THE MAGICAL GIFT

The Magical Gift

The parade of children to the pre-school was disheartening.  At Rising Star Outreach we had just opened our first school.  We’d dreamed for years of creating our own school where the students from leprosy colonies could be treated with the same dignity as normal children.  Now here in a tiny rented house in Chennai, India, the first pre-school was becoming a reality.

We knew it would have to be a boarding school for the simple fact that the children would be coming from leprosy colonies, many of which were hours away from Chennai.  What we didn’t anticipate was the power of the grapevine amongst leprosy beggars.  The word traveled quickly that there was a school opening that would actually accept children from leprosy colonies!  The news traveled like wildfire from city to city.  

The first Rising Star Outreach school was a pre-school

We had put a large mat from wall to wall of the one tiny bedroom in the rented house.  We figured that if the small children slept shoulder to shoulder we could possibly fit 27 on that mat.  Only 27.  But now just a few days after opening I was stunned as children began arriving from cities all over India—from Coimbatore, Bangalore, Mumbai and unbelievably, even New Delhi, which was essentially across the country. 

Getting all cleaned up!

Two timid girls dressed in Sunday clothes with flowers in their hair, each holding one hand of their mother, came forward shyly.  I groaned inwardly because I knew that the waiting list was already in the hundreds.  What could I possibly tell this eager little family who had traveled for many, many hours from Bangalore and bought new clothes for the girls, hoping to be accepted?  When I explained the situation all three burst into tears.  The mother, embarrassed, tried to hide her own tears as she hugged her children, trying to comfort them as well.  I couldn’t look on this tender scene without becoming misty-eyed myself.  We fed the family some biryani and with heavy hearts sent them back where they had come from.

This scene was repeated over and over again, with family after family.

For six years this situation continued to plague us.  We knew that every year the children waited for a spot at Rising Star Outreach to open up they would become further and further behind in school.  There had to be a solution.  But we were such a small charity, with such limited funds there seemed to be no solution in sight.  We could barely fund the pre-school—the thought of making a larger school seemed impossible.

We did finally open a second pre-school with 20 more spots, but it hardly made a dent in our list, which seemed to be growing constantly.  As the list grew, it seemed as if we were nothing but a drop in the bucket, in a sea of need.

Even in the leprosy colonies of India, every child has a dream

Then one day, our partner, Padma, called to offer a solution.  She also had spent sleepless nights wondering how we could solve this problem.  When I arrived at her home, she was exuberant and so excited her words tumbled out in a rush.

She started by enumerating the obvious challenges:  1) there were more students than we could ever hope to accommodate, 2) there was free public schooling offered in India but the parents needed to buy books and uniforms, and pay for book bags and school fees, a sum at that time of 3,000 rupees (about $48).  3) No leprosy patient had that kind of cash.  4) Rising Star couldn’t possibly pay the school fees of all the children on our waiting list every year.  We couldn’t even make that many loans.  5) The money-lenders would charge such exorbitant rates, the parents could never pay the money back, 6) even if the parents had a loan to cover all expenses, they would still likely take the children out of school often to go begging, ruining any chance their children would have to stay abreast of their studies.

Waiting for her chance to come!

In the past these challenges had seemed overwhelming.  But now Padma had an idea.  If we required the parents to pay the first 600 rupees (about $12) they would feel invested and so would be less likely to withdraw their children to go begging.  If we gave them a loan for the remaining 2,400 rupees, we could collect 200 rupees (about $4) a month from each parent when we went to each colony for our regular services at the colony.  By the end of the year they would have paid off their loan.  Then they could borrow the same money again to put their children in the next grade.  By doing this year after year, the parents could educate one child through ten years of school with a single loan of under $50!  Seemingly impossible, that would be like a miracle!

Was such a thing possible?  We started the next year with a few dozen students.  The parents loved the idea.  The students were incredibly grateful to be “students” instead of beggars.  At the end of the year we had 100% repayment of the loans!  Now that was another miracle!

