Every Day Resolve

Funny, the things that drive us. I have found that things meant to deter or derail our progress, are often the things that ironically inspire us. Motivation is an intriguing, seemingly fleeting phenomena. Many people say that inspiration doesn't come often, so to grasp it while it's there. Though at times I feel I agree -- times when I'm blocked by these obstacles -- when it comes down to it, I realize that creativity, that artistic grit, the seeds of our consciousness (or is it unconsciousness?) are always there, just buried, overlooked like the dirt beneath our fingernails. All too often our creativity, our spirituality, our gusto and passion, can be glazed over by the blander but sadly, more forefront realities of our day to day life. Passion isn't something to make time for, it is something to be lived. For the artist, work is hardly but a verb used as a means to a [never]end, ingenuity and imagination seeping from our pores and creating a vibrating aura around us. But how often do we get caught up in our petty 'real-life' drama and forget to let that passion flow freely? We often fall into the trap of comparison -- comparing ourselves to conventional society, to enter the 'real' world, make a lot of money to buy fancy things, get married and have babies when we are 'supposed' to, and die with objects to leave behind. Maybe we will end up that way, but hopefully not with those as empty goals in mind. Maybe we'll live like kings, perhaps like paupers. Maybe we will leave behind houses and cars, or perhaps great stories, comforting recipes, or a trade. Maybe we teach our children to keep up with the Jones's, or perhaps we teach them instead to love one another, to celebrate our differences, that this is what makes us beautiful....as long as we treat each other with love and respect, for we are all alike in one way. We were made equal.

Though I am not much for New Years resolutions (because any day of the year we are ripe for change), I'm more of a goal-oriented gal, I challenge us all to reach for the goal to live more freely. To let our imagination out the way we did as children, to not ignore the silly or outlandish requests of our brain or our heart, to embrace our differences, and most importantly, to overuse the golden rule. Because, brothers and sisters, if we do, the whole world will be a more beautiful place.

Losing a Brother and Sister

Sometimes it seems like all I do is say goodbyes. Just this time it wasn't me leaving. Last year my family hosted a sister and brother from Latvia, Santa (now 14) and Olegs (now 10), for the summer. It was through this hosting program that I came to know of Helping Hands India, and what led me in the direction of my latest journey, but that's another story for another time. Santa and Olegs quickly became a part of our family and connected with each of us. Not to mention physically they fit right in! The end of summer goodbye was rough to say the least, and just speaking about them over the past year always made me a little weepy. I spoke to them a few times via middle of the night international calls to my cell phone, but other than that communication was minimal. We were told that because we weren't adopting them, we wouldn't be able to host them again, so that they could be hosted by other potential adoptive families, which they were over the past Christmas.

Olegs, me, and Santa

The family of ten that hosted them after us were very interested in adopting Santa and Olegs, but the two declined the offer, apparently they didn't feel it wasn't a good fit. They were picked up by a new hosting agency and I was elated to find out we would foster them again this summer. Upon my return from India, there they were splashing around in the pool, my long lost brother and sister!

Olegs, Violet, Santa, Clementine, and Otto

I have always been the baby of the family, so getting the opportunity to be a big sister was an exciting (and at times, exhausting) change of pace. Santa is a sweet girl, a beautiful, blossoming teenager who swoons at the sight of Justin Bieber. It was fun to do big sister things like take her shopping, listen to music, play cards, paint our nails, and talk about girl things with her. Olegs is a little rough around the edges, but he cottoned to me from the get-go. The youngest of the family, I tend to have the most patience, letting him hang on me and follow me around, not to mention beat me up on a daily basis with his karate moves. At night though, after the witching hour when he ran up and down the stairs, from one end of the house to the other making noise and jumping on every piece of furniture, he would settle down and we would head upstairs for our nightly routine. We would snuggle up in his bed, him with his head on my shoulder (any type of affection from him was extremely rare) and read from a book of Curious George stories. This was the most special part of my day.

