Stories...
Well, it's been a week. I've been meaning to put up some more pictures but just haven't gotten the chance yet. Life has just picked up really from where it left off (with a few more life lessons learned and things to think about of course). I have been trying to write out some of my stories though so here is one I just finished (sorry it's so long!).
Christ in You...
We arrived in Kolkata in the early morning of March 5th. It was humid and muggy and there was a sweet tropical smell to the air, quiete the change from cold, harsh snow I left back in Saskatoon. After long waits in line, and finding our packs we journeyed outside.
India is a land of intense extremes, an overload to the senses. And although it was early in the morning and you would expect the world to be sleeping it wasn’t. In fact there was a crowd of people just waiting for the newly arrived tourists. People offering tea and rides in their taxi’s, children asking for money and food. It is an overwhelming feeling after a day and a half of travel. We stood there looking less than fresh I’m sure waiting for our ride.
Soon we were driving to the MCC Center, through the quieter streets of Kolkata in the early hours of the morning. What I noticed was the people sleeping on the streets. I had heard that there was not enough room for the amount of people, but I didn’t fully understand. We passed down a street and realized these pile of blankets on the sidewalk had real people under them, people who laughed and cried, were hungry and full, who loved and hurt. One corner we passed was home to a couple. The man sat awake, while his wife curled up in a blanket slept. I wondered how he felt knowing that this was all he had for his wife, and if life allowed him dream beyond this.
We arrived to our clean, simple rooms in the MCC center and had a quick nap before heading out for the day. We scurried our tired bodies around this fascinating city. Learning the history, seeing the masses bathe in the river, busy themselves from place to place, live normal daily lives. We explored the sights and smells of the flower market and drank delicious, spicy chai from the street vendor. It was brilliant. At times I just wanted to stop and sit and take it all in.
Close to the end of our day of exploring this new city we ended up at the ‘Mother House’. Close to the MCC center there was a building on the corner of a busy street. Across the street was a whole line of squatters houses built with tarp and sticks. The shutters were a rusty orange colour and the building was a plane old white washed building. It housed a little sign in the corner proclaiming in a humble way that this was a Missionaries of Charity house. We got out of our cars and walked down the back alley to the side door where people come in and out. We stepped inside and a quiete peace was felt throughout our group. Here is was. The place she lived and worked. The place where the world learned what it meant to love. Here was the place of Mother Teresa.
I know the many of the words of Mother Teresa. I know her words on poverty and love and caring for the poor. I know she was a simple woman who lived on less. And yet in my mind I could never of imagined how this could be lived out when she was so internationally known, regarded, and loved. Fame was hers. She could have had it all.
We took off our shoes and entered a room where we reflected on the life and love of this servant. I then wandered over to the room that was a dedication to her life, a museum of sorts. It housed her worn, homemade sandals, her repaired white and blue sari, and a few of her dishes and writing utensils. Her words were written up and her life story told. And not on large plaques or fancy displays, no, they were written up on a simple computer, printed off, laminated, and pinned onto the wall. What a beautiful testament to all she believed in.
But what I realized as I was reading the story of her life and words of wisdom from her heart, was that Mother Teresa knew something that few of us have come to comprehend. Mother Teresa knew that Christ was in her. She knew that Christ was in us. She knew that where ever she went, whether across the street with the squatters, or across the world at a large gala, she knew that Jesus was in her, she was taking Him to the world, simply by being. It was that simple.
Colossions 1:27 says “Christ in you the hope of glory.” I have heard this verse many times in my life, but I saw it in a new way that evening. Christ is in me. Hard to believe at times, but unbelief doesn’t make it any less of a truth. So how do I live out this truth? How would my life be different if I understood, along with Mother Teresa, that the Christ living in me was the hope of glory. My life would change, it is changing, everyday I pray that this truth be revealed more and more in my life, because it is this truth that will change my life and the world around me.
Christ in You...
