Forgiveness

It was summer and the missionaries retreated to the hills.  Two months for the ladies.  A relaxed time with children whose boarding schools were in session - but allowed the mission kids to live with their mothers.  The fathers and single men joining the parties for the final month of the 'hot-season.'

The hill station that summer was at its cool and blessed best.  Evening walks around the top of the hill were a delight, with majestic cedar trees covering the northern side of the mountain - and occasionally a breath-taking view of the high snow-clad peaks in the distance would break through the haze.

One group of missionaries shared a large rambling bungalow perched on the very top of the ridge.  Its many rooms offered plenty of space for different families and singles to stay - and in the hot season it was bursting at the seams.

Every evening the missionaries settled down for dinner together in the slightly austere (this was a faith mission after all) but jolly dining room of the bungalow.

Who would have known that this meal would be any different from the many dinners enjoyed together before it?

In the course of the dinner there was a sudden hullabaloo outside.  Local people were shouting - telling that some 'European' lady had fallen down the hillside and was injured - maybe dead.  Could she have be one of them?

A search party was immediately formed and the men went out with the locals to find the stricken woman.

They found her.  And they found out a lot more.

She was one of them.  She was the missionary wife of a man who had been sitting at their table.

That evening the couple had gone together for a walk.  He and she came close to a cliff.  He pushed her over the cliff.  He then walked back to the bungalow and sat down for the meal with the others as if nothing had happened.  But something had. 

Amazingly his wife was still alive.  But the murder-attempt had taken its toll.  She had broken her back.

The whole story came out.  He was having an affair with a single missionary lady. 

All three were dismissed by the mission and asked to go back to their home country.

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But the story does not end here.

The lady who had been pushed over the brink recovered from her broken back.   But she recovered in a far more profound sense as well.  She forgave her husband.  They were reconciled.

Eventually - after some years - they returned to the land where they had been called to serve God.  And served their for many years before their eventual retirement saw them return 'home.'

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This is a true story that took place during the time when my grandfather served as the superintendent of his mission.   

As many of us consider the statement of Jesus 'Father forgive them, for they know not what they do' (Luke 23.34) we know that His miracle of forgiveness - can and still does - open the lives of many to true healing and wholeness.

The span of a life

Its 0.39 AM and I am officially 43!

I have had some interesting reading recently.

Yes - there is a volume by Ramachandra Guha called A Corner of a Foreign Field which is a history of cricket in India  ('an Indian history of a British sport)... but I have only been able to dip into the prologue of that (a delicious book by the looks of it though).

My reading has been more personal in a way.

I have now three photocopied memoirs of... my grandmother Alice Cravath Eicher (b. 1904), her father E. Austin Cravath (b. 1872), and his uncle Samuel Austin Cravath (b. 1836)!   The latter two were written in 1943 and 1901 respectively.

I decided to first read the memoir of my great, great, grand-uncle - Samuel Austin Cravath (his older brother George Cravath was the father of E. Austin).  What a story of a life!  His typewritten  life-sketch covers his ancestry (he believes his forbears were recorded in the US as far back as 1671 in Boston) and takes a sweeping view from his birth in what was the US 'frontier' at the time - the college village of Oberlin in western Pennsylvania - and ends with him writing from another frontier college town - Grinnell in the state of Iowa. The 'frontier' had kept moving west during Samuel Cravath's life time.  It is strange that I actually went to see a school friend graduate from Oberlin in the early 1990s - it was a far cry from what it was in Samuel Cravath's day - that's for sure.

There are so many fascinating stories and insights from this memoir.  Samuel writes about the tragic death of his father to malaria in 1937 shortly after Samuel's birth, and later the early death of his mother when Samuel was in his early teens.  He writes about how he grew up and the various steps that took him from being a farm laborer to going to college at Oberlin and then passing through a series of careers which included teaching, being a school superintendent, becoming a surgeon and running a newspaper.   What he does not note in this sketch is that he was also a post-master, bank director and trustee of Iowa College.  But the latter may have been post 1901.

I will write later (I hope) about this life.  What I want to record right now is something different.

