"God doesn't call us to fix people, but to love people." -Brenton (and others)

I just finished a book called a Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. Essentially... It's a story about stories. He says that people live stories, and asks the question "if your life was a movie, would it be worth watching?" or would you just feel like you wasted your money after the credits rolled? For those of you who have asked yourselves this question before, I highly recommend it. For those of you that haven't... I highly recommend it. So here I am, in India, thinking about the concept of life and story. In the book, Donald Miller writes that "out of the ordinary" is what makes things memorable.

Yesterday I played ice water (freeze tag) with a bunch of blind kids in India and tried to teach them English while they taught me Hindi. Two nights ago I watched a movie about Abraham Lincoln killing vampires, in Hindi, in 3d, while sitting in a movie theater with reclining seats (yes, they are common in Indian) in the company of a Bollywood actor/director and a girl who has been all over the world. Last night we had Katie's goodbye dinner at a  really nice restaurant in the Old City and on the way home we fit so many girls in our rickshaw that Alyssa and I volunteered to sit on the back of the skinny tailgate with our feet dangling inches above the road. And today I risked my life by eating street food at the monsoon festival. I've had wonderful experiences here... I really have. I've realized how much I take mosquito repellant, wifi, and toilet paper for granted. I know now that it is a strange concept to most of the world that men and women are of equal worth, that people are all inherently the same, and that justice could be granted to most citizens of a nation. As much as I could complain about the injustices that exist in American society, at the end of the day, the nation that I live in has granted me more rights than just about any other place I could be in the world. I have lived a very privileged life and have only been able to do so because of things out of my control. This is what I am struggling with now.

 The boys at school sing a song that Virenji wrote. They not only have taught me how to sing it (in Hindi) but they have also described what the words mean. It says something to the effect of, "never say life has no meaning because you cannot see. You have a special sight and a special kind of joy. That is why people close their eyes during happy moments in life. It is in darkness where we find things special. This is what you have, this special sight." When they explained it to me, I swear I almost cried. When they started singing it, at the top of their lungs, I actually did. I know they couldn't see me, so I didn't have to hide it... which was good because I never wanted their singing to stop. If any of these boys had been born in America, what would their lives have been like? Several are so so so smart. DM would probably be a lawyer or a politician. Bhavesh would no doubt be a professor of English. Kishan, who can see very very slightly and loves to draw, would be an artist. Why were they born here, in a place where a disability could determine your worth? How could i ever explain

 to them that despite our differences, they are my equals? These are the things that I am struggling with. These are the questions I can't answer. You know... I actually don't think there is an answer.  I used to think the world could be "fixed". That if enough people came together and fought for the good of all mankind, the suffering and injustices of the world would cease to exist. That was before I left comfortable America. I'm not saying its impossible, but from all I have seen, it seems that way. Three nights ago there was a little boy who followed me through the streets, begging for money. He's a super precious little 5 year old with shaggy hair and a really mischievous smile.... and I couldn't help but like him immediately. He had followed me home the previous night as well. This night he waited on me as I sat in the window of a coffee shop and drank my coffee. As is was sitting there, drinking away the equivalent of what would buy him a meal, I couldn't help but feel guilty. Sure, we are told some street children really are pretty wealthy, or that someone takes care of them and trains them to beg. It's different though when one is sitting there on the curb watching you drink your coffee. As I was walking out of the store, a man walked up beside the little boy and slapped him hard across the face. That is common here, because no one wants a beggar bothering customers, but I couldn't help but be completely appalled. Although I said nothing, I stared the man down, and he eventually walked away. I sat beside the little boy and fished in my purse for a half eaten chocolate bar. As I gave it to him, his crying quieted and he grabbed it. He never smiled, never said thank you, and never looked up as he ate it. I couldn't imagine how hard his life must be.

Don't get me wrong.... I am happy to be here and I am blessed more than I have realized. I am loved and supported by wonderful people and a great family. I guess tonight I just have a lot of thoughts going around in my head. Tomorrow is the second day of monsoon festival. I went today with the boys from school and even risked my life eating street food. Seriously.... I sat looking at my plate for a couple seconds thinking "this actually has the potential to kill me..... or at least give me stomach worms." It was delicious :)  Everyone has setup in streets with big ferris wheels and every other unsafe contraption you would think to set up at an american carnival. Today when I went with the boys, we usually attracted a crowd whenever we stopped to look at something. Seriously, crowds of like 30 people would stand around to stare at us. A handful of disabled children with a white girl in a saree. It was quite a sight, I'm sure. Its been a couple hours now since I ate the street food food so hopefully I will survive until morning. Until then