We arrived in Kolkata in the early morning of March 5th. It was humid and muggy and there was a sweet tropical smell to the air, quiete the change from cold, harsh snow I left back in Saskatoon. After long waits in line, and finding our packs we journeyed outside.
India is a land of intense extremes, an overload to the senses. And although it was early in the morning and you would expect the world to be sleeping it wasn’t. In fact there was a crowd of people just waiting for the newly arrived tourists. People offering tea and rides in their taxi’s, children asking for money and food. It is an overwhelming feeling after a day and a half of travel. We stood there looking less than fresh I’m sure waiting for our ride.
Soon we were driving to the MCC Center, through the quieter streets of Kolkata in the early hours of the morning. What I noticed was the people sleeping on the streets. I had heard that there was not enough room for the amount of people, but I didn’t fully understand. We passed down a street and realized these pile of blankets on the sidewalk had real people under them, people who laughed and cried, were hungry and full, who loved and hurt. One corner we passed was home to a couple. The man sat awake, while his wife curled up in a blanket slept. I wondered how he felt knowing that this was all he had for his wife, and if life allowed him dream beyond this.
We arrived to our clean, simple rooms in the MCC center and had a quick nap before heading out for the day. We scurried our tired bodies around this fascinating city. Learning the history, seeing the masses bathe in the river, busy themselves from place to place, live normal daily lives. We explored the sights and smells of the flower market and drank delicious, spicy chai from the street vendor. It was brilliant. At times I just wanted to stop and sit and take it all in.
Close to the end of our day of exploring this new city we ended up at the ‘Mother House’. Close to the MCC center there was a building on the corner of a busy street. Across the street was a whole line of squatters houses built with tarp and sticks. The shutters were a rusty orange colour and the building was a plane old white washed building. It housed a little sign in the corner proclaiming in a humble way that this was a Missionaries of Charity house. We got out of our cars and walked down the back alley to the side door where people come in and out. We stepped inside and a quiete peace was felt throughout our group. Here is was. The place she lived and worked. The place where the world learned what it meant to love. Here was the place of Mother Teresa.
I know the many of the words of Mother Teresa. I know her words on poverty and love and caring for the poor. I know she was a simple woman who lived on less. And yet in my mind I could never of imagined how this could be lived out when she was so internationally known, regarded, and loved. Fame was hers. She could have had it all.
We took off our shoes and entered a room where we reflected on the life and love of this servant. I then wandered over to the room that was a dedication to her life, a museum of sorts. It housed her worn, homemade sandals, her repaired white and blue sari, and a few of her dishes and writing utensils. Her words were written up and her life story told. And not on large plaques or fancy displays, no, they were written up on a simple computer, printed off, laminated, and pinned onto the wall. What a beautiful testament to all she believed in.
But what I realized as I was reading the story of her life and words of wisdom from her heart, was that Mother Teresa knew something that few of us have come to comprehend. Mother Teresa knew that Christ was in her. She knew that Christ was in us. She knew that where ever she went, whether across the street with the squatters, or across the world at a large gala, she knew that Jesus was in her, she was taking Him to the world, simply by being. It was that simple.
Colossions 1:27 says “Christ in you the hope of glory.” I have heard this verse many times in my life, but I saw it in a new way that evening. Christ is in me. Hard to believe at times, but unbelief doesn’t make it any less of a truth. So how do I live out this truth? How would my life be different if I understood, along with Mother Teresa, that the Christ living in me was the hope of glory. My life would change, it is changing, everyday I pray that this truth be revealed more and more in my life, because it is this truth that will change my life and the world around me.
2 Comments:
Awesome description of everything Dane- you're a great writer. At first I didn't know where you were talking about - I didn't know that Calcutta was spelled that way there - it's funny how spellings of things are different. That must have been awesome to see Mother Theresa's house. I can't wait to sit down with you and have a look at all your pictures!
dana, thank you for sharing some of your stories and insights. they are wonderful to read and dwell upon. i look forward to reading more. God is shaping you and it is so wonderful to see it happen. love you.
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