Friday, June 06, 2008

True Loving

Forgive me for not writing sooner I've been busy with so much!

Anways I have had so much happen this past month, new friends, old friends, misunderstanding, puppy dogs, mango eating, monsoon starting, my birthday, but what I would like to tell you about today is: a miracle!

Remember the woman I posted about who I rushed to Khalighat?
Well she is doing so well now! When she first arrived everyone was sure that she would die within a few hours. She was completely unresponsive, blood coming from her ears, several puncture/gash wounds on her head, a large open wound and infection in her right hand, broken ribs on her right side and a broken foot too.

We think she was shoved from a train.

Anyways, she went from completely unresponsive to; grinding her teeth and moaning for a week; to following us with her eyes but still grinding her teeth, to eating bread in milk and biting the spoon in half to; eating normal food; to sitting up with help; to talking; to sitting up and talking and eating by herself.

And what is more is that she recognized me!
She knew I was the one who had helped her when she was unconscious, she knew it was me who was singing in her ear to make her stop grinding her teeth, and she knew it was me, even when I had been too busy to visit her for 2 weeks, and suddenly appeared again to find her almost completely recovered.


When she recognized me I found the greatest treasure of my life.
I felt so completely rewarded by God, but most importantly I felt TRUE.
You probably have no idea what it is like.
I had been false, I had been doing the right thing for the wrong reasons.
You see, I knew that what I was doing was looked up to by a lot of people, and it gave my devilish pride a real rush. I wanted people to be impressed by my 'goodness', by how long I was staying, but now... It doesn't matter I don't need anymore recognition than that womans smile.
My life is true now.

God is True, God is Love, and He can work through anyone that lets Him. That knowledge humbles even me.

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Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.


O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen
-

1 comment:

Pop Krump said...

While a volunteer at Norpur spring of 1975,I discovered a small boy. He looked to be 5 or 6 years old. The brothers assured me he looked the same to them 7 yrs. ago when they found him. He was called Babloo, which simply means "small boy". Someone remembered someone else mentioning having seen him holding onto the back of a bicycle and running, but none of the current brothers had ever so much as seen him standing or moving. He was stuck in a perpetual squat while awake and fetal position while asleep. Thus, he was tilted up in the morning and pushed over at night. The other boys indicated that if slapped between the shoulder blades he would fall over and go to sleep. Curious, I experimented. It was not sleep, but a seizure. Poor wiring somewhere. If given a bowl of rice, a large serving spoon had to be placed in his hand because a small spoon would get into his mouth and get stuck. He only made one repetitive motion with his arm such that the rice was only scooped from one place in the bowl. If the bowl was not rotated, he ate very little. With so many boys, who had time to feed someone who could feed himself?
Babloo's life was primarily interior. All of his senses worked, but he had little reason to use them. This meant potential!
I loved the person and quickly undertook finding out what sort of playing resulted in the "great smile". All sorts of motions! Bouncing, spinning, carrying, bump hopping him around gently, these seemed to awaken memories.
No one knew of his mother, his jungle village recalled hos father alone cared for him, but had to leave him shut up in a hut all day while away begging, for fear the boy would drown, or fall into a fire, or get set upon by packs of wild dogs.
Interestingly, I was never capable of reconciling the supreme joy and pleasure an entire village received from capturing and beating a wild dog to death. Hindus, Christians, and Muslims all enjoyed this undertaking to a great degree greater than I am able to understand. Sure it was reasonable and necessary. I would do it also. But, I don't see where the joy comes into the project. I've only had to put down dogs I have known and loved. Once I had to have a wild dog killed, but I was shaking so badly I couldn't shoot, I had to have my daughter Havilah do it. I can only "kill" what I love, not what I hate. This seems sensible, but I seem to be the odd man out.
It may seem humorous to some, but when we run out of money on this little farm, we may have to live on steak and ice cream for a while. Life has prepositioned essential tragedies I guess. Perhaps joy cometh in the morning, but morning comes after mourning and reality.
Perhaps Babloo's father died or gave him to the brothers. I don't know. Some desciption of finding him squatting in the dark was all I remember.
I figured if he could keep up with a slow bicycle in the past, he might walk at least. It turns out he would. His skin had grown together between his thighs and calves, but this was more easily separated than I expected. In about three days using a pocket knife, he had regular legs. Hexa-Meta-Phenyl something or other; I discovered was toxic 30 years later. Hell, we bathed people in it. Then we sprayed them with DDT to keep the mosquitoes and flies of death off of them till their next bath. Otherwise they would smell dead before they were of course.
Work on his knees also proceeded quickly. I pulled until I saw tears and distress in his face. I never saw him cry. He never complained one bit. Silence and laughter were his boundary limits of expression. In one week he was up and standing. He needed no encouragement to walk. Just stand near enough and he could hold on to some part of you. He was slow but steady and could walk 100 yards easily.
I spent alot of time with Babloo for about a month. We played on a swing set. I don't remember if he could propel himself, he sat, gripped, and laughed and smiled just fine. I have little black and white photos of him on the swing set with me. It was at this time I gave up shaving as the photos show. Around this time, I got an infection in my foot, followed by a fever, dysentary, and the acute stages of hepatitis. I was practically incoherant and every attempt at mobility seemed like walking under water where your toes can barely touch the mud. I clung to Babloo and he to me. One day I was feeling well enough to play my violin for a circle of boys. A boy slapped Babloo on the back, sending him into a seizure. I broke my violin bow on that boy's head, I lost my balance and ended up on the ground, preserving my instrument somehow. I had two bows and have been playing with the one I made when I was sixteen years old ever since. It's not very good, but, then again, I'm not much of a violinist. I play about as well as Sherlock Holmes and Einstein put together.
The brothers thought I was considering Babloo a possession. Everyone was allowed only so many things and people were not among these things. I wanted to keep him. I was transferred to aleper colony. I wanted to return to Norpur, but it never happened. Eventually, I was sent home. I could not take Babloo. India allowed only perfect children to leave.
I have had a beard ever since. When I look into a mirror and smile, I see a young boy. In all my letters asking how Babloo was doing, all I was told was "fine". Meaning more precisely, no one rotates his bowl.
Some things change, others only endure as long as they can, I still have the hepatitis and the violin to cling to, you see. Those things which remain constant, enduring, faithful, and true to character are called friends in life. Yet, when my toes can no longer reach the mud...I should like to swing a bit more with Babloo.