
till i can sense the seasickness-worthy twists and turns in the pit of my stomach,
and rejoice at the familiar feeling
(and engage in my never-fail strategy of combating this--come visit, come up the ghat with me and i'll teach you how to beat it without having taking dramamine/avamine/vatewer, i've never taken that silly shtuff)
till i can say no more, no words coming to express my excitement, my disbelief at being here, recognizing this valley and that tree and this waterfall and that fruit stall and this checkpoint and that bridge and this path beginning and that jackfruit plantation and this gate and that village and this signage and that km marker and this hairpin bend and that cloud--no, ma, i'm not getting too overconfident in my recognizational skills, i mean--cloudland's peak? aama? seri, ma, shake my head from side to side in amazement, i've climbed it twice in my life and i'm just thinking of all those people who have come before, or the ones who traverse these very slopes with backbreaking loads every day, every day, you understand--blink back tears, blink back tears
how lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, good news
those are pretty big, perfectly placed footprints to follow.
especially for someone so clumsy as me.
but here at home--here's the perfect place to start anew, anew
kodaikanal
rumba nandri
thank you
Sunday, May 20, 2007
हिंदु hindu harbors शांति
Frankfurt Airport = Fraport. of course.
not my fav.
cold unfriendly culture,
unfinished construction in strange spots
too much exposed piping and ceiling junk,
weird confusing ways to get places, not very well-marked
finally wound around to wait at gate A55,
browse a nearby bookstore stocked with histories of Hindu thought,
perspective, and eastern paths to enlightenment
people search so hard, so hungrily for what will make them happy
for what will help them live more in harmony with
whatever they think the universe is.
met Mala (short for Nirmala),
who was returning to India after a few months in the States
visiting her two daughters and their husbands on opposite coasts of the country
making pilgrimage to five Hindu temples, especially one in Pennsylvania
so clean, she said, so clean and fancy
she loves her traditions and rituals so fiercely
her visits to temple, her poojas, her tilak and gold chain,
even her alms-giving, donating cloth and clothes to Chennai charities
she could see plenty of similarities between both of our faiths
as she shared with me her mango sour Altoids,
and i shared the story of Ruth and Naomi (who called herself Mara),
then Mark 12:28-33, where Jesus highlights the greatest commandment:
love
"and you're free to love,
coz i've given you my love and it's made you free
set you free"
i just wonder, wonder why
why would you want to live with so many restrictions,
so many requirements, rules, compulsory rituals
to satisfy someone else, to satisfy a stone carved figure
who does what, exactly, for you?
knowing that the figure only represents an actual personality they believe in,
but who is that, what is he/she like?
what power does it actually have,
why does it merit such dedicated worship?
i can tell you that my God is LOVE, that he is all good,
that he created each person and knows everything about us and about the world,
that he came to earth as a real person in history to show us what he is like,
that he is a healer, a joy-giver, a peace-maker, a provider, and again...
a lover
i wonder, too, what she really understands of Christianity, of who Christ is
because her mother is a Christian, or at least
goes to church and gives to charity
and sent Mala to Christian schools in her childhood,
so i wonder what she learned about him,
what she saw in the people who claimed to follow him
she does clearly see the love and self-sacrificing devotion
of her Christian maidservant towards her, as well as all the Christian servants she knows
and i agreed and added my experience with Pushpa as part of our family
so when will she add it up?
when will she be free?
we split up for frankfurt-chennai,
but in the immigration line she tugged at my shirt and smiled wide
and waved goodbye
on the flight i sat next to a 26-year-old nurse named Priya, originally from India
later lived in Saudi for some time, and now in Ireland
after some initial inquiries and sharing of my mission background, she affirmed
"it's a wonderful thing to serve the Lord!"
and then we rested in peace,
knowing our kinship in the kingdom of God
thank God
touchdown, goosebumps, oh my goodness i'm goin home,
midnight in mother india
arrival, immigration, customs,
scurry down the sidewalk to the domestic terminal,
situate myself to wait until 5 a.m.
