Speaking up

Ten years ago when we started working with people living with HIV in Thane we did not know of a single HIV positive person who was attending a local church.  Today we know of many.  Almost every local church that has some life in it has at least one if not more members who are HIV positive.

Not every church is at a point where people with HIV are openly speaking about their status.  But some are.

This Sunday we travelled to the other side of the city to participate in a Sunday morning worship of the Harvest of Grace Fellowship.  They have been involved with reaching out to people with HIV for a number of years through Nelson and Pamella DeSouza and their 'Asha' project.  We were in a main meeting hall of a school - worship was lively with plenty of dancing.

Then it was our turn to share.  The church has been deeply touched to reach out to the poor this year.  We talked about how Jesus touched the man suffering from leprosy.  How he was moved with compassion.  How he brought about complete healing.  How he publicly showed his love.

Then our friends Ram and Sheela stood up.  They worship with a church here in Thane.  Ram told his story of discovering Christ while he was brought to the doorstep of death by his HIV.  He talked about how he was able to overcome addiction and brokeness in his home through the love of Christ.  He shared about the tremendous joy of finding out that his children did not have HIV.  Sheela stood up and prayed, thanking God for helping her and her husband find Him.  Ram ended by saying that he was thankful that he is living with HIV because through the suffering he had met the living God.

We still have a long way to go - but hats off to the amazing courage of our dear friends.  We are so touched to see real changes taking place in people's lives.

After the service we drank coffee and talked.  Nelson introduced us to a group of Positive Friends who are helping at the government ART centre.  They were so happy with the church service they attended - as we had shared about how the church needs to come alongside and help people with HIV take their medications.  "A number of people who go to church stop their medications" our new friends told us "because their churches teach them that they have been healed."

The message that AIDS = Death has spread far and wide.  Its time now for people to stand up and tell a different tale.  We need men and women like Ram and Sheela who are able to tell the world what their experience is like.  For all of us to be cut to the heart about the real needs - and the real opportunities for change.

We are blessed that India is a largely low-prevalence country with regards to HIV.  The US has a higher prevalence of HIV than we do.  But the suffering that those who do have the illness is colossal.  And the sheer numbers are greater.  HIV continues to be a hidden catastrophe - where families affected largely suffer in silence. 

Statistics - as poignant as they may be - will rarely change hearts.  But a courageous voice can.  We want to see so many more people with HIV telling their story.  Challenging all of us to change.  And including all of us in the celebration of lives that are being shaped for glory!

Pictures for transformation

Open any newspaper on any given day and you will read story after story about sexual assault.

Its not that we suddenly have more brutality against women in India.  We live in a society where the average women is constantly and continually leered at.  Often groped.  Treated like dirt.  And has had to go through this with the whole issue being called 'eve teasing.'

But something has happened.

The unbelievably brutal assault on a young woman in Delhi, which ended in her death late last year has opened the eyes of the nation.   Its been a long time coming.

Now the papers are falling over themselves to announce that this watchman has been accused of molesting that girl, and that a further rape took place in so-and-so town.  You almost wonder whether all that happens in our country is molestation - there are so many reports.

It makes you sick to think that this is what has been going on for years - but that the public guardians have not thought it 'fit to print.'

There is also probably a slightly higher willingness of the police to take 'complaints' more seriously now.

How much longer the current climate of awareness will last is anyone's guess.  Two years ago Anna Hazare took the nation by storm with his anti-corruption campaign.   For most of us its business as usual again after he faded from the scene.

The pictures above are painted as a mural on the wall of our housing society.  A local group organised school children in a competition and the winners had their pictures painted on our wall on Republic Day last month.

Everyday as I walk Asha to and fro from school, again when I walk with Enoch, and in-between on my own walk to work I pass these images.  They are powerful statements of truth.

The press is demanding that new laws be passed - and that rapists be hanged.   But then who is making these laws.  Its easy to be cynical about our parliament.  Many of the men who are elected have criminal records themselves - 6 have been accused of rape themselves.   But at least we have a nation who desperately wants something to be done about the horrors that women go through.

Rather than sink into the slough of cynicism, there are those who are painting for change.  May our thoughts and prayers and actions also follow.

We know that there are no short-cuts out there - we have had laws in hand for years, but very little enforcement.  We have a society that claims to be conservative and chaste and yet every single Bollywood film has a mandatory sleaze sequence when an aspiring (or nowadays established) female star flaunts her stuff, and where as you ride a train into a city you see the large letters painted on walls advertising Doctors who treat Venereal Diseases.

