The Burden of Angels

The gates of Jehovah Jireh Haven part like the gates of Heaven, complete with a chorus of angels singing my name. I must admit though, I never got around to imagining my Heaven with four Great Danes parting the crowds to wet-nose at any spare limb for their slice of attention…or that all those baby angels would like to pick off my toe nail polish when I stood still for but a second…or that God would allow games of Toilet Tag, Extreme Rock Paper Scissors, and Simon Says to disturb His peace. But so what?! It turns out the aforementioned additions to my previously imagined Heaven are, in fact, remarkable improvements.

Unfortunately, reality brings me back to Earth long before I’m ready. I feel their sweet little arms tighten around my neck in a sticky embrace and my heart clumsily stumbles over the knowledge that on those darling shoulders the weight of the world once rested, for however brief a time. The unbalanced burden of a child’s wisdom; knowing that nights are always scariest when his shadow enters her room and into her bed, but not knowing why it feels so wrong when he says it’s right. Knowing that the hunger hurts, that the thirst pains, and the heart aches, but not knowing if it was deserved, from where it came, or when it will ever end. It is a deep understanding of suffering without comprehension of how or why.

Jesus took the weight of our world’s sin on His back that one day. The deepest trespasses committed by the souls of the past, present, and future pulled Him down into the dark mires of death, where the purest of sacrifices was made. But I believe some people reject that gift of love. Love is never lost, no, but Satan closes hearts to hope and forgiveness. His greatest victory lies in contorting love, leaving it malnourished and withering in the depths of a desperate soul. It is when those people, those hurting, broken people, do not allow Jesus to carry this burden that the weight falls onto the ones Jesus always lifted the highest. My darling little sweethearts stumble under the suffocating darkness that is thrust into their innocent light. My heart cries out with grief when my fingers clutch at the babies with dead eyes and broken spirits, when I cling to them while flinging out prayers in every direction. The weight of their fathers’, mothers’, brothers’, sisters’, uncles’, and neighbors’ sin could not be supported by their tiny, precious shoulders.  The great burden of it all simply caved in on their sweet spirits…but just when I begin to feel the chill that travels deep into my core in the face of such pain, there is a stirring in that baby’s eyes. A stirring of hope, a lingering connection to the light. A little dimple caused by a little smile. A squeeze between small cold fingers and big warm ones. A tired head rested for a moment on a willing shoulder.

That’s all it takes for me. I certainly cannot hold that weight on my shoulders even though I desire deeply to take it away from those babies. My babies. There is only one true hope, one true light, one true love, one true God. And He is the only one who can release us from all we try to carry around. We have to give it to Him, simple as that.

L'chaim

There is a point in each passing moment of joy where my eyes overflow with unspoken love. Tears blur the world around me as I feel a distinct pressure in my chest where bounding laughter pushes at the scarred walls of my heart, making room for happiness I never thought I deserved. In the past few months, my soul has found its way from the suffocating darkness of despair to the humbling honor of undeserved grace and second chances. I now find solace in the collective burden of this life, knowing that I hold the knowledge of an immortal message in a dismally mortal world.

            I still feel a distinct sting of pain when I partially transport myself to the state of my life at the beginning of my internship with Mission Adelante. I had resigned myself to the suffocating chains of discontent, deception, and my own weakness. I allowed the lies of the world to infiltrate my very being, disguising the truth and the light. I simply lost my way. I was entrenched in the shadows of my past and my ever-tortuous present. I had no way forward and no way back…

I have very few words to explain the impact of my time at Mission Adelante because when I pause to think, I am overwhelmed by an indistinguishable wave of emotion. I am powerless to fight the tide or make sense of everything washing over me. I do know one thing for certain, however; it is no coincidence that Mission Adelante means Mission “Go Forth.” My time there opened the path to God’s plan in my life and gave me the courage to forge onward. I was taught to lay down the burden of my mistakes and instead, find a place for the lessons learned in my next few steps. And now, instead of guilt and regret, I have the honor of forever carrying in my heart the love of the darling children who saved my life.

