Compassion

I'm reading this book right now called Compassion, written by Henri Nouwen, Donald P. McNeill, and Douglas A. Morrison. It's a really good book, and it always makes me think. I almost always have to re-read paragraphs to understand the authors' words and meaning. I was reading today during our daily power outage (one of many that we experience on a daily basis) and I came across this part about obedience and servanthood. It says:

"Often we experience a strong desire to offer our services to our fellow human beings in need. At times we even dream about giving our lives to the poor and living in solidarity with those who suffer. Sometimes these dreams lead to generous actions, to good and worthwhile projects, and to weeks, months, and even years of dedicated work. But the initiative still remains ours. We decide when we go and when we return; we decide what to do and how to do it; we control the level and intensity of our servanthood. Although much good work gets done in these situations, there is always the creeping danger that even our servanthood is a subtle form of manipulation. Are we really servants when we can become masters again once we think we have done our part and made our contribution? Are we really servants when we can say when, where, and how long we will give of our time and energy? Is service in a far country really an expression of servanthood when we keep enough money in the bank to fly home at any moment?"

After I read this, I just sat, reading it over and over again trying to figure out how this plays out in my life. I've always hated when people tell me they are proud of me for going to India or choosing to teach at Pecan Park or going to the park to feed our friends. Those things have always felt right to me. It's what I love. I've said from the beginning that I came to Kolkata to live and serve among the poorest of the poor. And I do. I live and "serve" each day among truly the poorest people I have ever seen in my life. But in May I'm going home. I'm going back to my big, fluffy bed and my pantry full of food and the clean Mississippi air. But these friends I've made these past few days... this is their home. They live every day hoping that someone just notices them enough to smile, much less gives them food or clothes. They live meal to meal and sleep on the hard, dirty ground every night. I definitely can't say that I've learned what it means to serve or to be compassionate... but I think I'm getting a much clearer view of what it isn't. Sure... I go every morning to feed these beautiful children at train stations and I clean their wounds and in the afternoons I go and I sit with these sweet, dying women and try to hold them and love them enough to make up somewhat for the hard, hard lives they have lived... but is it enough? I'm not sure servant will be a title I will ever deserve. I can only hope that God will continue to teach me what it means to serve and to show compassion, and that I can come home changed. I sure am glad that we serve a patient God.

In other news... not only are Shells and I sick, but we discovered this morning that we have lice. Yes, lice. It kind of feels like that first time I got sick my freshman year of college and while home was only an hour and a half away, it might has well have been a million miles away. All I wanted was my bed and my mom. Well, now I really am a million miles away and nowhere near my mom. But I am sure things will get better.. the children constantly make me smile and forget any of the troubles that I have. Thanks again for your prayers and sweet emails... I look forward to them everyday! Please continue to keep us in your prayers as we seek to learn a little bit more about what it means to serve Christ and His people. And pleaes pray for the people of Kolkata... they need it more than I can say.