Armed with this success, we were ready to roll it out on a bigger scale.  Calling this program the Perpetual Colony Grant Program, we included more than 200 children.  Again, we got total repayment of the loans!

Jeyashri with her mother--a family working together for education!

These small one-time loans are life-changing for families!  They have made all the difference in the world to beautiful little six year-old Jeyashri from the Thiruthani leprosy colony.  

Like many from her colony her parents are both illiterate.  Her father works as an unskilled laborer taking any job he can find.  Money is very scarce in their family.  And yet, Jeyashri is attending school and is in second grade!  Such a thing would have been unthought of just a couple of years ago.  

This will be the third year that Jeyashri’s family has taken a Perpetual Colony Grant Loan.  Her mother saves carefully and pays the full amount due each month.  

Both parents are committed to giving little Jeyashri a chance to have a life very different from their own.  In fact it is their greatest dream!  There are hundreds of these stories of hope!

Life in the colonies can be grim for children.  Hunger is a way of life.
Here five children carefully share
a coconut that was inadvertently run over by a cart.

Now we’re ready to expand this program to the States of Kerala and Karnataka.  The demand is huge!  Families in these sates have been begging us to start the program there.  There are so many children destined to live their lives as beggars, who can be given a shot at a whole new future. 

Prices have risen in the last few years, as the value of the rupee has dropped.  Now it costs about $75 to put a child through ten years of school and give them a real chance at life—all made possible by a one-time gift.  The beauty of the program is that the parents are invested.  They are working very hard to pay off the loan each year.  Many of the children also do odd jobs so they can help their parents make the payments. 

But it all starts with one magical gift.  It’s hard to think of any other gift in this world that can bring so much joy!

  

YOU ARE LIKE GOD TO ME

YOU ARE LIKE GOD TO ME

Rising Star Outreach a humanitarian organization and is not connected to any religious belief.  The charity routinely works with Hindus, Muslims and Christians, with no efforts to convert anyone to any particular religion.  However, many of the articles in this blog were published in Meridian Magazine, which is a religious journal.  Consequently there is a religious bent to some of these stories.

I’ve been given the remarkable opportunity to share with the readers of Meridian Magazine some of the lessons I’ve learned in India through our work there with the leprosy-affected, in the hopes that some of these lessons might also be applicable in your own lives.  As I embarked on this pathway many years ago I had no idea of the spiritual insights that would await me through this work.  Hopefully, through these articles I can share some principles that we at Rising Star Outreach have learned by working with these people who have for the most part, been forgotten by the rest of the world.

Ignorance and discrimination coupled to create an environment where Vijaya believed she was not only abandoned by family and society, but she was hated and cursed by God as well.  In her society it was believed that the disfiguring disease that had come upon her as a teenager had now ravaged her body as a visual and living testament as to her past crimes against God.  Vijaya had no memory of what had happened in any previous lives and could only guess what actions in her own childhood might have produced such a complete rejection by God.

Vijaya, disfigured by leprosy, was reduced to begging for a living.  She was shunned by all, including her own family.  None wanted to touch her or touch anything that she had touched.  There was a superstition that even her shadow was defiling and would bring bad luck to anyone that it touched.  She was completely rejected by her society.  She sat forlornly every day in the streets, begging for mercy—just a few coins—enough to buy a little rice to keep her alive. 

Vijaya had already lost her fingers, one by one, to this dread disease.  Some were destroyed by infection, some had been eaten off by rats during her sleep.  One of the insidious after-affects of leprosy is that it destroys the nervous system and leaves its victims with no feelings in their limbs and eyes.  Without pain to protect them, the patients don’t know when their fingers or toes are being gnawed by a rat in the dark of the night. 

Hands of a leprosy-affected patient.

Without the protection of pain it was also easy to injure themselves.  Leprosy patients don’t know when they are walking on sharp rocks with their bare feet, or even on glass.  Small injuries quickly fester in the humid heat of India and become raging infections.   Vijaya was unable to get any medical attention for her infections because since she was considered cursed, no doctor would treat her.  She watched in horror as one finger after another became gangrenous and had to be cut off to save her life. 