           An African mama once shared in a few words the wisdom of a lifetime with my father: “I have seen many men die pregnant with great dreams,” she warned. “Don’t be one of them.” I realized I do not have to stand by and watch while innocent lives crumbled under the rule of poverty, prejudice, and pain. I should not feel guilty that the hand of fate provided me the privilege of education or a stable family; but if I fail to use that privilege to make even a small, dusty, forgotten corner of the world a brighter place then, and only then, do I have something to feel truly guilty about. Nothing but society tells me that I should content myself with what I have been given and settle into the routine of Suburbia. Nothing but the bitter ghosts of my past tell me that instead of soaring among the stars I should lay myself on the cold ground with my eyes on the sky, forever waiting for someone, something, to lift me up. I realize that no longer can I hold parts of my heart for myself; it belongs, and will forever belong, to the collective soul of this world. It is the people across the nations, now holding its pieces, who lead me.

Oh, life.

My fingers tapped a disjointed beat on my steering wheel to the radio song that quickly faded with little significance into the space of my car. There I sat, feeling minimal interest as the cars passed in predictable sequence while inhaling and exhaling still-freezing air with exaggerated plumes of imaginary smoke. Then impatience began to rise with the continued intrusion of that blasted red light as I waited at a stand-still, looking for the green arrow that would usher me along toward my destination. Soon my thoughts began to wander because, ironically enough, they have a mind of their own.

With some frustration, I realized my life at this point is just one blinding stoplight after the other. I’ve got people on both sides taking quick peeks into the windows of my heart, trash has begun to pile up where the forgotten, the lingering, and the invasive have ridden beside me in the passenger seat, and I rev the gas in preparation for my next move. Those in other lanes have been given the right of way, the green light, the granted permission to move forward while I watch and wait with increasingly yearning eyes and an ever-pining soul. In my rearview mirror, the light and dark of my past battle for my future while those I have left behind stand amongst the smoking wreckage…in my heart I know that when the light turns green, I will hesitate but a moment before leaving it all behind me. And whether the destination is near or far I’m ready for whatever it takes to get there, flat tire or tired spirit. I just hope that my feelings of insignificance fade, replaced by the knowledge that though I wander, though I yearn for more, my heart is not aimless.

The truth, the unknown, and the maybes that hide in between

“And then, God takes his toothbrush and just (enthusiastic scrubbing sounds) on our hearts!” the indomitable Axel Flores informed us with enthusiasm.

“Correct!” I said with a delighted laugh, helpless in the face of child-like logic. “And what else does God do to help us when we stumble and fall? What was his plan to take us up to heaven with him, even though sometimes our hearts get dirty?”

Chimes of, “Jesus! He sent Jesus!” filled our slightly-uncomfortably-heated-and-smelling-a-little-like-a-sweaty-Axel-Flores room. Some spontaneous applause joined in with giddy laughter as we looked around at each other, feeling quite pleased with ourselves.

Every Thursday night, Group 3 of Kids Adelante completes me. To quote an equally overly quoted line from that same movie, ‘they had me at hello.’ And now, after six months, they continue to right every wrong in my unbalanced world…

A few weeks ago, a best friend of mine took his own life. When he did, he took a part of me with him. I don’t want that piece of my heart back because I could never bear to give it to another, but I would gladly give my own breathe, my own heartbeat, to have Ryan walk back through my front door and into my arms again. I’m still entirely broken. I’m still desperate for a different reality every morning. But I’m still here.

I’ve lost someone I never thought I’d have to live without. I’ve also realized I was sent these little angels to carry me through. Like they say, when God closes a door, He opens a window. I can see the light streaming through, but it seems so high. I just don’t know how to find my way to it on my own…Maybe all my babies are here to teach me how to fly.

Rest in Peace, my darling. You'll be in my heart forever and for always.

We're all one phone call from our knees...