My parents Dovey and Beard with Santa and Olegs

A few days ago we had to say our goodbyes once again. The hardest part about this is not knowing if we will ever see them again. There's no way to know if we will be able to host them again, or if they will even be in the program again now that they have declined an adoption from a another family.

The farm has been pretty quiet the last few days. Three kids (my nieces and nephew) instead of five, is a big change, and without Olegs, the whole bunch has settled down quite a bit. Though it's been a little more relaxing around here, I can't explain the void here without them. I'll miss the way Olegs would chime in while I was reading, 'George was a good little monkey....'and always very curious!'', that he would only show affection when no one was looking, or how when he walked behind me I knew to brace myself because he'd be riding on my back within seconds. I'll miss the way Santa sang Justin Bieber quietly as she bounced around the house, asked me to do her hair, shouted 'Love ya!' every time I said goodnight or left the house, and appointed herself as best friend and caretaker of my two-year-old niece Clementine.

My Sister Jane with the whole brood (they could easily all be hers!)

It breaks my heart to think of Olegs, a vulnerable little boy who has been tossed around from family to family, or orphanage to orphanage, who has a hard time keeping his anger in check. He just wants to be loved and wants to show love but has a hard time allowing himself, but finally began to open up and feel like a part of a real family this time around. When he left, he not only threw his arms around me, but whispered 'I love you' in my ear. How can you say goodbye to that?? I didn't go to the airport this time, but my parents said he cried all the way through security. This from the little boy I have never seen shed a tear. I imagine him back at 'home' in Latvia, living with the 'mean old woman' as they call her, missing us and feeling angry and alone, just wanting someone to read him Curious George. I have never had a brother, but I loved every second of it when I was given this opportunity.

I don't know if I will see Santa and Olegs again, but I pray that I will, whether it be next year, or thirty years from now. I hope that we have affected their lives as much as they have affected ours, and that they will be a part of the change that their society needs, and become the parents that theirs never were.

A Day for Doves

'I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.'

It's Mother's Day once again, and once again I am many many miles from my own mama and missing her wonderful presence in my life. There is nothing I can say that can do justice to the amazing woman that is my mother. Dovey, as we like to call her, (Do-do to her grandchildren) is the greatest woman I know. She is beautiful, strong, faithful, loving, supportive, encouraging, creative, hilarious, compassionate, considerate, selfless, devoted, and tenacious. She took the less-than-ideal conditions of her own childhood and transformed herself into Super-Mom, determined to be the incredible woman that her own mother could never be. She cultivated a strong, tight-knit family and raised three daughters with a man she has loved since the age of 15. Together they instilled in us the values of love and grace, gratitude, respect for ourselves and others, and led by example the way to a righteous life. From as far back as I can remember, my parents taught my sisters and I the importance of children, the innocents of the world, the future generations. It is because of them that I have been brought to where I am today, doing what I am doing, serving God through caring for His children that have been left behind. My mother had the opportunity to fall in the footsteps of her own mother, but she took her responsibilities as a reward rather than a burden and wore motherhood like a badge of honor.

Keeping the spark alive after 38 years

World's Greatest Grandmother

(Do-do and her first grandbaby, Violet)

Dovey and her 3 girls

The family that plays together, stays together

When I think of my mother I am overcome with a sense of pride. I am so proud of everything that she is, everything that she has done, and everything that she has created in me. I have unconditional love for my mom, the woman who dried my tears as a child, and continues to do the same even now that I am an adult. I can only hope to become even a fraction of the mother that she has been and continues to be, when my time comes. I know that always and forever, no matter how old I am, I will be her baby. Dovey, thank you for everything you have done for me, I love you more than I can say. Happy Mother's Day!

'When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself.'