Sometimes the fingers just rotted off leaving an open wound, which in turn would fester.  In this manner Vijaya had lost portions of her palms and Hands of a leprosy-affectedwas just left with stumps for hands.

Now one of her feet was affected.  Vijaya had no money for shoes to protect her feet.  She had noticed the small wound in her foot one night after a long day of begging.  She had walked in the dark back to her leprosy colony.  She must have stepped on a jagged piece of metal or a piece of cut glass in the dark.  When she arrived home she noticed that one foot was leaving a bloody trail in the dirt. 

Typical water supply in colonies.  It's hard to imagine this water
being able to clean a wound without infection.

Panicked, Vijaya tried to clean the wound, but in her colony there was only an unfiltered well.  The water was further polluted by the fact that there were no bathrooms, so everyone was forced to defecate in the open.  This seeped into the ground water and thus the colony members had only polluted water to drink and to cook with.  In this case, as Vijaya tried to clean the wound in her foot she was actually contaminating it with all kinds of bacteria.  She prayed for help but had a sinking feeling that her foot would become like her hands.  Maybe God would hear her, maybe he would miraculously heal her this time. . . Hopelessness settled around her as she cradled her foot and wept.

Vijaya was horrified the next morning to see the wound swelling and turning an angry red color.  Within a few more days the wound was hard and swollen.  Feverishly Vijaya washed it with the water from the colony well. 

Having heard from the other beggars on the street that there was an American charity, Rising Star Outreach, running a medical clinic to several leprosy colonies, Vijaya determined that she would have to get to one of those colonies.  By now travel was excruciatingly painful as the foot had began to rot.  Driven by desperation and sheer determination Vijaya managed to walk to one of the colonies rumored to be visited by the American clinic.  She was so gratified when she saw the Rising Star Outreach medical van pull up.  She had chosen the right day! 

Vijaya was surprised to see about ten foreign volunteers get out of the van.  They set out plastic chairs for the patients to sit in.  Then the volunteers brought buckets of clean water, with soap for cleaning!  Each patient sat in a chair and was assigned a volunteer to help clean their wounds.   

One of our volunteers. David Archuleta, cleans a patient's ulcers
using clean water and soap

Vijaya was very nervous when she saw a white-skinned person preparing to clean out the wound in her foot.  Normally in India, the lighter colored the skin—the higher the caste of the person.  Vijaya feared what might happen to her if she allowed a higher caste person to touch her.  But as she looked at the other patients, they were having their wounds cleaned by these Americans.  Both patients and volunteers seemed to be happy, smiling and laughing together.  So she leaned back in her chair and hoped this would all be okay.

The volunteer was a young girl, certainly no more than eighteen-years-old, yet she seemed confident and knowledgeable.  The cleaning was painful at some points as the rotting flesh was dug out, but Vijaya gritted her teeth.  The volunteer worked as gently as possible.  By the time the volunteer was done, the wound was clear of pus and rotting flesh. 

                                                                   

The doctor came, examined the foot, and cut off the necrotic tissue so the wound would heal faster.  He gave Vijaya some pills to take to bring the infection into check.  She had feared that he would cut off her foot, but he assured her that her foot could heal if she would carefully follow his directions.

The American volunteer was smiling during this examination by the doctor.  When the doctor moved on to the next patient Vijaya was overcome with gratitude and emotion.  With tears streaming down her face she gave the Hindu salute to the young volunteer with her hands (as well as she could without fingers).  Through her tears she said in Tamil, “You are like God to me.  If my God were here, He would heal me and this is what you have done.  I have no words to thank you!”

                                                                

"I have no words to thank you!"

As Vijaya’s words were translated to the young American volunteer she also began to cry.  She gave Vijaya a tender hug. 

Both lives were clearly impacted by this tender interchange.

In the work we do in India with the leprosy-affected I have often thought of this woman’s words, You are like God to me.  It is significant to me that all religions call the supreme being, God.  It is humbling indeed to those of us involved in this work to think of being the Hands of God in a person’s life. 

