Gospel Songs and Little Friends

Did you ever sing Gospel songs with your Hindu friends?

I was sitting in the home of my Nepali friends, helping little Bimla with her homework. She was reading a funny story, stumbling through the difficult words, giggling as she understood what those words meant. Indira, ever quiet and not one to disturb me, was standing beside me with her composition book, waiting.

I had to read her lovely cover - splattered with crayoned designs, white tape and stickers -  two times, until I deciphered it. It said "Jesus loves me."

I thought surely she copied it from some book, some pamphlet that she couldn't read in English.

But no, she understood. She scrunched up her mouth, looking at me like I was crazy. "Jesus love me! See?" she said, pointing with her finger to the words. "Jesus-love-me. Ok?"

And she wanted me to sing a song with her that she had copied into her notebook. Sure thing. I love singing - especially with children!

But the song she wanted to sing was a surprise to me: "You are my all in all."

You have no idea how wonderful it is to worship God in a home where there is very little Light. The two little girls and I sang the whole song all the way through ... and it was wonderful. They were thrilled to sing with their crazy American tutor (me), and I was overjoyed to share that special moment with them.

It's things like that - sharing a bowl of spicy noodles, learning to make Nepali tea, singing a simple song together, killing roaches in their kitchen (yes, I've done it) - that build relationships that will go way beyond words. It goes way beyond the little we are able to communicate.

I get dirty. I get frustrated with them when they've filled the house with pesticide spray and don't understand that they can't stay inside till it airs out. We've dealt with lice, roaches, unidentifiable creepy-crawlies that somehow made it over from Nepal in luggage. I've made countless stupid blunders because I didn't understand their culture, their language, their way of life. But all of that fades when I realize that I'm more to them than a volunteer.

I'm a friend. Somebody they love and trust. Even though I'm crazy enough to want to help them work in their garden, or make jhalmuri after class time. They love me.

And that's priceless.

Thoughts on Benghazi

You all have heard about the violence in Benghazi. The death of Christopher Stevens, American ambassador to Libya. Sam Bacile's film about Mohammad. The protesting and ensuing violence. Even death.

One man's freedom of speech has inflamed half a world. 

I treasure my freedom as a American. I can say what I like, think what I like, write what I like. No one may take away that freedom from me; I am an American. 

We may wield our words as swords. We may kill and destroy and inflame, and no one will stop us. Our tongues can bring death. It's our basic right, this freedom of speech. 

My heart aches as I watch the violence and hatred burn across the globe tonight. I ache because I see lives destroyed. I see hearts forever closed. Friends that will cease to trust me simply because I am American. Lives cut short. 

Will we use our words to bridge gaps, to build up, to speak life into hearts? Or will we use our freedom to destroy?

I have nothing else to write tonight. I am praying for those affected by this tragedy, and for an end to the ridiculous violence. Will you pray with me? 

9/11 Eleven Years Later

Today marks eleven years since September 11, 2001.

It seems unbelievable that it's been that long. It feels like yesterday that I was sitting at my desk, incredulous at the horror unfolding so close to home.

The deep blue sky, cool weather. Total absence of air traffic, outside of the strange presence of military jets and helicopters. School let out early. Dad came home. Everyone seemed to be transfixed, frozen in a state of shock.

The pictures on the TV will forever haunt me. The unforgettable smell of smoke and jet fuel that hung in the air. Intentional mass murder. Flames. Destruction. It was as if my innocence was taken - I never dreamed man could be so savage, so ruthless, so murderous.

But I saw something else, too. Something beautiful. I watched my local neighborhood pack care packages for the families of those killed in NYC. I witnessed men that gave their lives to save victims from the wreckage. Firefighters that gave the ultimate, to save others' lives. These men had families, too - but they gave anyway.

I'm writing this tribute to those of you that suffered so immeasurably following the 9/11 attacks. Those of you that have lost family, husband, father, wife, mother, son, daughter; those of you that willingly, through tears, sacrificed your husbands for the lives of the victims he rescued.

I'm writing for those of you that labored at ground zero. The firefighters and police officers. All of the people that came together and gave so selflessly. Many of you have suffered ill health as a result. Some of you gave even your last drop of energy and blood to save lives. Maybe you were the child that gave a cold drink to a firefighter. To all of you - even the smallest, seemingly most insignificant hero - thank you.

I'm also writing for those of you that have suffered much fear, pain, misjudgment, prejudice and even hate crimes following the attacks. You were not responsible, and you felt the same horror and cried the same tears the rest of America cried - and yet you became the scapegoat for the tragedy. You, too, have suffered. Deeply.

No, I will never forget that day eleven years ago. Neither will any of you that lost a loved one in that tragedy. I'm praying for all of you today.  God is able to bring joy out of mourning, beauty for the gruesome ashes of tragedy. May God bless and comfort you with His peace!

To watch the live broadcast of the 9/11 Anniversary Webcast today at 8:30am EST, click this link: http://www.911memorial.org