A Tiny Piece of Light

Thank you Catholic Church for reminding me to celebrate. Today the Church celebrates the Immaculate Conception of Mary. And so I am reminded to have hope. The night has ended, and she is the break of dawn. She will give her child to every weary soul.

There’s a line from the Mat Kearney song, “All I Have,” that goes,

“Rip a little corner off the darkness, just to crack a light in the middle of it all.”

I think today is that tiny piece of light that says just what Isaiah 40 says… prepare the way of the Lord! Perhaps we have become tired. But He has not. No, the Everlasting God has not forgotten us.

An Echo in My Soul

I think the point is that we’re not supposed to stop singing. Today in prayer I was reading psalms and saying a litany to the Holy Spirit. Suddenly I stopped, and realizing the sacredness of what I was doing, I didn’t want to keep singing these psalms. How could I? I was brought back to juries in college, when I would stand under spotlight on a bare stage and sing opera songs for the music faculty at my university. I was being graded on my performance, singing songs that I had just learned that semester, but had been sung by divas in european opera houses for centuries.

And on an even greater scale, I felt the same inadequacy today in prayer. Compared to the God I was praying to, I felt worthless, and not nearly beautiful enough to enter into His presence.

But then I heard another urging, like that of a mother, saying, “don’t stop. you sounded beautiful. you are beautiful.” I don’t get it. Perhaps its like when we sit around the piano at Christmastime and listen to a six year old play Jingle Bells. We don’t think about the skill or the what the child doesn’t know about the complexity, beauty of form, expression, and harmony of music. Our hearts just sink into the moment, and think, “how precious.”

Please, Lord, I hope you do that with me. I’m going to keep singing, because you have asked me to, and because your music “sounds an echo in my soul.” I hope that one day I will be beautiful, that I will sing your praises with sincerity and purity of heart. But now, let the very fact that I remember to praise you and that I desire it be enough.

“My life goes on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear it’s music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?”

October

I hate to be sentimental about the turning of the leaves, but I can’t help but be affected by the saturated colors. I have spent many afternoons outdoors lately, so that I can soak in the season before it goes away.

On a personal and confessional level, I must admit, this month has had it’s share of ups and downs. But if I were to send myself a Hallmark card, it would say something like, “Just because you feel gray, doesn’t mean you’re not shining.” I know this with confidence, because I know I am a child of the light, and the light shines in the darkness… that’s just what is does…

If the leaves can be beautiful while they’re dying, perhaps that is also true with us.

He makes all things new! I’m just blown away at how beautiful are these tiny deaths we die for Jesus. They give us color, then shed away the old coat to give us a fresh one. Spring will come with it’s own freshness and life. Not to sound morbid, but I’m rather enjoying the dying…

Happy Fall!

What’s Left of India, Fading…

Of course I still have things I attained from India: books, scarves, Mother Teresa holy cards, remnants of sickness in my body. But I think it’s ended. I think that chapter finally closed. We become a product of everything that happens to us, and so I still carry it with me; but everything that happens to us fades away, or falls away like old skin. More and more, I am despairing of this life, and all that it offers. Maybe it’s a pessimistic route to God, but I don’t think so. The skin, no matter how shiney it is, still will shed. The heart of me is Him. I don’t know Him, yet, I want Him. And only in wanting Him do I begin to know Him. What comes first? Who cares. Let everything be God!

Now it’s Nashville. The first day of fall only 3 days ago, hinting at cool weather and turning leaves. I’m ready. I’m quite partial to sweaters and to long walks that make your nose cold. Whatever phase I am in the “shedding,” I know that everything I do today is a search for the eternal. Of course I always forget to acknowledge this, but when I do, my whole heart is filled with purpose. After all, the one who makes all things new is mine to search for!

“I don’t recall a single care
Just greenery and humid air
Then Labor day came and went
And we shed what was left of our summer skin.”

-”Summer Skin” by Death Cab

Celebrations All Around

I saw it, the Washington Monument. I’ve seen it many times, growing up so close to the capital. But on Thursday it was more than a memorial. When the plane touched ground, I lifted the tiny window screen, and my jet-lagged eyes saw it in a different light. The pencil shaped marble may as well have been a flag saying, “Welcome home Justina Marie Miller. It is good to have you back in the land of the free and the home of the brave.” Thanks George. I’m very glad to back as well.

But I don’t really want to write this post about the day of my home-coming from Calcutta, because the very same day was also my dad’s birthday. And since I am low on cash and high on prayer (thanks Calcutta), I prayed for him for an hour every day for nine days before his birthday. Each day I realized something new about how COOL he is. So, Dad, I hope you don’t mind, I am going to let my love for you leak into cyberspace, because I love thee and I’ve counted the ways (well, at least 9 of them).