Nancy Friday

**A note to my sisters: Don't even bother, I totally won this year!

Night Howl

After a relaxing beach holiday, we came back to New Hope and our rickshaw was greeted by smiling and excited faces. It was welcoming and so cute, but slightly and immediately overwhelming. They all wanted a piece of us the second we walked in the door, trying to settle in and unpack after a 12 hour bus ride. I tried to fight it, but rather than feeling excited to be back, I was frustrated by a number of things. Home less than a day, I plucked a bug out of my hair and was immediately put in a rotten mood. The day went on to feature several bathroom accidents, bug infestations, and foul smells wafting from all over. I know that I only have a month left with these kids and I really want to enjoy it, to soak up the last days I have with them and cherish every second. Sometimes it's hard to do that in the moment when you're changing and washing the 5th set of pee-pee pants and battling a forcefield of flies outside (and inside) because no matter how many times you tell them, the kids wont stop leaving food all over the ground when they wash their plates at the spigot outside our door. Or when you have to pretend not to see the giant cockroaches out of the corner of your eye, or politely pluck the insect out of your food and tell yourself it's just burnt rice. I don't get too easily grossed out, but when you are constantly surrounded by filth, it starts to wear on you.

I had just turned out the light around midnight when the howling began. It was Nithin of course, and at first we tried to ignore it since Nina and I tend to exacerbate the problem due to his attachment to us. Finally, when it only grew louder and no one else went to tend to the issue, I went out to calm him. I walked out into the next room where the floor was strewn with slumbering bodies, the smallest one whimpering and writhing like a dog with an itchy back. The second I lifted him from the ground the sobbing ceased. His breathing slowed, peppered with the hiccupy gasps of a child who cries so much they cant catch their breath. I couldn't help but notice how peaceful he became just laying in my arms. There was nothing wrong, he just woke up scared and lonely and wanted to be clutched close to a warm body who's love he could feel enveloping him. I gently rocked the little boy in my arms as he clung to me like a baby koala and I began to realize that it is moments like this that are what I am really going to miss. Simple moments where I feel that my presence is really needed, or maybe just coveted, the moments where all I can hear is the whirring fan and the shallow breathing of this beautiful child sleeping soundly in my arms, the contours of his perfect little face barely visible in the moonlight. And in that moment I cant bear to think of the fact that after I leave here, I may never see him again.

When I loosened my grip and attempted to lay him down amongst the girls, he grasped at me desperately and the sobbing began again. I knew that everyone else's sleep was dependent on my keeping him quiet, so after a few more unsuccessful attempts to get him back to bed with the rest, I carried him to our room and set him on a mat on the floor. Silently and immediately he curled up and slept soundly for the rest of the night, waking only once with a whimper but after hearing my voice hush him, instantly slept again. As he lay there next to my bed I realized something. To this little boy, I represent safety. He doesn't even need to be cradled next to my body to feel that security, just knowing I am there soothes his anxieties. In the next room, placed between the other children, he writhed around shaking, hyperventilating, flapping his hands and squirming violently in some sort of toddler panic attack. But here, no more than ten feet away from where he lay before, resting beside my bed and knowing that I am near he sleeps like a baby. As an aunt, teacher, coach, and caregiver, I have represented safety to a child before (though usually a child with at least one parent to rely on.) I am there to catch them if they fall, feed them when they are hungry, change them when they are wet, and can be depended upon when something goes wrong. But the safety that I represent for Nithin is different. He is scared. Scared of being left, because he has been left before, scared of waking up alone because he has so many times, scared to be without comfort and affection because he knows what that deprivation feels like. He relies on us for everything and that dependence terrifies me. In a month I will leave New Hope. In a couple months I will be back in the United States. But Nithin will still be here. I wont have any control over what happens to him, wont know how much or how little love and affection he is getting, wont be able to shield and protect him from cruelty or someone else's misdirected resentment. The helplessness I will soon feel for this child whom I care so much about is frightening.

Nithin where he would prefer to sleep if I let him - in my bed.

