Somewhere In Between

Tetons: America the Beautiful

Traveling 9,000 miles in five weeks through over thirty States in America had its challenges. We needed stamina for the 12 hour days in the car, and wisdom for the weighty decisions whether it should be McDonald's or Burger King for lunch, and clairvoyance to know if we would make it to the campground with enough light to cook dinner and set up the tent. Wondering when we would reach the next rest stop with Morgan jumping around the back seat in agony was of frequent amusement to all of us (except to him).

We learned caffeinated sugared soft drinks really aren't ok on long trips. We learned Greg is happier with a State map from every single of the 30 states we drove through. And we learned its better when I am driving and he is navigating!

We travelled the US as tourists, and as tourists, delighted in its beauty and grandeur. Starting with Washington DC with its monuments, museums and gorgeous architecture to moving west following Lewis and Clark's trail and the Westward expansion arch in St. Louis to Yellowstone with its wild and smoking geo thermal landscape, to the crashing of Niagara Falls we partook of history and national identity. Whether our kids eventually choose America as their home or not, they have glimpsed its scope and Greg's and my own roots.

My dad, taking granddaughters to the theatre

We didn't really travel all that way to sight see. That was just a great byproduct of a much more compelling desire, to reconnect with family. My parents and brother Andy live in Georgia, Greg's parents and brother's family in Washington state (thus the meeting point in Yellowstone Park), Greg's sister in Tennessee, my brother Jona in Kentucky and I have cousins, aunts and uncles in the Pennsylvania, upstate New York area. All those places, separated by hundreds of miles, and terrain as vastly changing as new continents, and all those people beckoned us to a to a wider experience than our previous furloughs.

Kavi's 17th and Morgan's 12th birthdays celebrated in Georgia
with my brother Andy and his family.  Niece Maddie pictured here.

A Freedom Firm board meeting in Pittsburgh meant we had the privilege of staying with cousins I hadn't seen for the last 20 years. We all have kids, some are young adults, some just toddlers. The pleasure of catching up, sharing our stories and seeing our shared DNA in each other's faces was pure joy.
Showing our kids that they are related to a larger family gives greater security and sense of belonging. My children will need that for their futures. They need to know they can belong in another world.

My mother and Morgan zooming around on ATVs
at a friends house on Lookout Mountain

Visiting a few colleges started us on the process Kavi's eventual departure from India, as this is her senior year, or St. 13 as Hebron calls it. We looked at private Christan colleges, big state colleges and smaller liberal arts universities. Where will she feel comfortable, connected, challenged and supported, with us 10,000 miles away? As a third culture kid we know there is a dislocation and search for identity that will be part of the process for her. Good to start probing, good to be exploring together, good to evaluate, and analyse the positives and negatives of each institution. Already Greg and I taste the bittersweet of this upcoming stage of parenting. Also the excitement.

And all this splits my heart. That I have roots in two places, India and America. That I have a foot in each world. (They really are not countries, they are worlds apart). The image in Ben Stampers's movie Horse and Rider, where the Indian woman in a sari is caught in the median of a busy street with traffic to heavy to cross.  I identify. When I am in India I do not want to go to America, and when I am in America, I do not want to go back to India.

I am used to these emotions after 12 years of my fractured existence. At first I thought it would get easier. I thought the sense of dislocation would fade. I thought my reluctance to bridge distances and cultures would disappear over time. And yet it has not.

I wrestled all night, as Jacob did with the Lord, before I regained courage and got on the plane with my family bound for India a week ago. Its the same every transcontinental trip I make. Its a sort of Dr. Jekyll Mr. Hyde moment for me. Shedding one part of my identity and gaining another (though hopefully minus the good and evil metamorphosis of that good book). Moving away from sister, cousin, brother, father, mother, and friend into a degree of relational isolation, more demands and expectations, and the life of the work we have chosen.

A few of our "girls" at the Ooty Botanical Garden display of
 the World Map

We recognize now the emotional drain of working with severely traumatized women, the toll it takes on our inner selves, our marriage, and our friendships.  I've watched Greg mirror some of my own agony as he  managed and developed the Aftercare program after I stepped away.   Stepping on that plane, we willingly walk back to the full knowledge that our well will run dry (figuratively and literally, as India has an officially failed monsoon), as we witness the unpredictable (and often incredibly sad) choices the rescued girls make.

We've been three weeks today. One of our girls in the “indepentdant living reintegration stage” stole a lot of money from the warden of the YWCA. The warden was in tears yesterday saying she had trusted our girl (I won't divulge her name), and had given her keys and invested in her, mentoring her, only to be betrayed.

I know that tune. I have tasted that bitter fruit. Those who give always expect something in return. Love, gratitude... honesty. But I read somewhere that real love is giving unconditionally. Not expecting anything in return. Can she, can I, love with such an open hand? I want to tell her that this act of betrayal is not personal. It comes from  a life broken early and broken painfully.

Today, Greg is in the early stages of deciding on consequences and the repercussions of our girl. He covered her debt so the warden doesn't lose her job. Our girl will no doubt lose her place at the Y and have to live in another hostel. She will have to pay back the money, although, most likely at this stage, she will run. It has happened before, it will happen again. Often there is no obvious benefit of pouring ourselves into the girls God sends us. But I believe the “good” is in the act of giving. Full stop. There is no pay back from these girls. Simply gifts given with no return. And that's ok, if we take ourselves out of the equation.

So, when I stepped on the plane bound for India, I knew what we were heading back to.  I struggled in dread of our calling for a moment. I fought inwardly to gain the perspective I needed to in order to love with an open hand. I steeled myself for the future.

We landed in Bangalore India, and my kids started giggling in a way I hadn't heard for two months since leaving. They breathed deep and swore they liked what they smelled. Morgan wanted to pull over immediately for onion dosa and idly (South Indian breakfast). As we drove the eight hours up to Ooty, we left the heat, dust and noise.  The beautiful Nilgiri mountains came into view. We caught glimpses of  elephants ranging in the National park as we drove through.  The scent of jasmine, tea and eucalyptus filled the car and we were home again.

California Poppies welcoming us home in my Ooty garden

We walked through the woods to our house in the rainy dark with no flashlight, singing at the top of our voices to scare the panthers and wild bison. Our seven month old labs went insane from excitement and we hear the horses whinnying through the darkness, a welcome. Suddenly America fades in my mind and I am  here, embracing all of it and I realize I've done it again. I've crossed the great divide of my heart to be fully present in this land, and I have been given grace to live this life, and have grace to pass on.