arms through my backpack and purse, feet resting on my duffel bags
giving thanks for my ability to sleep anywhere
and for the feeling of safety afforded by the friendly older man sitting a few seats over
a flawless check-in and security check
bustling, crushing crowds in the waiting area
so many with powder-marked foreheads
signifying a pilgrimage to temple, or simply luck for their journey
liftoff chennai-madurai after an hour delay
almost a painful hum drilled/drummed in my ears
and the heat hung heavy due to the still-malfunctioning AC
but eventually the cabin started cooling,
the din became not so deafening
and i could see the land spread out below,
so scattered with sprinkles of houses and haphazard plots of land
that variegate between green-brown, gray-green, beige, pale pinkish-gray, and brown
before they fade into the haze that gradually fuzzes into the horizon
i feel like
so many of my friendships are like that:
foggy smoggy borders, where we've lost touch
or where we fail to see each other's contours past a certain point,
or where we can't see our future
(of course we can't...)
oh then there were little hills with tufty deep green dotting and blanketing them
now my dear mountains, mountains
sacred high places topped with shrines
hindu worship sites defined by red and white stripes
where will we find peace?
shanti
शांति
not my fav.
cold unfriendly culture,
unfinished construction in strange spots
too much exposed piping and ceiling junk,
weird confusing ways to get places, not very well-marked
finally wound around to wait at gate A55,
browse a nearby bookstore stocked with histories of Hindu thought,
perspective, and eastern paths to enlightenment
people search so hard, so hungrily for what will make them happy
for what will help them live more in harmony with
whatever they think the universe is.
met Mala (short for Nirmala),
who was returning to India after a few months in the States
visiting her two daughters and their husbands on opposite coasts of the country
making pilgrimage to five Hindu temples, especially one in Pennsylvania
so clean, she said, so clean and fancy
she loves her traditions and rituals so fiercely
her visits to temple, her poojas, her tilak and gold chain,
even her alms-giving, donating cloth and clothes to Chennai charities
she could see plenty of similarities between both of our faiths
as she shared with me her mango sour Altoids,
and i shared the story of Ruth and Naomi (who called herself Mara),
then Mark 12:28-33, where Jesus highlights the greatest commandment:
love
"and you're free to love,
coz i've given you my love and it's made you free
set you free"
i just wonder, wonder why
why would you want to live with so many restrictions,
so many requirements, rules, compulsory rituals
to satisfy someone else, to satisfy a stone carved figure
who does what, exactly, for you?
knowing that the figure only represents an actual personality they believe in,
but who is that, what is he/she like?
what power does it actually have,
why does it merit such dedicated worship?
i can tell you that my God is LOVE, that he is all good,
that he created each person and knows everything about us and about the world,
that he came to earth as a real person in history to show us what he is like,
that he is a healer, a joy-giver, a peace-maker, a provider, and again...
a lover
i wonder, too, what she really understands of Christianity, of who Christ is
because her mother is a Christian, or at least
goes to church and gives to charity
and sent Mala to Christian schools in her childhood,
so i wonder what she learned about him,
what she saw in the people who claimed to follow him
she does clearly see the love and self-sacrificing devotion
of her Christian maidservant towards her, as well as all the Christian servants she knows
and i agreed and added my experience with Pushpa as part of our family
so when will she add it up?
when will she be free?
we split up for frankfurt-chennai,
but in the immigration line she tugged at my shirt and smiled wide
and waved goodbye
on the flight i sat next to a 26-year-old nurse named Priya, originally from India
later lived in Saudi for some time, and now in Ireland
after some initial inquiries and sharing of my mission background, she affirmed
"it's a wonderful thing to serve the Lord!"
and then we rested in peace,
knowing our kinship in the kingdom of God
thank God
touchdown, goosebumps, oh my goodness i'm goin home,
midnight in mother india
arrival, immigration, customs,
scurry down the sidewalk to the domestic terminal,
situate myself to wait until 5 a.m.
