Checking in ...

... it feels like it has been so long since we've had a chance to reach out, connect, reflect here. Internet seems sparse, and when it is available, our tiredness and fatigue seem to so insubordinantly rush in.

Needless to say, the last few weeks have been amazing beyond words, phrases, or pictures. Here is the blowby version, though, of what is burning in our hearts and minds these days ...

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In Chennai, our hearts were broken as we walked through the memorials of the Word Made Flesh children who have passed from life into eternity. Their headstones, tangled among the hundreds of monuments in the cemetary, were stone monuments of courage and conviction. These children died with dignity and with love. And yet, we can hear their cries from beyond their graves, echoing in the eerie silence we found lurking within the cemetary walls, on behalf of their brothers and sisters, our brothers and sisters, who are the among the poorest of the poor in this world. Who will care for them? Who will respond? Will we? Will I?

As we sat in silence, with thoughts and prayers and emptiness, a small hearst pulled into the dirt drive. As it passed, the open door revealed but a glimpse of the tiny coffin within. It was a child ... someone's beloved. Another who walked through the valleys. Another who reminded us of the gift of life, if we choose to give it. If we choose to share in the sacrifice that brings about abundance ...

...
Later that day, as we travelled with "Arthi" and "Devi," sweet sisters and dear friend, I again saw abundance. Arthi noticed I was scared of the raging traffic on laneless Indian roadways. I've almost been hit. I've been in a car that hit someone. I've seen an accident happen. I've had dinner with an old man who is recovering from a hit-and run. I never said a word, but Arthi noticed ... as we winded through the city streets, and were preparing to cross yet another road, I looked up to see her wide smile beaming at me. Her tiny hand grabbed at mine and, positioning herself between me and the traffic, led me across the street.

Once we had made our way, she continued to squeeze my hand, laughing graciously, not letting me go. Even though I didn't "need" it in the moment, she still held on to me. Even when I felt comfortable, she still remained. Something akin to the Holy Spirit ...

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Arthi and Devi didn't just touch me then. They begged Phileena Auntie to take them to a dress shop. Never before had they asked her for anything, and she eagerly obliged. As it were, the dress-shopping was a hoax. The sisters has planned the entire thing to get P into the dress shop to buy for her a salwar. P pleaded that they wouldn't ... that it was too much, too costly ... that she should be the one lavishing upon them.

But as I watched, I saw in their eyes the hearts of worship, the love of God within them. As they poured out their love, like the most expensive and fragrant of perfumes, on their dearest Phileena. As they sacrificed, in the most logical and rational of senses needlessly, from their version of an alabaster box. What grace, what love, what power in their gifts ... more than the tangible or practical items of clothing, this was a sign of extravagant love, of abundance, of grace in a world where scarcity menancingly looms. To have the heart that Arthi and Devi have for us, but for those who are most despised in this world ... to lavish our love upon them ... to be the light of Christ in darkness ... these are the lessons slowly, painfully, meticulously etching themselves upon our hearts ... God is here.