With each dirt-streaked tear, each faithless stumble, each heart-led fall, my head spins as all-consuming questions begin to layer in a desperately chaotic search for more. Sometimes, the answers I uncover aren’t enough to satisfy me. Sometimes, they aren’t what I want to believe is true. And sometimes, I still just don’t understand.

When I was younger, I couldn’t comprehend that the world was constantly spinning even if I stood still. So I would twirl myself in unrelenting circles; when I paused, the earth would make its rumored turns around me. With that, I was appeased.

I couldn’t fathom why, beneath the scientific explanations and logical conclusions, the sky was blue. So I would lie on my back, close my eyes, and think deeply about other colors replacing that which is accepted; when I opened my eyes again, I realized that I simply wouldn’t want the sky to be any other shade even if it could be painted over. Yet again, I was appeased.

And now, after all these years, the world is still spinning and the sky is still blue. But now, I’m not asking why it’s true; I’m asking how it’s true. How is it that this earth continues to make its rounds when a best friend, a beautiful soul, a man like none before, has departed? How is it that the sky is filled with its age-old, limitless color when my own life has gone to black and white without the person who filled it with shining light and glorious hues?

Ryan, I can't explain big the hole is that you created inside me when you decided to leave us because I’m honestly shattered. I don't know how I’m going to put my own life back together because when I realized your arms will never wrap around me again, my heart exploded with the terror, the grief, and the unfathomable. You were a slave to circumstance, yet another victim to the casualties of time. The chains were suffocating, and the masters of pain and fear were closing in on you. But baby, we all would have willingly locked ourselves into that darkened place next to you if you had just given us another chance. Together, through laughter and hope and love, we would have fought back the shadows. We would have linked arms, allowing our friendship to be the only chains holding us together.

And so my darling, together we cry. We cry for the incredible man who held his head high for so long. We cry for the lonely world that is now deprived of a mesmerizing soul. We cry for you Ryan.

Your heart will never leave this place that you were so desperate to escape from; I will forever hold it in my own. Thank you for the privilege of being apart of your life. I love you. I miss you. I’ll see you on the other side my love, my sweet, my friend.

Past and Precedence

There’s this place I get trapped in sometimes, this bizarre and inexpressible chasm my mind creates after sleep yet before awake. My dream begins to break up into over-exposed images flashing in random sequence. The underlying message of my unconscious wandering dulls as clipped pictures pass by effortlessly and I am powerless to register any information beyond the emotions each scene evokes. A noiseless, shapeless drone quickly approaches with an increasingly loud murmur that means absolutely nothing and still significantly something. I wake up in a state of dim confusion, questioning the pieces of my life that are slowly falling back into place. To be honest, I often greet the day with little concept of past, present, or future. Countless hours have been spent navigating such an in-between, recollections merging with potential experiences and distant moments colliding with rapidly approaching decisions.

A memory of undignified laughter lifts the corners of a dormant smile as my heart skips a beat in sympathy of such a moment; The way my happiness bubbled from deep within a secret place, moving forward at an unsurpassed speed with insurmountable force. The way my body shook with the effects of such pure joy, the trembles traveling straight through me, supercharging my soul. The way my tears of joy re-routed the dirtied, pain-filled streaks made by tears of regret, disappointment, and fear.

A memory of my dad skipping stones on a lazy river soars through my mind with uncanny detail; The way a vivid blue sky framed by fragrantly green trees made an expressive outline of his fatherly presence. The way unadulterated awe expanded in my young soul with each elegant, chaotic hop of his delightfully rounded rock. The way I stood, gangly limbs and ponderous expression, as I wondered whether my stone would always sink after an explosive splash or if someday my humble attempts would also yield faultless ripples, one after the other in perfectly rapid succession, as his always did.

At every turn, I run my fingers across the rough surfaces of my life that angle into the unknown. At every corner, I pause to catch my breath before whipping onto the adjoining path, prepared to scramble over the cracks, around the looming challenges, and past the beautiful things lining the way. And with each fleeting day, I sacrifice bits of my ever-shortening time to the memories; Memories of hellos, goodbyes, and bridges burned. Births, deaths, and the blinding light of life in between. Failed recipes, forgotten ingredients, and lessons learned from each mistake...