All of us in this life have the opportunity to reach out with healing love to be the Hands of God.  While most of us have no patients suffering from leprosy in our communities, we have many suffering from loneliness, from sickness, from depression, from discouragement, from financial pressures, doubt, or from weariness.   

To be like God to someone, we need only do what God would do if He were here.  We can encourage the discouraged, we can bring love and companionship, friendship and healing into wounded hearts.  While none of us has any pretensions of being like God, we can certainly do what His hands would do.

  

                                                                    

I'VE NEVER SEEN JENNIFER LAUGH

Rising Star Outreach a humanitarian organization and is not connected to any religious belief.  The charity routinely works with Hindus, Muslims and Christians, with no efforts to convert anyone to any particular religion.  However, many of the articles in this blog were published in Meridian Magazine, which is a religious journal.  Consequently there is a religious bent to some of these stories.

When the four of us women entered the Concord House of Jesus, in Chennai, India, we were not prepared for the sight that awaited us.  There were small metal containers (they actually looked like metal laundry baskets) that I suppose were meant to be cribs, lying on the floor.  They were approximately fourteen inches wide, and twice as long.  Inside the “cribs” were small babies.  All were deformed in one way or another. Some of the babies were extremely deformed.    

          The room was darkened.  There was a stale smell of urine in the air.  There must have been thirty-five babies lying in the cribs on the floor—all crying.  All that is, except one small baby girl, who was staring at the ceiling, apparently oblivious to the wailing cries around her. 

         We had come to have a meeting with the director of the home to see if there was a way we could work together.  The other women with me intuitively each ran to a screaming baby and scooped them up into their arms.  I was fascinated by the one baby who wasn’t making a sound.   I crouched down near her box on the floor.  One of the workers informed me that her name was Jennifer.  There were only two workers that we could see.  Both looked very harried as they went from crib to crib trying to meet the babies’ basic needs.

        The babies wore only a loose shirt.  Many of their little bottoms were naked.  Some were lying in wet or soiled cribs.  As my traveling companions each picked up a baby, the workers handed them a rag to hold under their bottoms, to avoid being defecated on.

          I was the only one not holding a crying baby.  I looked into Jennifer’s crib and tried calling her name. There was no response.  She continued to stare at the ceiling.  I started chatting, calling to her and talking “baby talk”.  No response.  I tried singing a children’s ditty, Patty cake, patty cake. . .  No response.  I switched to “Eeensy, weensy spider. . .”  No response.  The others were calling for me to grab a baby and come join them for the meeting with the director of the home.

         Ignoring the others, I began to stroke baby Jennifer, starting under her chin, running my hand down her stomach and then down her stick-thin legs.  She was missing her left arm.  She was also missing a finger on her right hand.  Her hips were dislocated and her feet each had only four toes.  The touch elicited no response.  It was as if I didn’t exist.  Or maybe, I thought, “It’s as if she doesn’t exist.” 

     The others were getting impatient. “Hurry Becky, we don’t have long for this meeting.”  I told them to go on without me, I would join them shortly.  They looked a little put out, but finally went up the stairs with the director to her office, leaving me behind.

       I continued to talk softly to Jennifer.  I stroked her as I spoke.  Her eyes didn’t even flicker.  She stared at the ceiling intently.  I continued to stroke her, wondering how long it had taken for her to become so totally unresponsive.  How many times had she cried in either hunger or loneliness?  How long before she had learned that she was not loved, not wanted—would not be receiving that which she craved?  Little Jennifer had simply withdrawn into herself.  She was nearly catatonic.

        The workers kept looking at me suspiciously out of the corner of their eyes, as they continued in their rounds trying to meet the needs of so many babies.  I ignored them.  I kept singing, talking, and stroking.  Finally after fifteen full minutes, Jennifer moved her eyes enough to catch a view of me out of the corner of her eye.  She did not turn her head.  Only her eyes.