arms through my backpack and purse, feet resting on my duffel bags
giving thanks for my ability to sleep anywhere
and for the feeling of safety afforded by the friendly older man sitting a few seats over
a flawless check-in and security check
bustling, crushing crowds in the waiting area
so many with powder-marked foreheads
signifying a pilgrimage to temple, or simply luck for their journey
liftoff chennai-madurai after an hour delay
almost a painful hum drilled/drummed in my ears
and the heat hung heavy due to the still-malfunctioning AC
but eventually the cabin started cooling,
the din became not so deafening
and i could see the land spread out below,
so scattered with sprinkles of houses and haphazard plots of land
that variegate between green-brown, gray-green, beige, pale pinkish-gray, and brown
before they fade into the haze that gradually fuzzes into the horizon
i feel like
so many of my friendships are like that:
foggy smoggy borders, where we've lost touch
or where we fail to see each other's contours past a certain point,
or where we can't see our future
(of course we can't...)
oh then there were little hills with tufty deep green dotting and blanketing them
now my dear mountains, mountains
sacred high places topped with shrines
hindu worship sites defined by red and white stripes
where will we find peace?
shanti
शांति
jewish journey
indianapolis-chicago and already a blast from my past,
caught sight of a curly-headed girly who canoed with me in Kerala
and coordinated the Eucy (yearbook), now goes to Yale
a Jewish American with uncertain religious commitment
interesting that the book i chose to read on the trip
makes use of a Jewish storytelling tradition called midrash
to analyze different types of relationships and the spaces between people
called The God Between Us
examines the timeless pattern of connection/disconnection/renewed connection
the stories create a hum in the ears of the spirit as we read into Scripture
and pray, pray, pray
God, I'm so grateful for airports
they are the space in between--
between places, between faces, between paces of life
like oases of refreshment for the part of my soul
that longs to be mobile
after much wandering between O'Hare gates B12 and B16 looking for a place to sit and be still,
found a corner on the floor by a 3-posted column
feel like a flowerchild the way i sprawled crosslegged,
the way i smile for incomprehensible reasons
like seeing a teen boy guide his little brother to the bathroom,
hands on shoulders, gently propelling him forward
through the masses, the chaos, coz
hands on shoulders is just the most secure place to be,
that is where one wears a...yoke! Your yoke!
that is where i must learn to wear You, Lord
learn to clothe and load myself with the characteristics i learn from my brothers and sisters
like the 7 women in the story who complement each other in their personas of
Passion, Practical, Playful, Bold, Wise, Faithful, and Joyful
chicago-frankfurt watching Freedom Writers
oh to be a teacher like that,
who goes a million extra miles to be love for her students
kids who have seen heartbreaking terrifying violence,
been beaten and threatened and rejected, some by their own parents
but in comes Miss G, like Ghandiji promoting nonviolence,
prompting creativity and connections with reality and actual achievement, too,
helping them see themselves in Anne Frank's story,
then visiting a museum, then inviting Holocaust survivor visitors
having them journal every day to release the pent-up pressure
of those burdens, those secrets, those fears from the streets of LA
plus those triumphs, those realizations that they are heroes
for handling what they do every day
oh, to be a teacher that models doing what she knows to be right
in order to shine the brightest light in the world
"Light of the world, you stepped down into darkness
opened my eyes, let me see
beauty that made this heart adore you
hope of a life spent with you..."
i do want to spend my life connecting with that Light.
if that means a semester of student teaching in inner-city Indianapolis--
then i should watch this movie again!
for this summer, it means connecting with the international freshmen-to-be,
and it seems to me
illustrative of Ezekiel 37:15-28, right after the dry bones passage,
telling him to take a stick of wood and write one tribe name on it,
take another stick of wood and write another Israelite tribe name on it,
and then "join them together into one stick
so that they become one in your hand"
because that predicted what God was going to do with those tribes.
he was/is going to gather them from where they have been scattered
and bring the back to their own land,
back where they belong,
back home, what a nebulous term
but he said he will make them one nation
in the land, on the mountains of Israel,
they will be his people, and he will be their God,
and they will have one king over them, one shepherd,
and he will make a covenant of peace with them,
an everlasting covenant of his sanctuary among them,
his dwelling place, his home.
your holy home.
