Not long after I got here, I wrote a post about coming face to face with statistics that I have studied for the past few years. Back then, it was a sobering realization that I'd flown out of the land of books and diagrams, and landed in life. A life that I was completely unaccustomed to, but nonetheless... Life.
Now, months have gone by since that post. I've seen a lot more of life since then. With each passing day, my heart grows more and more settled in the day to day routine of life. The glamor has worn off, and people are no longer objects to be captured within my wide-angle lens, but rather friends and acquaintances.
My bookshelf is still weighed down with the books on poverty and AIDS that I brought across the ocean with me in order to help me grasp what I would be living in... Many of those books have collected a 7 month old layer of dust.
Some of the titles include: Walking With the Poor and African Friends and Money Matters.
These are both great books. However, I quickly realized that it's a little absurd to sit in my living room, behind my fence and gate, reading Walking With the Poor, when they are literally walking right past my gate, and congregating at the window of my car when I stop at the red light to beg for my small change.
I had walked with the poor many times while laying on my couch, sipping coffee and eating Grandma's cookies. I had scenario after scenario played out in my mind of walking happily with the poor. This put me on the edge enough to feel like I was doing something worth while, but at the end of the day, I went under the covers without really getting dirty... without really feeling the heartache of "walking with the poor". The reality was, I frequently walked past the poor rather than with them.
This past week, I saw what was hidden behind the words of the many text books I skimmed through in college. I experienced the pain that is easily camouflaged by a ribbon and stickers and media campaigns and 4-letter words like "AIDS". I think as people, we find it easier to discuss things on a broad scale rather than digging deeper to find what was previously veiled to our untainted eyes.
Earlier this week, as I was sitting in the office taking care of a few things, my phone rang. As I happily answered it, I was greeted with 3 words: "Judith is dead".
Immediately, my heart sank and my skin felt lifeless and tingly all over.
Judith was the sister of a friend of mine. A few months back, I got another urgent phone call from my friend... his sister was very sick and had no way to get to the hospital. So, I dropped my plans, ordered take-out for dinner and hopped in the car. I carried this sick, yet thankful, lady and her loving mother to the hospital and made sure that they got settled in alright. That was the first time I officially met Judith, and was also the first time that I was told that she was HIV+. Around here, that's usually not the first thing that comes up in a conversation.
A few years back, she lost her husband to the disease, and was now living under the care of her mother.
Every once in a while, I was reminded of Judith while sitting in a prayer meeting when her name came up because she was sick again.
Earlier this week was one of those situations. Her brother approached me and told me that she was really sick and that he needed to bring her to the hospital. We arranged for him to take the vehicle to pick her up. When he arrived at the house, his loving sister was laying across the lap of their mother being showered with tears. They were too late.
The next day, I joined a few hundred of people that had some connection with her or their family at the funeral. It was such an interesting and eye-opening experience for me. I had an insiders view on the pain and mourning that is so conveniently nestled behind the statistics.
As I heard the wails of a mother that had just lost her daughter, the last thing I could do was label her as a statistic. This was real. This could never be put on the page of a text book and exported to the desks of thousands of students to be skimmed over while cramming for an exam.
This was life.
This week, I have been amazed at the resilience of people placed in hard circumstances. There is a perseverance that only comes on the flip side of the fire.
I feel like I'm beginning to understand what it feels like to "walk with" people rather than "walk by" them... not that I have come close to doing this naturally yet though.
It's rarely a planned walk. Walking with people is a decision though. But, after you get to walking, it just turns into life.
And the interesting part about walking with people is that you don't get to pick and choose what to participate in. You get the good, the bad and the ugly.
For my friend Kondwani... I was able to share in an amazing celebration. I was the best man in his wedding. There was nothing but happiness at that time. But, this week, I knew that it was time for some of the bad. And, although it wasn't really expected that a foreigner would attend the funeral, I knew that it was essential to mourn with those who were mourning.
I just got through reading an excellent book. Sub-Merge is about learning what it means to not just walk past the bad neighborhoods and the hurting places in the world... or even to spend your long weekends or entire summers in those places doing worthy things. Sub-Merge is about getting dirty. It's about pacing yourself with a group of people that are pushed down and neglected and calling that place home. It's about walking with... not walking by. If this kind of thing is fascinating to you (like it is to me), I strongly recommend you order this book and dive in. Warning: You will be challenged, and probably won't feel that comfortable while reading.