9 Days Later… Reflections on Joe and what I’ve come to appreciate:

1. You are a true artist. You see God where others might miss Him, and then you communicate what you’ve seen.  I have so many memories of long theological conversations full of your insights (mostly on long car rides), and that is something I could never take for granted.
2. You’re talented at everything you try. Don’t even deny it. It’s true.
3. You have shown me how to glorify God in all my endeavors. When I was little and wanted to be a rockstar, you said the most important thing I can do with music is love God and help others to love him.
4. You give the best advice. Anytime I’m at a fork in the road of my life, I just click your name on my phone, and know that I’ll find some clear and wise direction.
5. You are soooo cool. I love telling people you’re my dad. You can talk to anyone, and make them feel like they are important. You’re classy, handsome, and you dress well even when you stay home all day.
6. You make me feel like I can do anything I put my mind to. I have seen it with other people too. When people have your approval and support, they know they can dream a little bigger.
7. You taught me how to play guitar! When people ask me where I learned to play guitar, I just smile big and say, “My daddy taught me everything I know.”
8. You have introduced me to a large number of my obsessions, including the following: Thomas Merton, Joni Mitchell, coffee, Lord of the Rings,  Bluegrass/Americana music, C.S. Lewis… to name a few.
9. And finally, you have shown me “the love of a father.” My first concepts of God the Father’s love for me have been inspired by you and your love. It is because of you that I know how great the love of a father can be.

So now, there’s nothing left to say, but THANK YOU and HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Love ya, mean it. Bye!

India Diaries: The City of Joy?

It’s a little less hot here today. In mass this morning the sun fell from the windows onto the cement floor of the chapel. I took it as God’s way of saying to me that the sun can even shine through smog. And I think I needed to hear that.

Mother Teresa’s tomb looks like a huge white box. It is very plain, but every morning one of the sisters takes flower petals and shapes letters into a message on the surface of the tomb. Today the message, written in letters made of tiny orange petals was, “Sufferings are the kiss of Jesus.”

Ok. Jesus, you’re in love with me.

Not that I have too many things to complain of, but for the first time here in India, I think I can say I’m ready to go home. I’m still getting over typhoid and in the process I have an amoeba. Eww. That is so gross.

The longer I am here, the more I realize how many blessings I have at home: clean water, hot water, climates of comfort, food that doesn’t make you sick,  people who avoid staring and bumping into you on the sidewalk, less pollution, less traffic, the smell of grass, the smell of grocery stores, clean air, silence, coffee shops, my car, running, pilates, my Taylor guitar. I mean the list goes on.

But here I have something that those things don’t guarantee: joy. Here where I sometimes look around and hate the heat and the smells and the littering, there is something about Calcutta that teaches one to find joy when it looks invisible. Even when I go to the chapel and cry, because I have no idea what next year will look like or how I am going to pay rent, student loans, and credit cards (credit cards that may or may not still have my India plane ticket on them), I have joy. The joy is in knowing that Jesus is in love with me, and His joy is in taking care of me when I ask. I’m so glad He loves me whether I work in the volunteer homes or stay in my bed in the mornings. When it comes to missing work, I am my own worst enemy. I feel like I am letting my orphanage down because I have had to be away from work this past week. But Jesus will take care of the orphanage. He loves the kids more than I do. I’m starting to realize as I lay in bed wishing these sick moments away, the only one I am letting down is Jesus, because I  haven’t been returning His kisses. That has got to change.

Live in His Joy — where.ever.you.are! Blessings to all my readers!

India Diaries: Forget Me Not, America

Whoa. Let’s just acknowledge the fact, that I’ve neglected you, readers. I am sorry for my disregard to all my faithful blog followers, and I resolve now to write more often (whatever that means).

I’m still in Calcutta (yes the heat, the smells, and sounds are ever affirming that). Not much has changed here, yet of course you can’t live here without changing. I think Jesus tries to use everything He can to change us for the better. He is the one who takes what we are, strips away the smelly stuff, and shows us what we’re really made of. However, he has a tough job, since change is something of the heart, and I’m finding we can’t force the heart to do anything. When I look back at experiences that have changed me, I see just as many that aren’t too dramatic as the ones that are. So yes, I have bought a very expensive plane ticket, and here I am living in Calcutta. And as much as this whole experience may change me, I must also recognize that I’ve walked away a different woman after a $2 coffee and good conversation with a friend. And after my dad bought me my first Joni Mitchell CD, I knew I’d never be the same.

