An Unlikely Cross

The worn plaster, tinged ever so slightly pink, formed the unintended shape of a Cross. Perhaps, in reality, it didn't -- ay random insterection of the rough interior facades could have formed the simple, perpendicular symbol that, for me, held so much meaning.

I found myself glancing at its unimpressive speldnor regularly. Just left of the single threadbare lightbulb that dimly lit the dngy walls we didn't completely wish to see. As things often go when traveling - as UNexpected - we had found ourselves hot, tired, but expectant in the city of Chennai. As we rode through kilometres of laneless traffic free-for-all, we found ourselves at our supposed residence ... but with no reservations.

Disheartened, we settled for a guest house a short "auto" ride away -- a place that Chris would describe as "really local." A place I was inclined to describe as a bit of a dump. The sipid heat only encouraged our disappointment - our new home was, even by missionary measure, filthy.

We set about, though, in high hopes, false as they perhaps were. While we were prepared to live simply, our exhaustion did not give way to the stark reality that we would now be "roughing it." Still, with electricity (when it remained connected - it failed without fail multiple times a day), a Wester toilet (of sorts - but still a luxury), and a television that blared Bollywood, we were still living as royalty compared to most of the city's population.

The cross on the wall took shape.

With each day, I could feel my body slowly adjusting to the stifling heat. The swelter of cobwebs and ants somehow began to go less and less noticed, even when one morning's sun awoke us to their infiltration of our packs. I slowly began to appreciate the tacky stickers, hidden by day, that illumined in day-glow green the paths of unknown stars and planets across our crumbling ceiling. We strung up simple rope, tied at one end to the decorative iron gate that guarded our second story window, coiled tightly at the other end to the protruding socket of our single light bulb. A makeshift clothesline, upon which we hung the assortment of "quick-dry" belongings harbored in our single packs, their colors providing a welcome interruption to the blank mauve walls of our small cell.

As we met more and more family and friends in Chennai, our own small room became more and more our sanctuary, our home. Amidst the busy Anna Nagar street, incessant beeping of traffic, blaring music arguing with the announcements of prayer from the miniaret of the nearby Mosque, the ringing phone always left unanswered, locks and chains and doors and rumbling fancs in a cacophony of opening and closing and keeping cool - somehow, in the midst of it all, we found peace.

And while the dim light from our lone lightbulb did little to keep the shadows of our tucked-away home at bay, it perfectly outlined the cross that became increasingly more clear, in my eyes and in my heart.

"You are the light of the world ..."

Hot. Sticky. Sweaty. Salty. Dingy. Dull. Dirty. Protruding. Inadequate. Low-Watt. But abundant to make clear the cross of Christ - that beautiful sign of hope and love in the midst of suffering and brokenness - strikingly clear in the place we'd least expect.

Psalm 23

"The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing."

Psalm 23:1, as displayed at Saint Thomas Mount in Chennai, India. What a difference, in context, a translation makes ...

A Reflection on Patpong

***Patpong is one of the red-light districts in Bangkok. "Disguised" by a night market and seedy bars, this area -- which dates back as a place of "respite" for US soldiers during the Vietnam war -- marks the stark contrast of cheap trinkets and women's bodies as equal commodities. This is a reflection on the contrast I wrote after walking through the open market, as people nonchalantly shopped, while naked women dancing on tables were in clear, almost inescapable view, and the horrors of the second and third levels of these bars was clear.***



Herein. Lies. Patpong.

Come! Buy!
Beautiful trinkets of colorful jewels, semi-precious stones brilliant with clarity, reflecting even the most reluctant of light!


Trinkets and bells, sure to jingle the sound of pure delight with even the most minute of movements! A song for your soul!


T-shirts and tattoos, all with slogans and symbols written just to remind you of fun times in market squares.

Oriental silk, smooth to the touch, makes only the finest and fashionable of purses, the exotic envy of all your friends back home!

Have you hair twisted into locks right here on the street! It adds to the exoticism of the experience. Not your planned Thailand take away, but no matter. It’s a cool thing to do. It’ll make for a good story.

Lists and lists of food, ready to order. Pick out the one you want. Cooked before your very eyes. Add spices to taste, or just try it all! We even accommodate requests not on the menu!

A Rolex to keep track of the time spent living it up in the city!


Dior sunglasses to stylishly shield your eyes as you conspicuously display your wealth.


Chanel. Citizens. Fendi. Vuitton.
The real people with power.
Knockoffs of anything your heart desires!

And, can you believe these prices?
Such a great deal! What a discount!
So cheap! It costs nothing!


Come! Buy!
Beautiful Thai eyes discolored by abuse, souls not even semi-precious in our sight, clouded by the darkness of the sin and evil we perpetrate.

Tinkling baht exchanged in the greasy hands of pimps and traffickers, sure to jingle the sound of pure horror. Suffocating all joy as she painfully endures even the most minute of unwelcome movement within.

Cuts and carvings forever mark the spiritual scars of the bodies used for fun times in market squares.

Oriental skin, smooth to the touch, makes only the finest and fashionable of prostitutes, the exotic envy of all your friends back home!

Have her hands forced into locks right here on the street! It adds to the exoticism of the experience. Not your planned Thailand takeaway, but no matter. Asian girls are a cool thing to do. It’ll make for a good story.

Lists and lists of sex acts, ready to order. Pick out the one you want. Prepared before your very eyes. Add tricks to taste, or just try it all! We even accommodate requests not on the menu!

A Rolex valued more than her life, keeps track of time spent with her body and soul in bondage.

Dior sunglasses to stylishly shield our eyes from ever having to look upon her with dignity and humanity, as she is conspicuously displayed for our pleasure.

Tourists. Citizens. Perverts with hard-ons.
The real people with power.
Knock up anything your heart desires!

And, can you believe these prices?
Such a great deal! What a discount!
So cheap! It costs nothing!

Patpong. Lies. Herein.