Being a Champion

Today has been one of those days. The second Owen closed the door and walked out of the house I realized I had 9 more hours until he returned again. NINE. HOURS.

I sat on the stairs staring at nothing, while Jace played with his toys and I thought about the next 9 hours and all the things I didn't want to do. I didn't want to take a shower. Didn't want to clean. Didn't want to wipe Jace's snotty nose 8,000 more times. Didn't want to feed him or myself. Definitely didn't want to work out. I looked at the random toddler shoe on our console table and knew that in 9 hours, it was still going to be sitting there because I didn't want to move it.

At some point during all the staring, I realized that the day was going to happen whether I liked it or not and I could choose to be a loser or a champion. I chose champion.

Somehow, I managed to get myself to workout. Jace's new favorite thing to do while I do crunches, is sit on my stomach yelling 'Bike! Bike!' And out of the 1,000 times during the day I ask for a kiss he only complies about 1% of the time. For some reason, while I was working out, he wanted a kiss every. five. seconds. And I never even asked. But, my workout got done. Somehow. Despite all the adversity. Champion.

Then, I sat on the couch and stared at the wall some more not wanting to do anything. Jace is super good at entertaining himself, so he kind of encourages my laziness. I figured that I needed to do at least one thing today that made me a good mom, so I decided to read him a book about shapes. If I died today, I wanted people to at least be able to say "she was a good mom. There's evidence that she was educating her child. What a champion." The only thing he gleaned from this book about shapes was that there were eyes in the book. Yes. I would say "circle" and he would point to a person's eye and say "eyes". "Square". "Eyes". "Triangle." "Eyes!" I don't even care. I'm glad he knows what eyes are. I'm a champion mom. Put it on my tombstone.

The snot. The snot would not stop. It's green and thick and crazy. And does snot stink?? Something stinks, I thought. He had 2 baths yesterday, so it couldn't be him, unless it's the snot. Maybe it's me. So, I got my lazy self to take a shower and I put my pajamas back on when I finished. That's what kind of day it is. Nothing says 'ambitious' like putting your pajamas back on after taking a morning shower. Champion.

And then I found THIS!

My 1.5 year old child thinks I'm so lazy he went and found our duster (don't even know where that was, good find, buddy!) and was sweeping our floors with it mumbling something under his breath. I think he was telling his toys how pathetic his mom is and how he has to do everything around here. Or something.

Ohmygosh. TGIF. We'll try again tomorrow. No, no. Tomorrow's Saturday. All bets are off. We'll try again on Monday.

India Part 4--The Part that was Missing

Before I got pregnant I secretly wanted to be pregnant. I knew I wasn't, but this weird part of me would daydream that all my closest friends and family would throw me a surprise party to tell me I was pregnant! I wished they knew something I didn't know. Yes, I'm aware this makes no sense. I told my friends about this daydream and they all thought I was crazy, so I know it's not something normal people do. There's a point to this. It's a pattern in the way I think, it sometimes doesn't make sense. 

Similarly, after that phone call on that bleak October day, I hoped that there was something more my family knew, something I didn't know. That he was still alive. I would daydream that the next time I went to India they would all surprise me. That I would find out, of course, of course, he didn't die. 
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It was the summer between 5th and 6th grade the first time I grew attached to my cousin, Raju. I don't remember a lot of details, but I remember his contagious joy. I remember being obsessed with him. I remember I would get mad at him every time he left us to go meet his "girlfriend", because I had to hang out with him at every waking moment of the day. He was one of those people you just wanted to always be around because he made you feel worthy and special. He made you laugh and smile. He had the kindest eyes. He was warm. So warm. 

The summer ended and it was time to leave. I cried and cried for months after we left India. I kept a picture of him and his family on my headboard and every night before bed I hugged that picture and cried. Cried over the oceans and lands that were now separating us. 

Between my junior and senior year of high school, we went back. I still remember when the doors of our bus opened (after a long plane journey) and there he and his brother were with those big 'smiley guys' smile. It was like years hadn't passed. We picked up right where we left off. This time he had a wife and baby, but the way he treated me stayed the same. I still felt special. Was still attached to his personality and kindness. I cried days before we left because I couldn't possibly leave again. I couldn't. He was one of my favorite people on the face of the entire earth and I couldn't leave again. That last day our family spent in Goa sightseeing and picnicking on pretty lawns in front of beautiful cathedrals, I cried and cried. We even had a celebrity sighting we all were freaking out about (especially me because everyone knew I was obsessed with this Bollywood actor), and yet I didn't care as much as I should have because we were leaving again.