Though sometimes it feel like the moments of frustration outweigh the ones of bliss, I find myself wondering how I am going to just go on without these children. How will I get by without those grubby little hands grabbing my head and pulling it down to plant kisses all over my face? I have never met a child who is so utterly grateful for my presence and whom I provide so much security for just by simply existing here with him. I see the anxiety he feels with us just in the next room and it worries me for the future. I know what anxiety feels like but I can't imagine the magnitude of it for a child barely older than a baby who already feels so alone. I can't withhold my affection and comfort just because I am leaving soon and know he will then be without it. I simply can't justify that. But I am afraid that when we leave, he just might crumble.

The One Month Mark

I have been living in India for one month now and can honestly say that I have learned an incredible amount, and if I were to leave today, already my life would be changed forever. The things that used to dominate my thoughts seem to have grown so insignificant, and my patience and tolerance have grown immensely. Not only have I discovered the ins and outs of a new and intriguing culture, but I have learned to be resourceful and well-acclimated to a new and completely different environment, all while building and strengthening my faith and spirituality. They say that children can be the best teachers, and I for one can attest to that. These children are incredible, I cannot say that enough. When faced with adversity, they rise and overcome with smiles on their faces. They are stronger than I ever could have been at their age, and at times I think, stronger than I am now.

Sometimes when you come to a place that is not socially, politically, or economically on the same page as where you are from, it is easy to want to push your ideals on someone else, or to think that the way you live would suit them much better. But, just as someone who is used to perching on a porcelain throne would be uncomfortable squatting over a hole, the person who is used to a pit-toilet or ditch would feel awkward and out of place sitting on a cold, hard seat and wonder, 'What am I supposed to do with this roll of paper?' When faced with these situations, you must have an open mind and an open heart, accept their way of living as if it were your own, and realize that these things that seem to be so different are really quite analogous. One of the best pieces of advice I have ever gotten was to remember that all of our struggles are relative. They are relative to who we are, where we live, how we grew up. It would be ignorant of me to feel pity for the person who doesn't have a western toilet with a seat and flush, when in reality that is not at all what they want or need.

Not to say that this hasn't been a high hurdle to leap. There have been times when I want to say 'You know there wouldn't be so much trash and filth everywhere if people would just use a dust bin!' or show them how a spoon scoops up rice really well and keeps your hands clean at the same time. It has been difficult not to cry out when a child is smacked (out of affection or discipline) because that is just the way they do it in this culture. When Nina asked Benny, 'Do mom's beat their kids?' he replied, 'Yes, it's for joke! That is illegal in your place right?' The first time I saw a child get struck, tears filled my eyes, quickly cascading down my cheeks as I turned away. When we insisted the kids keep their hands to themselves, they looked at us bewildered and didn't quite understand why we wouldn't tolerate hitting. Here, a smack is a sign of affection between friends or from adult to child, and a way of keeping the kids, and each other, in line (I have seen older children spank and scold the younger ones and often hear shouts of 'Auntie!! Beating!' when this is happening.) I don't like it, and I'm not comfortable with it, but who am I to walk in and try to change everything they have ever known?

I have learned to solve problems unconventionally, such as what do you do when a toddler who's not wearing a diaper or underwear has diarrhea in his sleep in a place where they don't use wipes or flushing toilets? (The answer is get a bucket, thank God there are drains in the bathroom floor, and pray that Amma wakes up to help.) I have learned that kids who will share their food and candy still don't like to share the spotlight, and that it doesn't matter where he's from, a teenage boy will check himself out in every reflective surface he comes across. But more than anything, I have learned and will continue to learn, the great depths of love. The depth of God's love, the love that we must reflect to others in this life. Love that is unconditional, unwavering, and pure, love that teaches others how to love, how to give love, and how to receive love. I believe that love is something we will never be able to comprehend to its full capacity, something that is ever-growing, ever-changing, unfolding before us like a rare majestic flower....something that is bigger than all of us combined.

But I do understand it enough to know that none of us can live without it. And no one should ever have to.