The most jarring thing for me as I closed the 69 page type-written life-sketch was what was not there.  Through all the adventures, all the achievements (written in a modest, cool manner - as befitting a newspaper editor/publisher I guess)... through out the thread of his remarkable life, I found Samuel Austin Cravath curiously lacking in expressing some kind of a personal faith relationship with God.

As I reflect on it, I realize that this lacuna has really rattled me. Perhaps it would not have done so had I not  skimmed my grand-mother Alice and her father E. Austin Cravath's memoirs - where both are practically falling over themselves in describing their faith-stories.

I have not had the time to read through Samuel Cravath's memoir again with a fine-toothed comb, but looking back across this life-sketch, I sense a coolness to anything on religion.  A lot of this seems to be a reaction to what he describes as a quite a harsh early religious upbringing.

This gnomic statement where he reflects on his last year at Oberlin College is the closest thing I could make out as a direct statement of  Samuel Austin's faith - "I made up my mind that I had made my last argument against the Christian religion, and hereafter it should be my effort to convince myself of its truth rather than its falsity" (p. 31).


I think this is where the rub of my uneasiness lies:  Looking across the stretch of a life - one that had so many remarkable events - but not seeing Samuel attribute the many varied blessings to the Almighty.  In contrast to Samuel's memoir, I am reminded what the wisdom writer wrote so many centuries ago Trust in the Lord and lean not on your own understanding, in all your ways acknowledge Him - and we will direct your paths (Prov. 3.5-6).


As I have just stepped into my 44th year - having completed an amazing 43 spins around the sun - I cannot help but say "Thank you God!"

Any life story invites you to compare your own with it - to see how it stretches out alongside the other.  I have been doing this in my mind with what I understand of Samuel Cravath's life.  I am amazed at the way he  came out of adversity - at his industry and drive - at the way that he strung together a life with his wife Mary.  Their marriage sounds pretty close to ideal.  Samuel Austin Cravath actually closes his life-sketch with these elegaic words about his wife Mary: "We have enjoyed much together, so that even our sorrows have faded to recollections that have a phase of brightness rather than of gloom."


I wish I could have a cup of chai with S.A. Cravath.  I don't quite know what he would make of his great, great, grand-nephew - but I think we would have a lively conversation.  All I have of him is the 69 type-written pages that cover his life as lived till 1901 (he seems to have lived another 16 years more). He himself wrote in on the front page that this is just for publication or public perusal, but just for the family which it concerns.  I think I can include myself into that frame - since I am a descendant.  I am sure having a face-to-face conversation with him would help me understand his faith life more.  

I may not have all the answers about my ancestor's life, but what I do have is this day.  Its been given to me as a gift - and I intend to use it to please the wonderful giver - my loving Lord.  I am so grateful to have turned the strange (for me) age of 43 - but am excited about living out this life - and stepping into the life-to-come.

Soli Deo gloria!

An attitude of gratitude

Sheba was talking to a lady yesterday evening.  She is the sister of one of our HIV Positive Friends.  Lets call her Prabha.   We have not met Prabha for some time - but she attended yesterdays monthly Positive Friends Support Group meeting along with her sister.

Prabha is not much to look at.  Small and thin, with a gaping set of buck-teeth.  Her sister is a walking miracle.  So often sick, but still hanging on.  Still here with us.

At the end of the meeting we break into small groups.  Its a time for personal sharing about the challenges that each person is going through - and then we pray for each other - and promise to keep on praying during the month.

Sheba asked Prabha what she wanted prayer for.  Prabha mumbled something about her child having a skin rash and requesting healing for that.  Then she stopped and smiled.

Sheba probed a bit further.  "What else do you want prayer for, what are your other problems?"

"What else do I need?" said Prabha.

"God is so good to me" she said with an amazing smile.

"My husband used to drink so much.  Now he has stopped."

"He used to only go to work 2 days out of 7.  Now my husband faithfully goes to work everyday."

"God answers prayers!"

Prabha has been attending a local prayer meeting for some time now.  She is still living in a shanti-town.  She hardly earns anything, and the prices of daily commodities continue to rise. 

Just hearing Sheba tell me about this encounter with a lady who exuded contentment and joy sent shivers down my spine.

Oh for a genuine attitude of gratitude - like the one our dear sister Prabha has.