I don’t know where I’m going and sometimes, I wish I could erase where I’ve been. I suppose I can only content myself with the knowledge of where I am, and the blessing of something as simple as that.

And the World Turns.

             The scene was a simple one; kids playing with all their usual exclamations, the sky an open window, and my heart content. I had an eager, clammy hand pulling me wherever the fleeting whims of its owner led us and a destination that was certainly open for interpretation by the little ones who could override my every intention with a smile. My companions propelled me forward in the hurried manner of children that have no place to be, but are determined to reach that place with all haste. On our way past the brightly colored classrooms doubling as temporary bedrooms, those not party to our explorations called out a greeting and threw their arms to the blue skies in an enthusiastic hello. In return, the girls by my side would chant along with me as we practiced the Princess Wave, ‘Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist. Touch your pearls and blow a kiss!’ It didn’t take long for giggles to become the only sound we could manage as skips and excited little hops accentuated our walk. Before long, a small head popped over the wall with curious eyes, checking out the commotion. ‘Cici!’ the tiny boy exclaimed, using my nickname. ‘Durga sweetheart, come!’ I exclaimed right back, my arm already out in preparation for his bony limbs wrapping halfway around me in a hug that always makes my heart smile. He shook his head in a decline but all the while, a wide grin stayed glued to his face. I walked over only to discover that he was changing into his school uniform. I backed away and said in brief, adapted English, ‘Okay, I wait.’ As he changed, that same wide grin kept me smiling, and my love for him swelled as he kept his eyes on me to make sure I didn’t leave him. Within seconds, he had skittered down the steps to my side. Even though I would have fought tooth and nail to keep him in my arms he was soon off to play without a backward glance, as boys are wont to do.

I cannot fathom an explanation, but this moment has kept me company every minute since being home. I think about little Durga constantly; the way he would stand by the porch where our team gathered, a blanket wrapped around his small frame and a face begging for attention just as it used to beg for food on the streets before he was carried to New Life, carried home; the way he was always the last child to give into yawns and heavy eyes, and the first to raise his hand with the sign of love on his fingers. I wonder if he lays awake some nights curled into his faded little mat on the classroom floor, the chilly air biting at his sun-soaked skin, while a multitude of other noises pierce the stillness and fade into the blackness unaccounted for. I wonder if he glances around at the dark shapes of his brothers, his friends, and thinks about the shadows of his past that came for him in the night. I wonder if he remembers how his parents tried to protect him before the world got through their defenses…It breaks my heart that he doesn’t fall asleep to hummed lullabies or soft goodnight kisses on the cheek. It tears me apart that he is still only one of hundreds of millions of babies facing the darkness on their own. It leaves me lost that I am helpless in the face of this disgusting part of humanity.

Memories of India drown me. Their tides determinedly pull at the frayed ties between a recent past and my diluted present. Their depths flood the fragile recesses of my soul, where I tenderly battle their invasion…memories as fleeting as the whisper of a child’s breath as she falls asleep cradled in my arms; as the hint of a stifled message that lies hidden behind dark eyes with no point of escape. Memories as insistent as the tug of a little one’s heart on mine; as the words that crowded my mind, fighting for a way to be understood by the people who stole my every breath; as the power behind loving a stranger in a way that terrifies, satisfies, and entirely captivates. Memories so disorienting that they make me lose my way; they overwhelm my mind and heart; they persuade me to believe that without it, I am misplaced. I am nothing. They wash over me until the stars blinking above me combine in swirling chaos, transforming into the beautiful light that a single place, a single person, brought to my life. The effect is staggering. I forget where I’m going and instead, my body moves toward the magnetic pull of a distant home. I am forced to wrap myself in my own embrace, enclosing the abrupt pain of losing them all…

I don't know how to pray when all I can do is plead. I don't know how to forgive when all I can do is condemn the world for standing by as these children go to bed hungry, alone, and anonymous. I just don't know.