i can see this happening with the people who are 'in my hands',
on one stick it says 'orientation staff'
on the other stick it says 'orientation students'
and what we want is for all of us to become one,
to welcome the new ones so that they may call Taylor 'home',
so that they may find God's presence with them
even in that cornfield-flat windy wilderness
finished off the flight to Frankfort with music
from the Middle East and from Tamil Nadu filtering through my headphones.
singin to myself "three more airports till i see your face..."
shema Israel: Adonai elohaynu, Adonai echad
caught sight of a curly-headed girly who canoed with me in Kerala
and coordinated the Eucy (yearbook), now goes to Yale
a Jewish American with uncertain religious commitment
interesting that the book i chose to read on the trip
makes use of a Jewish storytelling tradition called midrash
to analyze different types of relationships and the spaces between people
called The God Between Us
examines the timeless pattern of connection/disconnection/renewed connection
the stories create a hum in the ears of the spirit as we read into Scripture
and pray, pray, pray
God, I'm so grateful for airports
they are the space in between--
between places, between faces, between paces of life
like oases of refreshment for the part of my soul
that longs to be mobile
after much wandering between O'Hare gates B12 and B16 looking for a place to sit and be still,
found a corner on the floor by a 3-posted column
feel like a flowerchild the way i sprawled crosslegged,
the way i smile for incomprehensible reasons
like seeing a teen boy guide his little brother to the bathroom,
hands on shoulders, gently propelling him forward
through the masses, the chaos, coz
hands on shoulders is just the most secure place to be,
that is where one wears a...yoke! Your yoke!
that is where i must learn to wear You, Lord
learn to clothe and load myself with the characteristics i learn from my brothers and sisters
like the 7 women in the story who complement each other in their personas of
Passion, Practical, Playful, Bold, Wise, Faithful, and Joyful
chicago-frankfurt watching Freedom Writers
oh to be a teacher like that,
who goes a million extra miles to be love for her students
kids who have seen heartbreaking terrifying violence,
been beaten and threatened and rejected, some by their own parents
but in comes Miss G, like Ghandiji promoting nonviolence,
prompting creativity and connections with reality and actual achievement, too,
helping them see themselves in Anne Frank's story,
then visiting a museum, then inviting Holocaust survivor visitors
having them journal every day to release the pent-up pressure
of those burdens, those secrets, those fears from the streets of LA
plus those triumphs, those realizations that they are heroes
for handling what they do every day
oh, to be a teacher that models doing what she knows to be right
in order to shine the brightest light in the world
"Light of the world, you stepped down into darkness
opened my eyes, let me see
beauty that made this heart adore you
hope of a life spent with you..."
i do want to spend my life connecting with that Light.
if that means a semester of student teaching in inner-city Indianapolis--
then i should watch this movie again!
for this summer, it means connecting with the international freshmen-to-be,
and it seems to me
illustrative of Ezekiel 37:15-28, right after the dry bones passage,
telling him to take a stick of wood and write one tribe name on it,
take another stick of wood and write another Israelite tribe name on it,
and then "join them together into one stick
so that they become one in your hand"
because that predicted what God was going to do with those tribes.
he was/is going to gather them from where they have been scattered
and bring the back to their own land,
back where they belong,
back home, what a nebulous term
but he said he will make them one nation
in the land, on the mountains of Israel,
they will be his people, and he will be their God,
and they will have one king over them, one shepherd,
and he will make a covenant of peace with them,
an everlasting covenant of his sanctuary among them,
his dwelling place, his home.
your holy home.
i can see this happening with the people who are 'in my hands',
on one stick it says 'orientation staff'
on the other stick it says 'orientation students'
and what we want is for all of us to become one,
to welcome the new ones so that they may call Taylor 'home',
so that they may find God's presence with them
even in that cornfield-flat windy wilderness
finished off the flight to Frankfort with music
from the Middle East and from Tamil Nadu filtering through my headphones.
singin to myself "three more airports till i see your face..."
shema Israel: Adonai elohaynu, Adonai echad
Monday, May 14, 2007
jitters of joy
strangely, this has been the most unstressful 'finals week' in my college career.
