Focus

We just had a really fun afternoon watching the Rugby World Cup Semi-Finals with a room full of New Zealanders. The All Blacks played really, really well and we're looking forward to the finals next Sunday!

As I watched what probably are the two best teams in the world battle it out, I was stuck by their absolute commitment to the game. How they were entirely focused on the ball, putting their bodies on the line without thought of the outcome except to get that ball and cross the line. There was one play where an All Black was literally flipping over the head of an Australian player, yet his eyes were on the ball instead of the fast approaching ground below---and he snatched the ball out of his opponent's hands! Wow.

We're told in Heb. 12:3 to "fix(ing) our eyes on Je3us, the pioneer and perfecter of fa1th. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of G-d."

What if we really, truly fix our eyes on Him the same way that the All Blacks completely focus on something as simple as a ball? If we were more concerned with our focus than impacts, pain, and the opposition running towards us? Much bigger wow. And the prize at the end sure beats a cup---no matter how prestigious it is!

The Poor at My Door

It's a holiday here. FS is off for 4 days in a row with the equivalent of Christmas Day being tomorrow in this part of the world. So even though we were planning to spend most of the day taking advantage of the time to clean out cobwebs and cabinets, we were having a slow start to the day. I was still in my pajamas when Hannah called, "Mom, there's a girl at the door." We love the fact that while when our kitchen door is open, it's open to the world at large and anyone COULD come to the door, but that they usually don't. It makes a small space seem larger to have the door open to the balcony for fresh air and a view of tree branches right outside. While one side of our building is on a very busy lane, the side with our door is off of a courtyard and 3 flights up a spiral staircase. Not many venture up unless they know us.

But here was a girl of about 12 standing just inside our door this morning. I've seen her before on the main road begging with a pack of other children. Her face, hair, and clothes were all a similar color of grime. She comes across as a little too bold, but it's understandable by the look of never having enough to eat in her eyes.

I asked in her language what she wanted and she said, "My father is dead and I am hungry." I turned to get a pack of biscuits from the cabinet because we do that instead of giving money. Biscuits she would probably eat herself but who knows who money would go to. When I turned back around a young woman was standing there as well with a baby in her arms. Both girls ducked their heads around the door taking in as much of our living area as possible. The thought crossed my mind that they were casing out our house and my mother's instinct took hold. While our flat here is fairly secure, I remember the trauma of our kids waking up in Fiji knowing that someone had robbed the house while we slept. I don't want them to experience that or worse again.

I asked the women how old the baby was. She said she didn't know. I asked again to be sure we understood each other and she said the same thing, confirming in my mind that they were part of a group of beggars because the baby obviously wasn't her own. While I'm sure they were partly just curious to look into a foreigner's house, they also would quite likely tell other desperate people what they saw inside. While we live simply by western standards, we would live like kings to these girls.

Hannah was headed out to buy food for us at the nearby bazaar so she kindly said she'd take them along as well and get them something else to eat. But while she got money and our marketing bag, I shut the door---with them on the other side.

Two things were warring within me. One is that no matter how someone here looks on the outside, and that can be pretty bad, I try to see them each day as who they are in Him. I try to see them as a human being with a soul.

My other thought was that I had just treated those girls not like a person to be cherished. I had treated them like an 'it'.

I thew on some clothes and started cleaning kitchen cabinets with my iPod in my ears to block out the religious chanting on a loudspeaker going on outside. The song began to play:

"Something here is wrong. There are children without homes.

But we just move along to take care of our own.

There's so much suffering just outside our door.

A cry so deafening. Oh, we just can't ignore.

All the people who are fighting for the broken.........keep changing the world."

This is a band that I know is trying to make a difference. After all they've purchased bags from FS with their group's logo on it! But today I thought, "I'm glad they are singing that, but it's not so black and white as in a song."

I don't have the answers. There's nothing I can do but muddle along and figure it out as I go. And I often can't think quickly enough in the middle of something to find a solution. I just wish I'd done a little better today......

Compassion

Today is a holiday here and I got to take my girl who's not going to be living with us much longer out to lunch. We had a great talk and I enjoyed hearing her new perspectives on life as she's been volunteering at FS as well as some elsewhere for the last couple of months.

She and a couple of other girls who live here have spent some time at famous home started by an even more famous nun for the dying. She described how amazed she was at quite a few other other volunteers who were so moved by the place that they basically could only stand there and cry, bringing little help to those around them. Hannah and her friends tucked in and helped with the physical needs of the sick and did their best to make them smile as well. The girls have been here long enough not to be insensitive, but to be able to put their own pity aside and be moved by real compassion to do something FOR the person.

When we first got here I cried a lot but I made sure that the objects of my pity didn't see. As one local lady told a friend of mine, "You can cry when you're by yourself but you had better not cry in front of those girls. They (girls in the trade) are not allowed to cry so neither can you." Good advice.