The road to change starts in our heart.  In our hearts.  In a true and lasting reform of our character.  In a reorienting of our inner man with the heart of a man who came into this world 2 millenia ago.  He was able to reach out to women in prostitution without exploiting them.  He had mercy on a woman with a 12 year long menstrual problem.  He looked after his mother while hanging naked and bleeding on the cross.  And though he died a criminal's death, I know that he rose anew and lives that all may be restored and changed....

What amazing art will be created on the day when all things are put right!

In the meantime... lets start with creating pictures and images that express truth for change!  Let a thousand flowers bloom.  Let a million images tell truth and beauty - and ugliness when needed.

A weight is lifted

On a day like any other, while the city roared in the background around him, a man took a nylon rope and tested it.

Lets call him "Dilip."  He was married with grown children.  Siblings abroad.  A man with an acceptable income.  A church-goer.

But Dilip knew he had HIV.

And he was ready to end it all.  It was too much.  'Life is not worth living' was the thought that drove Dilip to this act.  He worked methodically.   The chandelier was removed.  The rope slung over the hook.  Having written letters to his near and dear (including those abroad), he wrote a letter to the police, explaining what he was going to do and telling them not to blame his family.  Everything done with the same methodical purpose that Dilip had always shown. 

He had rigged everything up when his eyes fell on a small box of 'promise verses.'

Dilip was a church-goer - but had never read the Bible.  Religion was for others.  He did his duty, but didn't allow any 'emotionalism' into his life.  His siblings abroad had had some kind of 'Jesus encounter' - but all of that was not for Dilip.

Somehow, at this moment he felt drawn to read these 'promise verses.'  He read one.  Then another. Then another.  He had never read this before - but it warmed his heart.

After reading four Bible verses he took down the rope and tore up the letters.  He would not undergo this act after all.

It wasn't like Dilip saw a white light and heard a voice, but something had changed.

Last month we met Dilip at Jeevan Sahara.   It has been some time since that dramatic (and till now hidden) day.  Dilip told Sheba his story and the great burden of guilt he was carrying about his HIV status.   With the help of Sister Chinnamma's counsel Dilip left our premises a changed man.  He had realised that he needed to ask forgiveness from God - and that Jesus is so willing to cleanse us of our inner wickedness. 

"I feel so light" Dilip said after he had prayed a simple prayer asking forgiveness.  "In never knew that I could be free of my guilt."

Dilip still has a road to follow.  But a huge first step has been taken.   Living with HIV is not easy - but taking our lives is a big lie that the enemy of our souls loves to plant in our minds.  Each life, each person is so very precious. We are so glad Dilip did not take his life on that day - and that we still have him with us.

Onwards!

Asha is 12

Certain numbers have a ring about them.  12 certainly does. 

Our Asha now has the joy of being a dozen years old.  Her twelfth spin around the sun since the day she was born ended on 16th Jan 2013.

Having arrived back the night before from a quick visit to my parents in Mussoorie (they are doing so much better - thanks for the prayers) we started the day's festivities in the traditional way.  We got up at an unearthly hour and prayed with Asha and gave her gifts (with a few for Enoch as well - I was after all bearing gifts from Oma and Opa too!). 

Just like my Dad did for me when I was a kid - I had gotten up at an even more unearthly hour and had hidden the different packages around the room.  When the eager searchers came to the end of their attempts and wanted clues, the traditional 'hot' and 'cold' helped them home in on the treasures.

Each stage in life has its wonderful joys.

We are now at a point where its not only parents giving gifts, but our kids who gift each other.

Enoch had chosen a purple and white necklace for Asha which was approvingly received by his big sister.

A quick breakfast later and it was off to school!

Asha's school day starts at 7 AM and she likes to be there by 6.40 at least.   Left to herself, she would be the first at school - and is thrilled on the odd occasion that we actually end up there at 6.30 and find that the gates have not even been opened.

Since it's her birthday, she has a special concession - she does not have to wear the uniform she normally dons.  Instead, she is allowed to wear whatever she wants.  Today it will be her new dress.

Its a happy Daddy who for the first time takes a 12-year old to school!

When her fellow students see that she is not in uniform, the wishes come thick and fast.

Its the same when I picked her up at 1 PM and we walked home.  Boys and girls would ask her if it was her birth-day and then on hearing the yes - would say things like 'many happy returns of the day!'

The school does not allow the children to bring sweets to school to distribute - partly because it can get out of hand with each class having 50 students.  The 'arms-race' of giving more expensive treats can quickly kick in.  So kids are not supposed to bring a bag of sweets on their birthday to hand out to their friends.  Instead the birthday child is encouraged to donate a book to the school library.  Ever the 'law-abiders' - we chose a book off went Asha to school!