I remember hugging him and not wanting to let go. I remember thinking in my head 'What if I never see him again? What if this is the last time?'.  The tears didn't stop. How could we live so far away from family, leaving years hanging in between visits?

2 years later I woke up to a flashing red light on my cell phone that indicated I had a message, but for some reason, it looked more like a warning. I remember how that red light set off panic through my veins. I remember screaming. Screaming from the depths of my self. I remember the family getting together. I remember the sobbing from grown men. I remember the prayer, the one that gave everyone peace but turned my heart hard towards a God who would allow this. I remember talking to my mom. She told me life would go on and some day it wouldn't hurt this bad. But, I wanted it to always hurt this bad. If it didn't hurt this bad, that would somehow mean we were moving on. That him not being here was normal. And I never wanted this to be normal. I asked the God I was mad at to leave the pain, because I never wanted to accept this new reality. I would never accept it. So, the pain could stay as long as I was staying. 

He was on his way home from a prayer meeting when a drunk driver hit him head on. He was thrown from his motorcycle. There was blood. Lots of it. The details I received were graphic, and the images in my brain haunt me still. That perfect smile, those kind eyes, destroyed by death.

The families gathered, and together they grieved. They grieved together in India as the news unfolded and years passed. And then there was us. Grieving thousands of miles away longing to grieve with them. I felt like the burden was weighing me down, sinking me into the depths of despair. If I couldn't have him, couldn't I at least have the gift of grieving together?

It's been 10 years since that day I hugged him for the last time. 10 years since I had walked out of the house and closed the door on that summer none of us will ever forget. The one where a huge room full of cousins would stay up, long after the parents went to sleep, and play games--daring each other to do ridiculous things. Where we spent evenings sitting on the roof catching the breeze and talking about life. In 10 years, I had time to graduate from high school, graduate from college, intern abroad, travel Europe, do missions in Mexico, missions in North India, fall in love, get married, have a baby. A whole decade has come and gone since I saw him last. It feels like a whole lifetime.

A part of me thought maybe, just maybe I got the story wrong. Maybe he was actually there in India, waiting to meet my husband and my baby. Waiting to pick up where we had left off, just as we had the last time.

After we arrived in India, weeks passed and he never came. I would sit on the balcony and watch motorcycles drive by and my heart would skip to my throat for a second, just for a second, I thought he had come. 2 weeks later, they took me to the place where his body is. I won't ever forget it. Pulling into the parking lot, my whole body was shaking. Staring at my feet walking on the ground of his cemetery, everything in slow motion. I had simultaneously anticipated and dreaded this moment for 8 years. I wanted so badly to just be in the proximity of him/his body, and yet I dreaded seeing his grave with my own eyes.

And there it was. I broke. My body gave up to all sense of reason and all sense of composure. I sobbed the most honest tears I've ever cried in my life as I stood at the feet of where his body lay. There was no "surprise he's alive", and once I walked away, I could no longer hang on to that tiny, irrational bit of hope. His body was here. My own eyes saw his name printed on that cross. And I wept.

I won't forget that day. The day I found out, nor the day I visited him for the first time since he left us.

I'll also never forget as I knelt at his grave I caught the most beautiful picture out of the corner of my eye. Raju's son, Bobby, was holding my son as they scattered flowers on top of the soil that covered his body. I watched as Bobby leaned Jace over to set a rose down on that precious ground. And I realized as our weeks passed in India, Jace grew more and more attached to Bobby, kind of like the attached I was with Bobby's dad. That picture made sense to me.

The pain is still there and still strong. I'm not ready to ask the Lord to heal me from this pain, I still feel like I need and want to carry it with me. I'm still broken. We crossed miles to get to India and I left without ever getting to see his warm smile.

But, that picture. That beautiful picture of our sons won't leave my mind. Maybe Raju and Jesus were hanging out that day. Maybe their hearts broke when they saw how broken mine was. Maybe they smiled when they saw our sons together--or maybe our sons together was their smile.

Yes, of course. I did see his smile before I left India.

It was just as I remembered it.

It was beautiful.

India Part 3--The Harvest is Full

Matthew 9:35-38 "Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When He saw the crowds He had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless like a sheep without a shepherd. Then He said to the disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into this harvest field."