Young man

I was revving up our trusty-rusty scooter (a.k.a. Black Beauty), about to swish up the small bridge over the gutter / creek in front of the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre, when I saw a young man.

Graphic T-shirt?  Check!

Slightly gelled hair?  Check!

Keds? Check!
Sling bag? Check!

He smiled at me.

Then I recognised.  It was Tarun. 

I still think of Tarun as an 11 year old boy.  He is now 18. 

I still remember him coming in sick over and over again in our early days.  And the fear we had when we started Anti-Retroviral Therapy for him.  Our first patient on ART.

Today he stopped in to show Sheba his latest tests.  They are great.  His CD4 level is over 500.  He is working. 

I used to remember him always being smaller and more frail than his peers.

No more.  Tarun looks like any other young man roaming the streets.

He is not a child anymore.  He has entered the first lap of adulthood.

And what a lovely smile.

Tarun is an orphan.  Both parents died of HIV in his childhood. 

But Tarun has survived.  He joins the gradually growing ranks of young people living with HIV - who have all their lives had the infection.

Its a whole new ball game for us.  No one really knows how to counsel them.  How to help them live out their dreams.  How to negotiate the already challenging paths of adolescence (enough Sturm und Drang even if you are HIV negative...) and transition into an HIV-aware adulthood.

We chatted briefly and Tarun walked confidently in to meet Sheba.

I drove away thankful to have seen a walking miracle.  And hopeful that many other children with HIV will grow up to be confident young adults.

TB days

After an almost solid 2 months of having in-patients at the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre, we faced a small lull last week.  After discharging our young mother Sarah on Tuesday morning - we did not have any more admissions.  It was strange to have all the nurses with us again in our morning staff meetings.  And strange to have empty beds.

All that changed this morning.

Four patients came for admission.  We wanted to admit all 4 of them.  Three are with us this evening.

Tragically one young lady - only weighing 27 kgs - and most probably infected with TB meningitis - just did not have the family support to stay here.  Her mother and her sister are both heavily pregnant - and her uncle refused to stay with her.  It was heart-breaking to see her leave - especially as she really wanted to be here - and we think she has a very poor prognosis if she goes home.

The other three are with us. All of them are suffering from TB. We are suddenly in a season of TB - and it seems that for some reason people are not responding well to the medications that we have given in the past.  Please pray for us as this apparent failure is starting to weigh down heavily on us.

We just crossed World TB Day on the 24th of March.  India continues to have the dubious distinction of having the largest numbers of people with TB in the world - and the highest numbers of deaths. We also have a situation where TB drugs are prescribed left, right and centre - with very little to follow up on whether they are actually being taken - which is giving rise to increasing amounts of Multi-Drug Resistant TB.

People with HIV are especially susceptible to getting TB.  It is estimated that almost every person with HIV in India will eventually get TB.  Sheba recently attended a workshop where the message was - screen everyone with TB for HIV and check everyone who has HIV for TB. 

We want to help people with TB - especially our HIV positive friends when they are so sick and in need of help - and yet the threat to our staff is also there.  One of our staff members is already being treated for TB - which has really sent a shock wave through the team.

Suddenly we have a sense of fear that just was not there before.  A heavy presence. Our patients now all wear masks. Should all of the staff wear masks too?

At what point does our 'care' about TB start giving way to fear - and actually making us more susceptible to the disease because we are so afraid of it?

We pray for protection - and need to be more regular in our prayers.  And move forward with courage.

Pinky

Yesterday night we celebrated a birthday party of a special little girl.  We will call her Pinky.

This little girl's mother Mrs. Maninder is part of our church group.  Six years ago she gave birth to little Pinky in a situation that can hardly be imagined 

Mrs. Maninder had come back to Thane after her husband had died of HIV. Her brother died previously - also of HIV.  Mrs. Maninder completed the trio - she came back to us and told us she was HIV positive too.

In the mean time her first daughter was born. With a massive cleft palate.  She could not breast feed her but had been told by the doctor in Pune that her daugther was HIV positive. Mrs. Maninder was pregant with Pinky when she returned.

She returned hoping to occupy her girlhood home - only to find that it was occupied by friends of her late brother. They told her that her brother had left debts and so they were using the house as repayment.  Mrs. Maninder was alone, very pregnant, living in a shack next to an overflowing garbage heap.