Later that evening - after some of the lady staff from Jeevan Sahara came over to wish Asha - we had Sheba's cousin Agnes over for a meal. 

Agnes was leaving for a month at home in Andhra Pradesh the next day - which means that she should be back in time for the next big birthday - our dear Enoch who turns 10 on the 19th of February!

We usually try to have a small party for our kids on their actual birthday - but this year it didn't work for Asha.  Her school has their 2nd unit tests this week - and being a mid-week night, none of her classmates would be there if we were to celebrate on the 16th itself.

So we just prolonged Asha's birthday celebrations till the weekend.

Today was the big day.

Early up and everything on war-footing.  The kids had been invited and vetted and planned for.  A menu had been made but last minute purchases were needed.  'Return gifts' (small token gifts given to each person who attends the party) were planned and bought and today Asha and Enoch packed the little goody bags.  And then there was the cake to be shaped and iced.  And the wadas and custard to be made.  And the house to be cleaned.  And on top of all of that - I had still not prepared most of the games.


One of the beauties of today was that we were able to do so much - all at once - with such harmony.

I can be quite the Mr. Cranky when the going gets rough - but was blessed with a coolness that can only stem from my sweet Lord Himself.  Looking back on everything that went on today  I can only say: Wow, thank you Jesus!

At 3.30 PM, there were only the 4 of us in the home.  Then a few minutes later the guests started to trickle in.  Since I was feverishly trying to put the last touches to the games I was happy for any delay. 

But after enough of her friends came, Asha dragged me away from my pieces of paper and we plunged into the main programme.

We had chosen 'mystery' to be the theme for the party and so all the games were linked in with one of the five Ws ('who', 'what', 'when', 'where' and 'why' as well as our other old friend 'how').

The party was almost entirely girls. Enoch was the only boy for most of the afternoon - except right near the end when the younger brother of one of the girls showed up.  At the end of the day Sheba and I had a chat and wondered how long this phase will last...



We are so grateful for this amazing daughter of ours who has brought us so much joy over these dozen years since Asha was born.

Birthday celebrations are great because they allow us to celebrate what we so often take for granted.  They offer us some of the few occasions where we can express our affection for a person without it being under a haze of suspicion.   While we hardly are a family that is stingy with affection - another opportunity never hurts!


What a joy it is to give back to the kids what we received when growing up.  I remember the almost feverish (no make that totally feverish) excitement we had in the run up to our birthdays - and the lovely games Dad would organise. 

It's great to be on the other side of the fence now and see the eager faces of Asha and her friends as we played together.

These twelve years of enjoying Asha have been very rich for Sheba and myself.  The Lord has given us the privilege of parenting a very special girl - who we know is already a blessing to many and will continue to be one in the steps ahead.

It seems like just yesterday we gathered around Asha's first b-day cake - a green parrot.

I don't think she understood much on that day.  Other than she was loved by many. 

But here as a 12-year old.  A girl the same age Jesus was when He talked about the temple being His Father's house.  A girl who is shooting up height-wise and for whom our previously used parenting skills are now in for a major revamp.

Welcome to the mystery of life - dear Asha.

We are so proud of you and all that God is doing in and through you.

We are thrilled by glimpses of the future that we see in you - and a bit scared too.

We know that this year is going to be a superb one for you.

You have brought so much joy to us already - we consider 12 years to have already been more than our portion.  But we are excited to see how God will be shaping and moulding your life in this year and the years ahead.

Its a mystery how we can experience the very presence of the divine in us.  But the joy we have is that this mystery is not some figment of imagination.  It's the gospel truth!

Asha flanked by her dear friends Nikita and Jasper!

Dear Asha, now we have a whole wonderful year to live together before we celebrate again on your 13th!

Birthday cakes as performance art

There is nothing like a birthday cake to get the creative juices flowing.



Like any form of art - the b-day cake traverses the gap between the mind of the creator and the actual gestalt of the final art work - and ends up taking a life of its own.

For thine is the Kingdom. 
Between the conception. 
And the creation. 
Between the emotion. 
And the response.  
Falls the Shadow

Looking back on today I see Asha's 12th birthday cake as a kind of peformance art.

With the 3.30 PM of the party starting - the creative juices were not only flowing but positively churning as the 6 AM carving began.  Then over the course of the day the cake took shape.  After getting its final touches - the cake played a brief cameo as candles were lit and the traditional song sung.  Then seconds later the destructive part of the day began as birthday girl had blown out the candles and started carving it up.

