One Billion Rising

Violence against women is a horrific and oppressive reality the world over, but with the recent global publicity of the torturous gang-rape in Delhi, violence against women - especially sexual violence - is taking the stage in an entirely different spotlight in India.  On Valentine's Day, I joined NGOs and concerned citizens in Cubbon Park, Bangalore, to sing, dance, act, paint, and ultimately say "No" to violence against women.

India is a culture that is permeated by struggles for women's rights, but also that is filled with strong women and men who are standing up for justice.  The use of art at this event was especially powerful.  Not only was art on display, but the participant was invited to paint banners, join dances and mimes, or take a canvas to the grassy lawn to paint their response; to enter the struggle.  I have hope that this year may be the year of the woman in India, beginning to build a solid foundation for the rights of generations to come.

To learn more about the movements to say "No" to violence against women, visit www.onebillionrising.org.

On Lent; On Fasting

...day after day they seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that does what is right 
and has not forsaken the commandments of its God.
They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them.
"Why have we fasted," they ask, "and you have not seen it?"
"Why have we humbled ourselves and you have not noticed?"
Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all of your workers.
Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife, and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high.
Is this the kind of fast that I have chosen, only a day for people to humble themselves?
Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed and for lying in sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast, a day that is acceptable to the Lord?

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
To loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke,
To set the oppressed free and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - 
When you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
Then you will call and the LORD will answer; you will cry for help, and He will say 'Here am I.'

If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and the malicious talk,
And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
Then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.
The LORD will guide you always, 
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise the age-old foundations;
You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.
[Isaiah 58]

Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.
That is who Jesus is.  That is what He came to do.
As we prepare for Easter,
As we identify with Christ in His suffering,
Let us also deny ourselves
Not only by removing something from our lives,
But by adding the active pursuit of Christ's mission.

Repairer of Broken Walls.
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.
Let it be said of us.

The Day I Began to Fall in Love with India

On this Valentine's Day, I thought I'd throwback to a reflection of a day in early July 2010:  The day I began to fall in love with India.

Some say that when you fall in love,

You just know.

Not this girl.

I didn’t know it then,

But four months later,

As I was pondering my beloved with a smile,

It came to me.

I remembered that moment…

The moment

That I started to fall in love with India.

It was my seventh day in Incredible India,

And it was a hot day in Incredible India.

The air was so dense

I had to push myself through it

And as I rode in the local taxi

I rolled down my window

As far as it would go,

Positioning my body

To be the recipient

Of as much of the passing air as was possible.

Traffic was stop-and-go

But not stop-and-go like you’d picture in America.

This was an India-style traffic jam.

Cars were everywhere,

Horns were blaring.

As I looked at the bikes and the auto-rickshaws around me,

I found myself thankful

That there were only four passengers in my vehicle.

Four, and not fourteen.

I averted my gaze from those crowded cars

(it made me sweat even more just looking at them)

and my attention was captured

by the town around me.

Dusk was falling.

As I focused in on the scene before me,

The blaring of the traffic

Faded.

The sounds

Of a town waking up for their evening activities

Came alive.

I was captivated.

Food was sizzling

On the street-vendors’ carts

And grey smoke

Puffed up into the air,

Becoming nothing but a haze…

A haze that

Created a mirage effect

On the reel I was watching.

The smell of the street food

Blended gently

With the scent of incense

That always lingers in the air,

And I found it soothing.

Calming.

Cozy.

Yes, I felt cozy amidst the chaos.

Children were laughing.

They were riding their bicycles

With giant smiles on their faces

Chasing each other

In-and-out of the stop-and-go-traffic.

Can I play?

Men were gathered around the vendors

Dressed in Western clothing

And deep in discussion.

No doubt they were talking politics and religion,

And all I wanted to do was listen.

Still others sat away from the groups,

On doorsteps and curbs,

Watching me like I was watching them.

Women were walking

And talking,

Adorned in colors and patterns

That I had only before imagined.

Their bangles and ankle chains

Jingled with every step

And the music that it made

Invited me to dance.

Even among the honking horns,

The milieu was idyllic.

My heart swelled,

And my only desire

Was to leave the car

And walk with them.

I couldn’t perceive it at the moment,

But this was where my journey began.

This was when I began to fall in love with India.

February Hope

It is February.  Yesterday I woke up with such a feeling of peace, of anticipation.  It’s February.  The first day of a new month.  The beginning of a new day.  Anything can happen.  And we get to begin anew.

I don’t know exactly what it is about new beginnings that make me so happy.  Actually, I do.  It’s hope.  A new beginning offers hope.  Hope of learning from mistakes, of doing better next time.  Hope of a life that is different – better, more fulfilling – and hope of the wonders that that life may bring.  Opportunities.  Friendships.  Love.   Adventures.  Miracles.

Smiling.

Hope.  Hope is full of grace. Of freedom. Of redemption.  Of promises.

Throughout January, I was continuously bombarded with the typical “Oh my gosh I can’t believe it’s January2013!” that tends to overwhelm more than one wandering soul when the new year hits.  And, looking at things logically, I would have anticipated that when February hit I would grieve the month – a whole month! – that has already gone by, never to return again.

But surprisingly I don’t.  February is a new month.  It is a new beginning.  It is full of hope.  And hope is like a firm and steady anchor for our souls.