Misjudged

Here is the thing about South Asia… 

I have no idea. 

How do you describe this place? How do you explain why it is the way it is or why people are the way they are? I could tell you what I’ve seen, but then you would be just like me: consuming a culture you do not understand, loving the adventure but not the person. This is not Africa. People don’t generally come here. People don’t suddenly develop a heart for this city.  Mother Teresa, the only woman who stuck around long enough to actually have an impact, actually disliked the place and yet found, deep within herself, an ability to love it simultaneously.

I am sure you have heard or seen movies about the sheer number of people and vehicles inhabiting this decaying city. You may have even read statistics about the pollution that clogs your lungs within minutes of stepping outside.  If you are really educated – or have done research like my pre-deployment self – you would know the British built this beautiful, cutting edge metropolis that hasn’t been touched since the day they left.  And with modern access to the world, you have probably stumbled across articles of those kids living outside my apartment, playing in the feces and bacteria infested trash because their parents will not let them go to the free schools now available in town. But what you don’t know is that every single person I have met has been helpful, loving, genuine and kind-hearted. The Hindu women are resilient and strong. The men are honorably doing their job as they are told. The children are learning to survive and smile at the same time. The dogs are gentle and steady. The neighbors seek your friendship almost desperately. And the cars wont harm you if you don’t put yourself in harms way.  

What I have concluded so far is this is truly just a place of survival. People do not have the means or the energy for upkeep (would you at 115 degrees Fahrenheit with 100% humidity and dollar-a-day wages?) The mobs of curious people and lawless cars are truly dangerous but the individuals are not. I am convinced even the petty thieves feel horrible about doing so.

So while it is easy to hate this city. And I mean it is truly easy to hate this city. It is extremely fulfilling to love it as well.

And while I am still cautious about who to trust and I still pray with incredible fervor every time I step into an auto, I am also hopeful that I will learn to see life here as my own. I pray to one day sit down with the kids outside my apartment and have a meal with them. I pray the anxiety I feel during the height of rush hour turns to laughter. I pray to one day feel comfortable enough to stop on the sidewalk and look at my surroundings. I pray I can actually learn Bengali. I pray for a community both inside and outside the church. And if you were willing, I would be honored if you would pray for these things as well.

People say this is the city of joy. People say this is the city that was once of joy. People say this is the city of darkness and decay. I say this is a city that has been grossly misjudged.  

Dreams are made possible. Just maybe not the way you dreamed them.

I had two reoccurring dreams as a little girl. I would lie in bed, look up at my glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars and fall asleep, imagining myself flying from city to city, fighting crime and destroying whatever punk kid made fun of my siblings that day (yes, I am well aware of the irony, being a 13-year old girl who only wore dresses to school.) 

If I wasn’t playing the superhero in my imagined reality I was Harriet Tubman working the Underground Railroad, in which I was wearing a conductor’s hat and sneaking slaves into the luggage compartment.

I never thought too deeply about the potential repercussions of such delusions; after all, I also dreamed about being a supermodel and climbing Mount Everest and we all know how that would have played out in my life …

But then I joined IJM (International Justice Mission).

It wasn’t until training week that I finally connected my past and present. I had subconsciously chosen a career path that would let me fly around the world in an effort to rescue victims from the slave trade. What up! I am a 21^st century abolitionist who can fly! The only difference: I get to talk about it somewhat openly.

During training our leadership spoke incredible truth into our lives, the most poignant being paraphrased as: we expect excellence because what you’re doing matters. 

So here I am, in transit to “a major city in South Asia”, sipping on wine and eating unbearably salty peanuts, off to save the world. Just instead of flying with a cape I am flying in a mega international plane. Instead of saving slaves by hiding them in my home I am saving them by hiding them in my words. Instead of superman powers I have God.

So as I spend the next year abroad, I look forward to including you all in this journey to end human trafficking. There are just a couple things you need to know if you are going to jump on this train: firstly it’s a LONG ride, secondly it can be done, thirdly nothing is accomplished without prayer, and fourthly we serve a God of justice, which means if you are to serve God you must participate in bringing about justice (both locally and globally). If you would like ideas on how to promote justice in your individual life and in your community just ask. I think about these things often.

All this is to say: ask and you shall receive.

Yours Truly,

Kristy