At the end of the day, its full glory is only a sweet memory.

Here are the steps this particular artistic performance took:



We had baked the 3 chocolate cakes (using a recipe from the trusty-rusty Landour Cookbook) and had prepared a foil-covered base the night before.  Some pictures for proportion always help too!



Its always a thrill to get the cakes out of their pans and start cutting!  I do the initial shaping on newspaper because they make a lot of crumbs.



At this point the aim of the game is to get the basic shape right - and use as much of the cake as possible.  Its great fun trying to use the odd pieces that you end up with. 


The cake I made this year was 'Cluedo the Cat.'  He was to fit in with the 'mystery' theme for Asha's party and one early idea was to make his tail into a big question mark.


 When the basic shape is ready, you can transfer him to the foil base and make the icing.  I use a simple recipe from the (you guessed it) Landour Cookbook - 1 tbsp butter, 1.5 cups powdered sugar (Enoch helped me grind and sift this) and adding a little hot milk time to time to help in mixing.  Simple food colouring sets up the palette.


When I was a pre-teen and my mother encouraged me to bake I read a simple children's cook-book that told me to ice the sides of the cake before the top.  I religiously follow this advice to this day...



A little milk on a knife can make the rough smooth.  Pity that that doesn't work for all the rough patches of our lives...


Its now a race against time.  Will we be able for finish?  Its almost 2 - guests are due to come at 3.30 and the house is a mess.  But thanks to a handy-dandy pastry injection (for want of not knowing what the contraption is) which our friends John and Nalini gave us earlier - all the final decorations can be but on without too much heart-burn!

And sure enough - the guests start to arrive.  There is some oohing and aahing about the cake and then it is forgotten as the games begin.

But "Cluedo the Cat' has his moment of glory too:


With the strains of 'Happy Birthday dear Asha' still lingering (and the slightly rowdier version which features her being in a zoo and references to certain caged beasts) the candles are blown out and Asha confidently cuts the cake and feeds all and sundry.

The main cake is whisked into the kitchen and cut up and added to a serving of two medu-wadas and a bowl of custard with grapes and banana in it.

 

At the end of the party - this is what remains.

Cluedo the Cat has not quite disappeared like the Chesire Cat in Alice in Wonderland of whom only his broad smile could finally be seen.

But this piece of art is now being transformed into energy - some of which is being used to keep Asha's friends (and family and herself of course) moving around (or sleeping as it would be) and some is being used to actually physically make them who they are.

How about that for tranformational art?

Sweet.

Lying and redemption

How do you forgive a lie?

How do you forgive a lifetime of lies?

How do you know that the liar - in his / her confession - is not still lying?

Over the last year the noose of truth has been slowly but surely tightening around one of our generation's most revered sportsperson.  Lance Armstrong.  Record-breaking Tour de France winner.  Cancer survivor.  Champion.  Philanthropist.  Motivator.  Brand.

For years the murmur of dissent has been there.  For years he denied it - and built up a formidable army of defenders.  After all, he was never 'caught' with a doping violation....

We face the same in our day to day living.

So many of us slip by life with a variety of untruths.  Some of us become so adept at lying that it becomes our native tongue.  Where we actually trick ourselves into believing that what we are saying is true.  One of the most pitiful sights is seeing people who have lied so much that only they are still being deceived.  When everyone else has long since seen through the facade, and only that person is still carrying on 'as if nothing happened.'

Truth is based on trust.  I has to be earned.  Lying cuts at the core of who we are.  It eats away at our relationships.

We have gone through a season of dealing with lies at our work - from people who we trusted and poured our lives in.  Its devastating to find out that so much of what went on was false.

And its also so hard to rebuild.

For one, you just don't know how much of the 'new' person is really 'new.'  Each statement, each step forward brings back the mental question: "are we back to the lying, or is this trust-worthy?"  Its only after a long painful amount of trust-building - verified, consistent, good-faith words-matching-deeds - that we can resume and rebuilt what the lies have destroyed.

It is no wonder that most don't want to go through this - they prefer to 'run away' and 'start afresh.'  The problem is that most continue to lie in their 'new places.'

For the person who lies - the own self-delusion is usually still so strong that it continues to deceive them.  Most people 'confess' only when they are caught.  And usually only when they are caught so badly that they see no other way out.

Lance Armstrong fits this to a T.

Listen in on a bit of his 'confession' to Oprah (the irony of this lady becoming a minor deity is brilliantly put by my dear friend Sao Tunyi on his blog.

Here is Lance:

"I looked up the definition of a cheat: to gain an advantage. I didn't view it that way. I viewed it as a level playing field."