Baby Jennifer, missing her right arm, one finger on her left arm, and one toe on each foot

       That’s all I needed.  I picked her up and hugged her to me.  One of the workers, relieved to see me leaving their domain, handed me a rag to place under Jennifer’s bare bottom, along with a smile.  I hurried up the stairs and found the door to the director’s office open.  The meeting was in full swing.  I quietly took the one empty chair and sat down, attempting to listen and come up to speed on what I had missed.

         As everyone talked, I continued to stroke little Jennifer. 

       I decided to try to play a game with her.  I was wearing a dress that had a chain belt.  At the end of the belt was a ring.  I put the ring on one of Jennifer’s big toes.  No response.  I continued stroking her and humming.  After about ten minutes, Jennifer took her one hand and flipped the ring off her toes.  Aha!  A response!

       I put the ring back on the toe.  This time it took only about two minutes before she reached up and flipped the ring off her toe.  I placed it back on the toe.  Almost immediately her hand darted up and snatched the ring off her toe.  The director paused mid sentence.  She was looking at us in a most unusual way.  She said in surprise, “I’ve never seen Jennifer smile before.”  I immediately looked down at Jennifer.  Sure enough, she was smiling!  I put the ring back on her toe.

       Jennifer and I continued playing this little game for another five or six minutes.  Then to our utter astonishment, Jennifer laughed.  I could feel it almost more than I could hear it.  It was a quiet laugh.  The director again paused mid-sentence.  “We’ve never heard Jennifer laugh,” she said, stunned.

       Jennifer soon tired of our game.  She leaned her head against my breast.  I resumed the stroking.  She seemed to melt right into me.

       Our meeting lasted probably forty-five minutes.   

       It came time to leave.  Everyone with me returned their babies to their “cribs” on the floor.  I didn’t want to put Jennifer down, but realized I didn’t have any options.  Tenderly, I laid her in her crib.  She lifted her one arm up to me.  Tears sprang to my eyes.  How could I leave her?  She had gone from nearly catatonic, to responsive, in only forty-five minutes.  I had only stroked her.  It was simple touch that had wrought this miracle.  How long would it be before one of these overworked employees had the time to stroke her and sing to her?  How long before she would settle back into her stupor?

     I stumbled out into the bright daylight, my sight blurred by the intensity of the sun, and by the stinging tears in my eyes.  I was so upset I felt myself trembling.  My friend put her arm around me.  “Becky, these women are doing the best they can do with what they have. . .”

                                                                                                                                   

As I have pondered this experience, I have often marveled at how little it took to elicit such a remarkable change in Jennifer’s behavior in only 45 minutes. 

Back at home, I thought of Jennifer as I watched a youth in my congregation seemed to be “lost.”  She didn’t seem to relate to the others in her class.  She was overweight and had skin problems.  The others basically ignored her.   Feeling unattractive and not wanted, she had withdrawn into herself.  What would it take, I wondered, to bring her out of her dark isolation and into participation in life with enthusiasm and joy?  How could I communicate love and acceptance to this lonely, misfit teenager?  I couldn’t stroke her and play games with rings on her toes!  No, her wounds and isolation were too deep and her walls were too thick.  

Then I watched a beautiful thing happen.  My friend invited this lonely girl to help her cook for a community event.  As they worked together in my friend’s home this young lady slowly began to respond to inquiries about her interests.  My friend kept finding jobs around the house and hired her to help out.  Over time, as they worked together they laughed together and became friends.  My friend started using her as a babysitter.  As months went by, I eventually saw a change in this shy girl as she felt there was someone who valued her and looked forward to seeing her each week. 

By the time a young woman reaches her teens, it takes more than 45 minutes of love to undo years of feeling left out.  But it was also surprising to me how this sweet girl began to respond after just the first time my friend reached out.

In every neighborhood there is a teenager, a young child, or even a grown woman or a man who needs validation as to their worth.   It seems there’s always at least one who seems to hang back, interact awkwardly with others, feel shunned.  There is a hunger to feel loved, to feel valued.

We’re all busy people with “to do” lists that drive our days! If we can find it within us to make just a little bit of time to notice others, to open our hearts to another person in need and reach out to them in even a simple way, we can be a catalyst to create healing.