one day. sweetly spaced out with time to study in between. done.
some more scattered packing,
a study break party at the daudt's house,
a guitar and summer-goals party in my neighbor's room for the fearsome foursome
a prayer circle on the bed
some shed tears and hugs
and
i'm
done.
the jitters are in my stomach mostly, then they spread until my limbs are trembly
i know i'm gonna kiss the ground when i get there
after kissing my parents and sisters, of course
after taking my first ever international flight sola
so excited, so excited
see ya on the other end
coz
i'm
done.
one day. sweetly spaced out with time to study in between. done.
some more scattered packing,
a study break party at the daudt's house,
a guitar and summer-goals party in my neighbor's room for the fearsome foursome
a prayer circle on the bed
some shed tears and hugs
and
i'm
done.
the jitters are in my stomach mostly, then they spread until my limbs are trembly
i know i'm gonna kiss the ground when i get there
after kissing my parents and sisters, of course
after taking my first ever international flight sola
so excited, so excited
see ya on the other end
coz
i'm
done.
Friday, May 11, 2007
tres; nallu; three
3 days to go
3 multiple-choice tests to take
3 written projects to turn in
3 outfits (or less) to wear
3 bags (including carryon) to pack
3 sets of mass emails to send
3 hugs (or many, many more) to give
--before i get on the plane that's gonna go: indianapolis, chicago, amsterdam, chennai, madurai
and meet my dad and drive up the ghat and go: HOME
3 multiple-choice tests to take
3 written projects to turn in
3 outfits (or less) to wear
3 bags (including carryon) to pack
3 sets of mass emails to send
3 hugs (or many, many more) to give
--before i get on the plane that's gonna go: indianapolis, chicago, amsterdam, chennai, madurai
and meet my dad and drive up the ghat and go: HOME
Saturday, May 5, 2007
going through old letters with new eyes
while packing up my dorm room, going through my sacred junk and deciding what to toss forever, what to take home to India with me for the next month, and what to leave behind in Upland for the summer, i found this poem written by somebody, God knows who.
Likrat Shabbat
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end war;
For we know that You have made the world in a way
That man must find his own path for peace
Within himself and his neighbor.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end starvation;
For you have already given us the resources
With which to feed the entire world
If only we would use them wisely.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to root out prejudice;
For you have already given us eyes
With which to see the good in all men
If only we would use them rightly.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end despair;
For you have already given us the power
To clear away slums and to give hope
If we would only use our power justly.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end disease;
For you have already given us great minds
With which to search out cures and healing
If we would only use them constructively.
Therefore, we pray to you instead, O God,
For strength, determination, and will power,
To do instead of just to pray,
To become instead of merely to wish.
and these reflections written by my great-aunt Miggie while she was traveling in Israel and Palestine as a member of a Christian Peacemaker Team there last December:
Walls - many kinds of walls in Jerusalem,
Beautiful walls around the Old City,
Beautiful gates - when they are open
So all God's children may come and go.
Ugly walls desecrating the views of these sacred hills,
Great, high walls that divide and imprison,
Walls of fear and hate.
These apartheid walls are being built
While other walls are smashed to the ground,
Piles of rubble
Where once a family found warmth and shelter
In a home that they could call their own.
Broken promises, broken dreams. Broken dignity,
Piled up injustices
Like the rubble of broken houses.
At the Wailing Wall
I think of the stories of suffering I have heard;
I think of the many obstacles to peace.
The pain I see and hear lies so heavy on my heart.
I hear Jesus weeping over Jerusalem,
"Would that even today
You knew the things that make for peace."
God made from one all people
To dwell on this earth,
But we have not learned
To dwell together in peace.
However, we catch glimpses of bridges as well as walls:
Courageous souls, compassionate people,
Reaching out across the dividing walls of hostility,
Reaching out across the valleys of despair:
Hearing the cries of injustice
And not turning away;
Rebuilding homes, rebuilding dignity;
Planting trees, safeguarding a child;
Working for legal justice, creating jobs;
Breaking the silence about military abuses;
Teaching and doing nonviolent resistance;
Giving medical care to the soldier who attacked him in his home;
Transforming grief into reconciliation;
Offering the gift of presence and understanding;
Risking lives, sometimes imprisoned;
In the midst of suffering, steadfast in the pursuit of peace.
