We are back in Pasadena! I’m still feeling jet-lagged and slightly disoriented. Trying to find the balance between indulgence and normalcy… just because I haven’t had certain luxuries for the past three months, doesn’t mean that I need it now just because it’s available. Do I even want normalcy? Will continue processing here in the next coming weeks.
(ash)
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Holi: a festival celebrating good overcoming evil by throwing color.)
…a new perspective on holiness… beware of the the pink paint.
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I was beginning to think that I had somehow managed to avoid any life-altering calamities during my three month stay here. But after this week my rose-colored glasses have a few nicks.
This is my attempt to continue processing what I have experienced and also expose some of the raw, uncensored thoughts I have had in the midst of it all. These are the types of things we normally try to bury and forget, but I have found that there is healing and redemption through living transparently. I pray that you also might find freedom within these words.
I’ve seen some disturbing and violent things lately and I’m still trying to figure out what to do with the after effects. I’m not sure there are any immediate answers to alleviate this sinking feeling. My mind has been looping a series of short clips from the past week. Some are out of focus. Some have the image and sound out of sync. Some are more vivid that what I am experiencing in the present.
A man is in a crumpled ball on the sidewalk. He is screaming underneath a hovering figure. What is he is striking him with? Something awkwardly large… and heavy and square. It’s too dark to tell. Our auto rickshaw driver slows down to get a better look. I wish he would keep going so I didn’t have to hear that sound… What made him so angry? Why does he keep hitting him? Why isn’t anyone trying to stop him? It was so surreal that as soon as we drove past them I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. I was afraid, angry, and numb all at once. How was I supposed to feel? I looked up at Katie, hoping to figure out an appropriate response. But when I caught her gaze, there was something in that shared uncertainty that caused my mouth to involuntarily curl into a grin. Horrified, I tried to tell my body that it was the wrong emotion, but it was too late. I looked away and coughed hoping to cover up my expression. Why was I laughing? The only words I could make out were, “What the heck was that?”
There is a uneasy guilt that comes with inappropriately reacting to somber situations. Maybe we have come to believe that those split second responses reveal our true character, and that scares the hell out of us. If they only knew, right?
The next morning Katie expressed a lot of grief over the brutality we had seen and it made me feel even more heartless. Why wasn’t I affected? I had slept so soundly. Too soundly? I didn’t want to think about it anymore.
As Kate and I were leaving the gallery, we noticed a commotion outside. Everyone around was running and shouting. Was someone chasing them? No, they were pointing… pointing at something. We peered around the corner and saw massive flames filling the entire alleyway, as tall as the rooftops. A shriek pierced through the chaos, conjuring up images of the man being attacked on the street. Who was screaming now? My first thought was that someone had been purposely set on fire, and any minute there would be a man ablaze, hurtling toward us. I didn’t want any more of these awful images haunting me.
Earlier this week a friend of mine posed the question, “How much of our lives are spent trying to avoid pain?”
I thought about that quote as I pleaded with Katie not to look. But we lingered. What did I want to see? A cause? An explosion? A victim? Whatever we were looking for, it was interrupted by the sinking feeling that the flames were dangerously close to the art gallery, so I ran back inside to warn the staff.
The terra cotta stairs, freshly painted white walls, their furrowed brows as I blurted out a string of urgent words. I turned around and started back outside. By the time we reached the alley again, there were no visible flames, just plumes of black smoke swirling skyward.
What really surprised me was that for a brief moment I was disappointed that the fire had been put out before they could see. Disappointed? Really? Was I afraid that my friends wouldn’t believe me? Would they think I was exaggerating? Maybe I just thought the flames were fascinating. I mean, of course I was relieved that the fire had been controlled, right? But I couldn’t shake that initial let down I felt.
Around us, people were still gathered around in small clusters, some had their hands over their hearts as they murmured in Hindi. I wished that I could understand what they were saying. Minutes later the crowd parted and we heard another scream. A wide-eyed man emerged—limping out of the black abyss. He just kept screaming. He was in complete shock as he made his way through the gauntlet. I couldn’t help but think of the embarrassment he felt. Do you feel humiliation when you’re in that much pain? But all of these unfamiliar faces were staring at him, staring back and forth from his tattered clothes, to his shriveled limbs to his charcoal smeared face. This man was in one of the most vulnerable situations in his entire life and all we could do was stare. He looked me straight in the eye, and I realized that it was too late to look away and spare him from feeling so pitiful. I was useless. I had no car to take him anywhere, I couldn’t even give him a coat to cover himself. I couldn’t do a damn thing.
Thankfully some people drove him to get help. We left too. As we walked, Katie just started praying. I could barely hear her over the swirl of questions going through my mind. Did he make it to the hospital? Was anyone left inside the building? Why did I expose my friends to this? They didn’t need to see that. Why do I keep witnessing situations where I am completely helpless? What is the point, God?