So what he is saying is... I didn't cheat - because I was not trying to get an advantage that was unfair.  Its a chilling picture of the spirit of the age - do whatever seems right to you.  You are the final arbiter of right and wrong.

Lets back up and hear this bit (courtesy of the BBC sports website)  

In a key exchange Winfrey asked: "Did it feel wrong?


Armstrong replied: "No. Scary."

"Did you feel bad?"

"No. Even scarier."

"Did you feel that you were cheating?"

"No. The scariest."

Armstrong continued: "The definition of a cheat is to gain an advantage on a rival or foe. I didn't view it that way. I viewed it as a level playing field. I didn't understand the magnitude of that. The important thing is that I'm beginning to understand it.

"I see the anger in people, betrayal. It's all there. People who believed in me and supported me and they have every right to feel betrayed and it's my fault and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to earn back trust and apologise to people."

One of the people that Lance cheated is Rick Reilly, who spent 14 years defending Lance's lies.  He has given his response: here.

The sad part of it all is that Lance only has said all this because he has run out of options.  Some lines from a fairly light-weight Paul Simon song (You can call me Al) captures Armstrong and the spirit of the age:

I need a photo opportunity
I want a shot at redemption
Don't want to end up a cartoon
In a cartoon graveyard...

As much as all this makes your stomache churn - there is a small silver lining.

And that is that the harsh fall opens at least a glimmer of hope for real redemption.  Judging from Lance's pretty melodramatic episode with Oprah he is more interested in jigging out of a hard spot once again.  Just another chapter in the Livestrong episode.  And that is true for most habitual liars.

But spare a thought for those who are still living the lie 'successfully'.

How blessed it is to be brought on your knees - if that leads to truth and new life.

My prayer for Lance and others (myself included) is that we will not try to wriggle out anymore.  We will not believe in our own fantasies.  We will have Godly sorrow that leads to repentance.  And that we will show forth the fruit of repentance before we slip back into the limelight.

no man is an island, a continent to himself...

Bits of the Wall

Mum and Dad's place is a museum.  Anything beautiful, old and worthwhile that enters never seems to leave.  The attic is full of papers and various treasures from our childhood (I stumble across a vacation diary I wrote in 1982).  Shanti Kunj's walls are covered with photos, every shelf that is not groaning with books has the odd knick knack that tells a tale.

In the side board are 4 stones.  I recognised them and laid them out.  They are not pretty rocks found on the hillside or from a stream.

Holding the concrete bits in my hand took me back to 1990.

Stefan had just finished high-school at Woodstock and we were travelling in Germany on our way to college in the US.

We went to Berlin and stayed with our Aunt Esther and Uncle Karl.  They were a part of the family from Eastern Germany who were more closely associated with the party that most of our members.  He was at such a level that he was able to travel abroad during the days when foreign travel was strictly prohibited for most of the rank and file.  Of all our East German relatives - he was to only one to see me as a baby - since he visited India to take part in a 'peace conference'  (we don't have too many of those these days after the fall of the Iron Curtain...).

As we sat and discussed the extra-ordinary events of the previous summer - and the collapse of the German Democratic Republic - Uncle Karl expressed a sense of sadness.  He felt that things could have been better if people were given a chance.   A life-time in the party leaves its traces.   They were happy with the change - but I think were a bit bewildered by the suddenness of it all - and were having to rewind their lives and the decisions they had made so far.

But when we asked them for a hammer and a chisel they were more than happy to lend them to us.  They knew why we wanted the tools. We were on a mission.  We had to do something for our mother.

And so when we went to the Potsdammer Platz and wandered around what had been previously one of the most feared places on earth - we actually got to do the unthinkable.

To personally hammer away at the 'Berlin Wall.'

To take some of the chips of concrete away as souvenirs.

As little bits of concrete history.

As a gift to our mother whose life had been so twisted by the sham republic of the GDR and the buying in that so many made to the lies.

And now, the oddly-shaped little bits of concrete lie in a glass case along with what remains of my German grandmother's porcelain dining set.  One of them still with some graffiti paint on it.

As testimony to the power of truth.

A reminder about how even the most 'permanent' barriers can be broken.

Let freedom ring!

----------- 

Aunt Esther and Uncle Karl O. have both died in the mean time.  Aunt Esther died after a long fight with cancer - and Mum and Dad spent a wonderful time with Uncle Karl in the fall of 2011.  He was delighted to be able to use his English with Dad and they had a deep and meaningful time of prayer together.   We believe that Uncle Karl is tasting the fullness of new life with Jesus at this time - having passed out of this life last year.