We were just hanging out in the village my dad grew up in. We weren't performing miracles, weren't healing diseases, we were just walking around. The compassion that filled my whole self was so overwhelming. I couldn't stop thinking about it long after we had left. That compassion took root in my heart and infiltrated the core of who I am. Was this just a glimpse, just a fraction of the compassion Jesus had walking through those towns and villages? His compassion drove Him to action: to heal, to share good news. My compassion just lead me to tears.

I've only experienced that feeling of overwhelming compassion a few times in my life. Each time has been when interacting with children. The Lord has made my heart soft for his babies. And every time it happens, it scares me. It scares me that I won't do anything about it. That the moment will pass, that the Holy Spirit will stop whispering (or in these moments it's more like shouting) love into me. Love that wants to change something. Love that wants to give up every comfort I know to somehow rescue these kids--rescue them from the world, from poverty,  from abuse, from a bleak future, from no hope.

I fear that if I don't figure out how to respond, He'll stop giving me these moments that are in equal parts beautiful and painful. These drops of life straight from the scars in His hands.

So, sometimes I shut down everything else. I forget about my house, my work, my friends, my clothes, the luxuries of life, the insecurities. All I can think about is this compassion that is choking me and what I'm going to do with it. I'm scared to go home. Scared to miss the moment. Scared that this will just become memories of the past instead of the beginning of a future.

But, I've decided--I have no idea. I know this compassion isn't something I mustered up myself. So, if I believe it's from Him, I know He can do something with it. Instead of making my mind race, I've realized I need to just be quiet and release it--let Him tell me why He has put this passion inside of me and how He means for it to be used.

I will keep asking though. I won't ignore it. The worst thing I can do is ignore it. Whatever it is that stirs you in your core, don't ignore it.

Because the harvest is full and He's looking for workers.

I'm standing up and waving my hand in the air. I'm ready to work.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Hanchinamunchkins!

Happy Birthday, my boys!! How it breaks my heart that I can't be there to celebrate such a special day!

Since the moment of your existence, you changed us all. I still remember when the doctor said that your mama had miscarried...TWINS! The shock, the tears, the pain. We grieved. Both your daddy and your mommy's families got together and we prayed for a miracle, and a miracle was delivered.  God gave you to us, even when the doctors thought you were gone. You increased our faith and helped us see more glimpses of His goodness. You are God's smile on our family. You are testimonies of His favor.

It feels like it was just yesterday. We headed over with Chinese Food to your house and called it your mom and dad's "Last Supper", the night before you came into this world. And then that day. Oh, that day. The banner, the favors, the streams of people all lined up to meet those new Hanchinamunchkin babies. The world loved you the day you arrived.

You boys have filled me up to the brim. With your crazy good looks and charm and your unique personalities.

Declan. You are the daredevil, probably because you came out first, so feel the need to lead the way. You are the life of the party. You are climbing on things and putting buckets on your head and getting Ethan and Jace all riled up with you. Joy. You bring excitement. You keep your mom on her toes. You have a strong personality, and know what you want. You are a go getter. You are analytical. You have your trademark furrowed brow. With your intense passion and motivation, paired with that brain of yours, I know someday you are going to blow us all away.

Ethan, you were 6 months old when Jace was born. I remember the first time I brought my little newborn over and he was crying. At 6 months, you sat next to me and you patted his back to comfort him. You have showed such a tender compassion at such a young age. You are kind and gentle and sweet. You love to sit and read books. You share your toys. You're calm.  You hide behind this little smile. It's the "Ethan smile". It kind of makes the rest of us catch our breath. It's a smile that makes it seem like you know something that we all desperately want to know.

Happy Birthday, to you 2 miracles.What a  privilege to be your aunty. To cheer you on on the sidelines and see all God has in store for you. How big and full my heart gets that Jace has, not one, but TWO of you, blazing the trail just 6 months ahead of him.

You have made our lives so rich.

I love you boys so much my heart is leaping! Two years and you've already given us so much. I can't get enough. I just can't wait for more.

India Part 2--Random Observations

India is a beautiful country. It's so amazing to be here and see so much of what the U.S.A. doesn't have and doesn't look like. There is so much to be learned from a country considered "Second World". There are also some not so great things that make me realize how blessed we are in America. Here's a list of some random things I've noticed while being here:

-  These people are hard workers. I mean HARD workers. In the scorching heat you will see people all around you working hard, whether in the fields, in the markets, in construction, at home. They take pride in their work and they do a phenomenal job.

- They are awesome at carrying things on their heads. I've seen old women carrying buckets of water on their heads up hills. I saw a man carrying a sack of rice on his head up a flight of stairs. This was no puny sack of rice, this was a Costco jumbo sized sack of rice, on his head. No hands. How his neck didn't break, or he didn't fall backwards, I don't know.