These have been telling us their stories,
Giving us inspiration,
Offering us hope.
I pray for the wisdom and grace and holy boldness
To stand with them and behind them,
To share their stories.
I pray that I will learn and follow and teach and model
The things that make for peace,
While I wait for the fulfillment of God's promise,
"They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain."
and I pray, too, that when I go home to a land that also longs for peace...that I will listen, learn, stand and sit and spin and sway and sappadu with them,
anyone who will stay with me for a while
or a minute
whether they've just walked up the covered court to receive their diploma
or they've just emerged diplomatically from the orphanage to receive a piggy-back ride
or they've just carried around a bundle of sticks all day to provide for their children
or they've just lit an incense stick in their shawl shop to hope for the good business
or they've just hiked across a few hills to see the sights and get their highs
or they've just thrown their baggage into the train compartment to travel to their destination
or they've just boiled some tea-coffee to offer passersby for a few rupees
or they've just wrapped me in a hug to tell me they forgive me for not writing to them
i hope so.
all of it.
i want to know each one, so much, to see behind the faces, behind the tired eyes and world-worn hands, behind the careful makeup and fancy earrings, behind the stained teeth and deformed feet, behind the crooked smile and slim figure, behind the --hey,
am i even ready to know, ready to feel that much, ready to pour out my life to do something about the pain they feel every day? ready to share their joy, sure. ready to observe absolutely anybody--from a safe distance, of course?
no. i can't keep that distance, that numbness. have to put my whole self in, have to be ready to receive love as well as give it at any moment. the call is not only to rejoice when they rejoice. it is to mourn when they mourn; to suffer when they suffer; to lay down my life for their sake, because they are beautiful, no matter what they look like.
oh my Lord. they look like you.
and what will i look like?
i'll be wearing my tagua nut thumb ring from ecuador with the treble-clef-shaped swirls
the ONE bracelet of simple white soft stretchy rubber that comfortably curls
dos slipknot neclaces, one with an orange mango-shape pendant and one with a mini deep-brown wooden cross
and a hairtie the color of moss
i'm so superstitious, it seems.
i laugh.
no, i just have these dreams,
dreams of the past and the beauty i drank in before
dreams of the present and the beauty i can swim in now
dreams of the future and the beauty i may pour out then
and these things help me remember to clothe myself with my stories, my passion, my purpose,
with patience and grace and gentleness and compassion and right action and peace and LOVE
they are not themselves the clothing.
but they serve as visible reminders of how i want to weave those experiences and characteristics deep into my being.
they are not the point.
but they point to who i want to be;
they point to the one
who was
who Is
who is to come.
they point to the dance
to the music
to the silence
to the stillness
to the colors
to the light
to the shade
to the sorrow
to the weeping willow, weeping
to the wisdom
to the water
to life
to life
l'chaim
Likrat Shabbat
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end war;
For we know that You have made the world in a way
That man must find his own path for peace
Within himself and his neighbor.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end starvation;
For you have already given us the resources
With which to feed the entire world
If only we would use them wisely.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to root out prejudice;
For you have already given us eyes
With which to see the good in all men
If only we would use them rightly.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end despair;
For you have already given us the power
To clear away slums and to give hope
If we would only use our power justly.
We cannot merely pray to you, O God, to end disease;
For you have already given us great minds
With which to search out cures and healing
If we would only use them constructively.
Therefore, we pray to you instead, O God,
For strength, determination, and will power,
To do instead of just to pray,
To become instead of merely to wish.
and these reflections written by my great-aunt Miggie while she was traveling in Israel and Palestine as a member of a Christian Peacemaker Team there last December:
Walls - many kinds of walls in Jerusalem,
Beautiful walls around the Old City,
Beautiful gates - when they are open
So all God's children may come and go.
Ugly walls desecrating the views of these sacred hills,
Great, high walls that divide and imprison,
Walls of fear and hate.