The past couple of weeks here in Calcutta have been a little different. Instead of  spending more time at the Mother Teresa houses I have been spending more time in my room with my new illness named Typhoid. It sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? I suppose it is, but though it drains your energy, cramps your stomach, and keeps you in a perpetual state of fever and nausea, I have come to appreciate this illness (I have no idea how I’ve become so optimistic). Without typhoid, I would have carried on Calcutta style, and never had time to stare at the ceiling and think about my life. All week I’ve been thinking about something we’ve all heard before: God loves me enough to send His Son, who also loves me and has come not to condemn, but to save. Perf. I need a savior. I always make the silly mistake of forgetting I have one. Typhoid Mary, thanks for slowing me down so I could be still and know that the greatest gift I have  is the gift of loving; and I only love, because He loved me first. I am doing better. Finally. But I do insist that Typhoid Tina has a better ring than Typhoid Mary, and I wouldn’t mind if we all called it Typhoid Tina now. Ok. Cool.

Of course there’s more to talk about, but I have adoration now with the volunteers so there’s simply not time just now. As promised, there is more to come soon. Bye!

India Diaries: Talk About the Weather… and More

The strangest thing about being in Calcutta is that one moment you’re in love with it, and the next you absolutely despise it. Sometimes both emotions even happen at the same time. This morning, I must confess I would like nothing more than to be in my big comfy bed with blankets and pillows that don’t smell, breathing in AC and Tide laundry detergent air.

Call me a wimp. It’s totally true. I’ve been pretty good about not complaining, but right now I’m sick. I caught a cold and lost my voice… I’m staying back from work today, because I can only talk as loud as a whisper, and my energy level is quite low. But here skipping work is totally acceptable, due to volunteers getting sick so often. One of the challenges can be getting enough sleep. Last night I woke up at 3am literally drenched in my own sweat. I know it sounds disgusting, but it’s reality in Calcutta. It’s a type of discomfort I’m not used to, and prohibits sleep. But that’s what I get for coming to Calcutta in May, the hottest month of the year.

The volunteers here among the most interesting of people. They come in all types. But mostly the types are 1) religious people drawn by Mother Teresa, 2) traveling hippies that stay anywhere from 1 day to 6 months and 3) college volunteer groups. Many people are a mix as well.  We can be very different, but we all share a love for humanity and we all sympathize with the heat and being sick. I am amazed at how easily words like, “diarrhea” come from our mouths in conversation. But really, diarrhea and the weather are certainly among main topics of conversation, and they are both just as acceptable to discuss.

Anyway, on that note (or rather in an effort to change that note), I’m officially staying. I changed my ticket, and will be back in the states on July 22. Who is not surprised?

India Diaries: These Mysteries

Nothing surprises me anymore. The culture sometimes feels too different to compare to any foreign encounters of life previous to India. Last night some of us volunteers and a (really cool) priest from the UK went to a nicer restaurant in Calcutta. The total for my dinner was 450 Rupees, not quite $10. Should I feel guilty for buying such an expensive meal? I also bought a coffee in the afternoon for 53 Rupees, about $1.10. As I walked out of the air conditioned coffee shop into air so hot and thick you feel like you could drink it,  I passed a woman sleeping on the sidewalk nursing her baby.

The poverty here is incredible; you can’t get used to the sight of it. The little hands that touch your arm asking for money on the sidewalk don’t leave you until you are almost mean, saying no so many times. I must remind myself that the best way to help is by volunteering with the Sisters and other volunteer places like theirs. The Sisters are incredibly street smart when it comes to really helping the poor.

I look at the faces smudged with dirt, and think what love Christ has for every soul that he would have died for just one person. I don’t know these people and I don’t understand them. With this lack of understanding I could either dismiss them and step back into my bubble, or I could embrace them as a mystery. Being in Calcutta, there is no refuge, no bubble. Here I am forced to recognize that these people, whether their home is a one room flat or a sidewalk, they have a story. They have a purpose that God has contemplated. They are a reflection of Him. Acknowledging this only makes me realize the mystery of those whose stories I do know: my family, my friends in VA, in Nashville, and really anyone with whom I’ve ever had a conversation. And that makes me realize even more, I am a mystery to myself. I am too a reflection of my creator, loved into existence by Love Himself. Who am I to think I understand myself or what God wishes to do in me and through me?

Maybe its the colors of India or maybe its just where I am in life, but I  find myself longing for romance. Not the Hollywood romance, but the kind that comes from real love and permeates all you see and touch. I want to live a life of wonder, not because it sounds cool (doesn’t it though?), but because its the only life worth living. Love asks to be sought, all the while seeking me. Love’s found in the air we breath or a passing conversation or a smile, as long as we take the effort to recognize it. Why don’t I more often? I find life much less boring when I do, anticipating the next moment like the turning pages of a good novel.