Then Pinky was born.  After a 2 days in the govt. hospital, Mrs. Maninder was discharged to go back to the shack beside the garbage with her 2 day old child and her cleft palate elder daughter.

It seemed so hopeless.

It seems so far away.  So unimaginable now.

Last night we were celebrating not only 6 years of Pinky's life, but the amazing way Mrs. Maninder and her elder daughter had survived.  We were inaugurating the new room she has just moved to - and praying that many would be blessed in that new home.

The church squeezed into the small room - and so did some neighbours.  Neighbours with HIV who Mrs. Maninder knows through JSK.  One family lives just 4 doors away.  Another lady just a stone's throw further.  We read about Isaac and Rebecca coming to Rehoboth and saying 'here we have space, here will we prosper.'  We sang songs. We prayed.  We celebrated Pinky's life.  We celebrated hope that has sprung out of a time of apparent hopelessness.

In the room we had marketing executives, a self-made businessman, home-makers, JSK staff, children.  It was an amazing sight to see so many in that little room - rejoicing together.

The cake came out and a rousing 'happy birthday' was sung to Pinky.  She just gazed around, looking pretty as a picture in her sparkly pink dress.  Her older sister in her new blue dress mirrored the freshly washed sky blue walls of Mrs. Maninder's room.

These are the days of miracle and wonder.  In the tumult that crashes around us, in the seas of selfishness and self-seeking, small seeds are sprouting.  What a hope there is for Pinky.  Who knows where this girl will end up?

Darkness at noon

Dear Self,

How to make sense of  the tragedy of Anil?  I am going to use his real first name - since there are so many Anil's and since he is not HIV positive.

But that does not lessen the tragedy.

Anil's sister is HIV positive. Her 5 year old son is positive and has lost sight in one eye from an untreated injury caused by an accident with an ice-cream stick many months before we met them.  Her husband is negative but addicted to the bottle.

Anil has cancer.  He has hogdkin's lymphoma.  His neck was swollen with cancerous tissue.

We tested Anil for HIV since we thought the cancer in such a young man (Anil is 25) may be due to a reduced immunity.  Anil tested negative for HIV.  Small comfort.  Anil is married and has two small children.  He lives with his mother in a shack, a tiny lean-to in the shade of towering super-luxury appartments.

Anil and his sister and parts of her family have been coming for prayers on Sunday evenings. 

After a rigorous set of tests our staff started Anil on chemotherapy at the Tata Memorial Hospital in Mumbai.  He has gone for 2 cycles so far.  The initial results were heartening. There was a massive reduction in the swelling of his neck.

Then the unspeakable took place.

On Sunday Anil's uncle and another man met with him. They were drunk.

Anil had shaved his head since the chemo is kicking in and he had started losing some of his hair.

These men taunted him.  Apparently telling him "why did you shave your head?  Whose death are you mourning?  Did your mother die?  Are you mourning your own death?"

And then they beat him up.  Savagely.

Anil couldn't handle this.

He poured kerosine on himself and lit it.

Anil is in the hospital now.  He has 15% burns.  His face is all swollen up.

Will he survive?  The odds are against it. Cancer patient. Already on chemo.  Lot immunity.  Loss of precious skin.  Infection magnet.

How to understand the darkness that lurks in each soul?  The torment that so many go through?

A wise friend wrote words of encouragement for another dark experience that we went through last month (which I will write about later):   

A great sadness to carry that your friend couldn’t face life anymore. Like Job may you and the team leave the answers with the All Mighty who loves her even more than you all have over the years.

With great gratitude for each person who has felt the love of Jesus expressed by the care they have received from JSK,

We will do this.  In our darkness we will hold onto the light.  Our prayers may be weak and feeble. The circumstances around my seem to mock whatever good takes place.  But our eyes are fixed on something beyond.  A real hope in the face of apparent hopelessness.

Anil still lives.  However marred his situation is - we still will meet and pray and hope.

Time for the Kingdom to come.

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Postscript:

March 27th 2012

Anil died this morning.  

He had been discharged from the hospital yesterday - but it seems that when he came back to his hovel he began bleeding again and so they rushed him back to the hospital.  Our staff are with his family at this point.  Very sad.