Our hearts still hurt for those around us but now we cry less often. Yesterday I visited with someone who had just been to a rural area where a lot of girls are trafficked to our area from and he told me horror stories of what he'd just seen there. Even though he was a foreigner like myself I found myself holding the tears until he left. It's become a habit.

Hannah and I discussed today how it's a process to get there but how it's important to have something deeper in our hearts than just being moved to tears when we see pain and suffering around us. Crying with someone who is crying can be a gift, but tears for someone in terrible circumstances who is too numb to cry themselves is not kind or helpful. It's focusing on our own feelings and our pity just makes them ashamed. True compassion moves us to focus on THEM instead.

What an amazing thing for an 18 year-old to already understand and be able to express!

Happy Birthday FS!

Saturday was FS's 10th birthday. Around 350 people gathered to celebrate 10 years of Freedom for women. It was a great day with lots of smiles, laughter, food, and fun!

Highlights included hearing one women from each of the red light areas around lifting up the women in their area still standing in line. Another was spontaneous dancing during one of the items presented by a group of the women--just because they were happy!

Our Communications Manager worked hours and hours on a video of interviews and footage of the women for the women that he showed during the celebrations. A number of people who have worked at FS in the past flew in for the occasion.

I was on the committee to plan the event and one thing that the process reminded me of was what an amazing group of people that we get to work alongside here! When I asked people to help out I knew they would say 'yes'. The foreigners were up late decorating the night before, they were ready to help with whatever during the day, and they all stayed after the party was over without being asked to help clean up even though they were hot and tired. Why? Because they love the women that they've come to serve.......

All of the women looked lovely dressed in their best and the foreign women put on saris as well. Since I can't post a picture of the women here is one of some of the foreign women there (Hannah, Rachel, and Heather included).

Note: As I wrote the above I got word that the husband of one of our young women killed himself by drinking poison this morning. We are glad to see hope in the district but there's still so much despair....

Suffering

Adam's had hives for the last 5 days. This after a very painful previous week with a huge sore on his tongue (we think we know the cause of the sore). It's been hard to see him suffer and has made his mom concerned.

I've always believed that when He calls a family He has a plan for the entire family in it. Over the years I've seen people come overseas and usually go when they came with the attitude of wanting to protect their children from anything and everything that might impact them differently than their home culture. By doing that they didn't embrace the positive things that their location had to offer and refused the impact of life change through the negative in their children.

But recently I've been longing for easy access to good medical care so we can figure out what's going on with our son. He has been faithful, we've been figuring things out a bit, and I know that good medical care will come for Adam later.

But something lovely has been happening through this experience in Adam's life! He's definitely a gifted artist. (Not sure where he inherited that from!) He loves to draw but as an active boy he frequently doesn't make time for that.

This week however, he's had a pencil in his hand and art book in front of him for hours at a time. This morning he shuffled up the stairs and almost instantly asked through hive-swollen eyelids, "Where's my sketch pad?" He has Googled difficult cartoon characters all week long and drawn them all. Perfectly. At age 8.

It's been hard to watch him suffer but at the same time a joy to watch a passion ignite in him in the use of his Dad given talents. It's good to remember that sometimes suffering ushers in joy and that He has a purpose in everything. And that through everything we still have a reason to give thanks.

Recycling.....

These photos are the perfect depiction of what FS is about to me! This is the courtyard of the main building where used saris have been washed and hung up to dry. The women tear the saris into strips and pieces are used to decorate, line, or create handles for different bag designs.

These saris are like the women of our area. They might be used and a bit worn, but they're beautiful and worthwhile.
And can be transformed into something new!
(Thanks for the photos Lizzie P.!)

Safety?

Safety is an interesting concept here. From our perspective some things are extremely cautious and some things that others think are fine are really dangerous.

The Metro doesn't run on Sunday so we took a taxi home earlier. The taxi door next to Rachel seemed to be firmly latched but didn't hang totally straight on the frame. People in car after car as they passed banged the door with their hands or yelled out an alert to us that the door wasn't right. It obviously really bothered them!

At the same time as we passed, people risked their lives weaving in and out of traffic to cross roads in front of us. People passed by on motor bikes with the driver wearing a helmet while their passenger didn't. Sometimes the passenger was a small child sitting in front of them or a wife sitting side-saddle on the back in her sari.

If our kids take off running down a lane people get upset and yell at them to stop lest they get hurt. Last year Aaron was sent to the principle's office at school for getting a ball that had a gone up on a ledge. He climbed up all of maybe 5 feet off of the ground to retrieve it to the horror and dismay of his teachers.

Electricians, however, regularly wire meters with 440V live electricity while wearing flip-flops/jandels! They also lean looooong bamboo ladders up against electrical wires for support to work on the wires connected to poles on the streets. Shocking! (pun intended)

If you look closely below you will see a guy wiring right outside of our house. He's 3 stories up on a metal ladder, with bare feet, casually leaned up against a pole to work. No one is watching the bottom of the ladder with heaps of people walking right past it.