Well, America, your eastern cities are just seeing the sun as mine is setting. I miss you, but 2 more weeks in India would leave me wanting. Perhaps I’ll stay here a little longer…

“People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.” -St. Augustine

India Diaries: Getting to Know You, Calcutta

Monday. I’ve only been in Calcutta since Wednesday, but it feels much longer than that already. Each day brings quite a bit to take in.

All the volunteers here working at Mother Teresa (that’s what you say here – “I work at Mother Teresa” rather than saying “I work with the Missionaries of Charity”)…anyway, all the volunteers work two shifts a day: one in the morning from 8-12 and one in the afternoon from 3-5:30. Optional, but mass is at 6am and holy hour is at 6pm or 6:30pm (duh, Joe the bro and I go. It’s like the perf bookend on your day). Volunteers can choose to work at one of the 7 apostolates and don’t have to work at the same place in both mornings and afternoons. So I work at an orphanage with young boys in the mornings and at another orphanage  with toddlers in the afternoons.

I’m beginning to learn how to live in Calcutta. First, it is ok to spit, throw trash, and pee on the sidewalk. I haven’t tried any of the above yet (oh except I did throw my trash down, only, and I say only, because there are absolutely no trash bins anywhere). Second, people will ask you for money all the time, and if and when you do give, you’ll probably be getting scammed (even if you buy them something, cause then they go off and sell it for cash to buy whatever they want or give to their scam organization). I find this terribly unfortunate, because the street people seem to exploiting poverty by creating a reputation of being dishonest. So those who really are starving to death may get ignored due to the dishonesty of the “poor” mother, one arm out with a cup and the other clutching a baby,who is not her own, but a prop to make her case more convincing. Third, bus and taxi drivers will also lie to you, and tell you a ride costs more than it does, so look out.  Fourth, privacy in Calcutta is a privilege and not a right. If people want to stare at you, they will; after all, I walk by their open-air houses as they sleep, eat, and brush their teeth. So why am I complaining when they stare at the western girl? Well, as Joe says, “the way some of the Indian people stare at women takes ‘creepy’ to a new level.” Yes, Joe. I’m afraid you’re right. This sort of behavior really keeps you on your toes, or in my case, keeps my toes moving, walking away, nose in the air, to anyone remotely sketchy. Disclaimer: nose in the air does not mean snob. It just means slightly nervous western girl walking like she is on a mission and doesn’t have time to acknowledge sketchy looks or sales pitches from street vendors.

I hope I have not persuaded anyone to think Calcutta isn’t a wonderful place to be. The culture takes a bit of adjusting to, but once you do, you are simply in love with the city. My sanctuary is found anywhere there are Missionary of Charity Sisters. Whether we are working or praying, I feel at peace. Not to say the work isn’t trying at times. But the God who created laughter has a sense of humor. On Friday I was working my afternoon shift at the orphanage with toddlers. These little ones just flock to the volunteers; they are starving for attention. They love singing songs and sitting on your lap. Well, I was trying to walk away from like 6 of them and they starting pulling at my pants, until they ripped them right down the center. Praise God only women work in this orphanage. I was mortified- all I could think of was walking to Holy Hour getting one-hundred times the stares in my ripped pants. Quickly, I told someone (or rather I showed her– she didn’t speak English), and laughing she took me to a tiny room where there was a tiny Indian woman working at an old fashioned sewing machine. Silly me; why was I worried at all? Of course orphanages in Calcutta come with thier own grandmother-like seamstresses. So the tiny woman laughed and sewed my pants right back up.

Working in the mornings is always a good time, mostly because the volunteers on the morning shift are just so cool (and this includes brother Joe). We have such a good time together, doing laundry in  big steel buckets then hanging tiny shirts, pants, and underwear out to dry on the terrace. Then we get to tutor the little boys. I’m in love with the boy I tutor, though he has a horrible attention span. It’s like a mini challenge getting him to recognize numbers or colors. But he is even happier than I when he grasps a concept. His eyes light up, and he sits a little higher in his desk chair like he has just accomplished something great. And really I’m starting to see that recognizing that the color of your red shirt is the same as the apple on the page is a notable accomplishment for any person.

I boarded the plane for this trip just one week ago, but I already feel so at home here. Last night we had an evening with all the volunteers where I and a french religious brother led worship music. I love meeting all the volunteers; many of us are quite different, yet nearly all of us are foreigners in this country. People have commented that I’ve made many friends very fast.  And for that I’d like to thank Joe, for letting me ride on the fame of his name among the sisters and volunteers, and my two years in FOCUS for teaching me an infinite number of conversation starters in awkward situations.

I’m off to give TLC to toddlers. More to come… keep sending prayer requests!