- They are all so helpful. People are always willing to help give directions and are so friendly when passing each other on the streets. I feel like in America we are always looking down at our iphones and ipods we seldom look up. They look up here. It makes a difference.

- I can't decide if they are awesome drivers or awful drivers. Don't get me wrong. The"rules"of the roads are beyond ridiculous. Lanes mean nothing. They just drive. Wherever. Whenever. But, somehow, I have yet to see an accident. How they don't hit every motorcycle, pedestrian, and cow coming at them is a mystery to me.

- Guys hold hands here. Straight guys. Buddies walking down the street or standing in line at the movie theater--totally normal.

- One rupee is worth basically nothing right now. So if you give 10 rupees at a tollbooth and the price is 9 rupees they give you a piece of candy back instead of 1 rupee. I like that kind of math. Equation: If it costs 9 rupees and you give me 10, how much should I give you back? A piece of candy.

- Has PETA visited India? Pretty sure I saw a pig in a ditch on the side of the road with his legs and feet tied together today. He was alive. I am traumatized.

- Slurpees? It's this hot and you don't have Slurpees? Ok, maybe they do somewhere. But, I miss being able to drink water from my fridge, or sink, or buy a fountain drink with ice. Everything we drink has to be from a bottle or boiled and then cooled because no chances can be taken. Clean water from a tap? America is a blessed country.

- Poverty. It's not like the guy standing on the side of the freeway everyday with a sign that says "Will work for pot". It's real. It's 5 year old girls with no shoes and tattered clothes and dirty hair. It's an old man missing a limb or two with no family around to take care of him. It's thick, it's heavy, it's real.

- White people are a rare occurrence here. Strangers will stare. Hard. And they will ask to take a picture with you. They will even hand you their tiny baby, trusting you won't run for the hills with it. I think Owen feels like he is Brad Pitt right now.

- Did I mention it's beautiful here? It is. It's every shade of green you never knew existed. It's so vibrant you can taste and smell the colors.

- People are people wherever you go. America and India could be polar opposites of each other, and at the heart of the country is the people. And the heart of people is always the same. We all celebrate, we all grieve. We all have mountaintops, we all have valleys.

We can live thousands of miles and continents apart. We can be so different and lead such different lives with different priorities and different strengths and weaknesses  And yet. When you strip us down to the core of who we are, we couldn't be anymore the same.

India (Part 1 Probably)

The moment we decided to go to India, I was too distracted by the insanely long journey to get here, I never processed actually being here. The second the wheels of Emirates flight EK532 hit Indian soil, a wave of emotion crashed over me and swallowed me whole. We were here.

This is my sixth time visiting India. I've been coming ever since I was a baby attached to my mom's hip. But, this time is my first time as a wife and mother. This time is different.

It's amazing how a piece of land, a people, a culture could be such a bright, bold thread in the fabric of who I am. A part of me that's impossible to fully explain and can only be shared by experiencing. That's what we're doing. We're sharing experiences. Everything we do and see, I find myself looking over at Owen and Jace so I can see it on their faces--see them loving what I love.

The word for me on this trip is savor. I'm squeezing the juice out of life and savoring every drip. I'm savoring the language barrier that is broken down by the universal languages of love and laughter. The love. The love that I don't even realize I'm missing everyday, it's here, and I can taste it. Tis so sweet. I'm savoring the food...mmm the food. All the vegetables and fruits picked daily from the backyard. I'm savoring the smells, the sounds that take me back to my childhood. I'm savoring my huge family. The kindness of God to give me so many people who love me and are a part of me and my heritage, regardless of space and time. I'm savoring what is probably the last time I'll see my sweet grandma here on earth. I'm savoring my time with my parents. Letting them share the thousands of threads that make up who they are--seeing the elementary school my mom went to, the river she swam in as a kid. I'm savoring Owen and Jace. This precious time with them. Hearing Jace repeatedly squeal "Wee!!" as we dodge through the crazy traffic and "wow!!"at basically everything else. Seeing his eyes light up at all those animals we read about in his pictures books--the cows, the goats, the chickens, the elephants, the horses, the monkeys, the camels. Watching Owen stand in the middle of a torrential downpour, enveloped by all the beauty that surrounds him. Watching him show love and respect and kindness to my cousins and aunts and uncles.

What an honor and privilege to be here during this time of my life. To be able to come to India and savor--together.