But what troubled me the most was the sickening curiosity that makes us want to see more. Why does our adrenaline spike when we see something violent or tragic? What makes us crane our neck to see the car crash, or the man being beaten on the sidewalk? Where is our humanity? Is it so we have something to talk about over dinner? Is it because we want to be the hero? And if we’re not the hero, then what are we? In the act of watching, are we simultaneously encouraging the incident to continue?
Maybe I’m over thinking these split second fascinations with pain. They are not how we rationally perceive the situation. In fact, we dismiss them as fast as they come, then turn to our friend and say something sympathetic like, “What a terrible thing…” But I need to wrestle with this a little longer. I don’t want to be afraid or ashamed of this curiosity. I want to have a better understanding of how I can respond to true life tragedies in a way that is sincere and brings glory to Him who grieves with perfect compassion.
(ash)
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12:05 am
I can’t sleep.
I was laying in bed, a million things running through my head and I was filled with such a sense of anger, frustration and grief. What is this? Why these emotions?…Need to process.
I am angry… that I saw a man being brutally beaten in the street last night. He was making sounds I’ve never heard a human being make in real life before. We were in an auto and nobody stopped and did anything. How is this acceptable?
I am angry and frustrated …that when a girl whose leg has been chopped off pulls at my arm pleading with me to help her and I have nothing to give except a bag of chips and a pathetic “No, I’m sorry.” when she asks for more. I hate that if I acknowledge the fact that there is an actual living human being in front of me and look her in the eyes she’ll practically tear my clothes off for any spare change. I hate that it seems my only other option is to look away and ignore the broken and abused woman laying at my feet. What am I supposed to do? Every way seems wrong…
12:45 am
His response:
“I am a good God.
I’ve come to conquer the evil of this world.
I’ve already won.
Come with me. Watch me win.
Daughter, this is a new journey.
There will be more hard things to see.
…just tell my kids that I love them.”
Don’t know how or what this looks like. But peace has replaced the tears.
Pray for me as I continue to process the hard things.
It’s interesting because I realized that today is Holi, a holiday in India that is a celebration of good triumphing over evil. hmm.
-Kate
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“We are all beggars before God.” – Auto wallah, Jaipur India.
I am constantly surprised by ways that God totally blows my misconceptions of who He is and how He works. In the past month I’ve been taught what it means to create with fearless abandon by a 7 yr old boy with downs syndrome, I’ve seen the beauty of church happening not in the confines of a building on Sunday morning but on Monday night in an apartment when a time of grieving turns to a time of praise and thankfulness and have found family amongst those that come from a drasticly different world than the one I know. I feel that everyday He is revealing new things.
I am learning that God speaks in the honest prayer of a non-believer, in the profound words of an auto driver in Jaipur, in the colors and strokes on the canvas of a 7 yr old boy, and through the expression of a painter who feels God’s broken heart when he sees the desperate condition of the poor.
I’m learning what freedom looks like. Freedom to create, to love, freedom to make mistakes, and the freedom to let God completely shatter everything I thought I knew about who He is.
I’m learning to have courage to ask hard questions and to have peace even when I have no answers.
* kate *
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We have now officially completed our first month here in India. Initially we came with hopes to have an impact, to teach art and finds answers, but instead we are the ones who have been impacted, who have been the ones to learn more than we’ve taught and found that we are left even more questions.
Here’s a little catch up on what we’ve been up to…
In the last couple weeks we have done some creative workshops with an NGO that works with the poor to get their voices heard and to develop a safe way for them to utilize the public transportation system. Our role was to work with kids in a local slum to create paintings that depict their concerns. We spent 4-5 hours in a tiny 8’x15’ basement school room packed with 23 kids, the NGO staff, 6 of us from the gallery and half of the village who just wanted to see what was going on. The electricity went out at one point, the air was thick and most of the time we only had a small space to stand but it was all worth it to watch kids encounter paint for the first time. The paintings they made were incredible. We put them outside on the steps to dry and a huge crowd gathered outside to see the beautiful pieces of paper emerging from the crowded room below. At the end some kids were so excited they began to paint the newspaper we’d laid down to protect the floor. It think they would have started to paint the walls if the paper hadn’t been there! It was amazing to see the impact some paper, paint and a tiny room can have on a community.
We are about to finish our third week of teaching painting classes and I have to laugh at myself and at God’s sense of humor. All my life I swore I would never teach, and here I am absolutely loving it! It is so fulfilling to watch people grow and encourage them as they struggle through their own process of finding their grove. It’s been freeing to learn that I don’t need to have all the answers and that growth comes from the process. I get to come alongside and watch God do the work in people’s lives. The outcome is beautiful. Some of my favorite moments have been watching a boy in one of our classes who has downs syndrome put his brush to the canvas with pure joy and fearless abandon, or when the group of ladies in our morning class stay after to chat and have a cup of tea.
I can’t believe it’s only been one month…it feels like a lifetime. I can’t wait to find out what’s in store for us in the months to come, cause in India you just never know.
* kate *
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