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