These apartheid walls are being built
While other walls are smashed to the ground,
Piles of rubble
Where once a family found warmth and shelter
In a home that they could call their own.
Broken promises, broken dreams. Broken dignity,
Piled up injustices
Like the rubble of broken houses.
At the Wailing Wall
I think of the stories of suffering I have heard;
I think of the many obstacles to peace.
The pain I see and hear lies so heavy on my heart.
I hear Jesus weeping over Jerusalem,
"Would that even today
You knew the things that make for peace."
God made from one all people
To dwell on this earth,
But we have not learned
To dwell together in peace.
However, we catch glimpses of bridges as well as walls:
Courageous souls, compassionate people,
Reaching out across the dividing walls of hostility,
Reaching out across the valleys of despair:
Hearing the cries of injustice
And not turning away;
Rebuilding homes, rebuilding dignity;
Planting trees, safeguarding a child;
Working for legal justice, creating jobs;
Breaking the silence about military abuses;
Teaching and doing nonviolent resistance;
Giving medical care to the soldier who attacked him in his home;
Transforming grief into reconciliation;
Offering the gift of presence and understanding;
Risking lives, sometimes imprisoned;
In the midst of suffering, steadfast in the pursuit of peace.
These have been telling us their stories,
Giving us inspiration,
Offering us hope.
I pray for the wisdom and grace and holy boldness
To stand with them and behind them,
To share their stories.
I pray that I will learn and follow and teach and model
The things that make for peace,
While I wait for the fulfillment of God's promise,
"They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain."
and I pray, too, that when I go home to a land that also longs for peace...that I will listen, learn, stand and sit and spin and sway and sappadu with them,
anyone who will stay with me for a while
or a minute
whether they've just walked up the covered court to receive their diploma
or they've just emerged diplomatically from the orphanage to receive a piggy-back ride
or they've just carried around a bundle of sticks all day to provide for their children
or they've just lit an incense stick in their shawl shop to hope for the good business
or they've just hiked across a few hills to see the sights and get their highs
or they've just thrown their baggage into the train compartment to travel to their destination
or they've just boiled some tea-coffee to offer passersby for a few rupees
or they've just wrapped me in a hug to tell me they forgive me for not writing to them
i hope so.
all of it.
i want to know each one, so much, to see behind the faces, behind the tired eyes and world-worn hands, behind the careful makeup and fancy earrings, behind the stained teeth and deformed feet, behind the crooked smile and slim figure, behind the --hey,
am i even ready to know, ready to feel that much, ready to pour out my life to do something about the pain they feel every day? ready to share their joy, sure. ready to observe absolutely anybody--from a safe distance, of course?
no. i can't keep that distance, that numbness. have to put my whole self in, have to be ready to receive love as well as give it at any moment. the call is not only to rejoice when they rejoice. it is to mourn when they mourn; to suffer when they suffer; to lay down my life for their sake, because they are beautiful, no matter what they look like.
oh my Lord. they look like you.
and what will i look like?
i'll be wearing my tagua nut thumb ring from ecuador with the treble-clef-shaped swirls
the ONE bracelet of simple white soft stretchy rubber that comfortably curls
dos slipknot neclaces, one with an orange mango-shape pendant and one with a mini deep-brown wooden cross
and a hairtie the color of moss
i'm so superstitious, it seems.
i laugh.
no, i just have these dreams,
dreams of the past and the beauty i drank in before
dreams of the present and the beauty i can swim in now
dreams of the future and the beauty i may pour out then
and these things help me remember to clothe myself with my stories, my passion, my purpose,
with patience and grace and gentleness and compassion and right action and peace and LOVE
they are not themselves the clothing.
but they serve as visible reminders of how i want to weave those experiences and characteristics deep into my being.
they are not the point.
but they point to who i want to be;
they point to the one
who was
who Is
who is to come.
they point to the dance
to the music
to the silence
to the stillness
to the colors
to the light
to the shade
to the sorrow
to the weeping willow, weeping
to the wisdom
to the water
to life
to life
l'chaim
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
