Silence

Too many women in too many countries
speak the same language of silence.

Anasuya Sengupta

I found this gem in Hillary Clinton's memoir Living History. You can read the poem here. (I read it over the weekend with my first taste of Diet Dr Pepper....bought out of curiousity when I learned that it is one of Clinton's favourites!)

Close to God

Yesterday I was taking a break at the local cafe when a friend dropped by. She seemed relaxed and well...as though living was as easy as breathing and all we ever have to do it to take another step forward in gentle confidence. I asked how she was doing. She said, "We've just had a baby in the house."

The story unfolded that a couple of weeks ago a baby boy was born six weeks premature. He was given up by his mother. An NGO-worker who knew of my friend's nursing background asked if she would take care of the baby for a few days. The goal was to give the tiny boy individual attention in a family context during this critical time. He was just two days old when my friend took him home. He was dehydrated, unable to feed and his skin was extremely fragile. For seven days and seven nights my friend loved this new life. She kept him warm. She encouraged him to feed. She touched his delicate skin. She washed his tiny limbs. She held him. Then she entrusted him to a Cambodian family that the NGO found to be foster carers. Even though he's still small, at least now he has little, fleshy cheeks for substitute brothers, aunts and cousins to pinch.

The week of caring for such a vulnerable life was a deeply spiritual experience for my friend. She told me that though the intense, exhausting hours she felt, "so close to God, so close to God."

Woken up.

It is good to see some fellow bloggers posting again after the Christmas/ New Year period. I always enjoy reading these snippets from around the world, especially from people I know personally.

I had some encouraging feedback from the training seminar I wrote about in the previous post. At the last staff meeting, the staff were asked to say one thing each that they learned from the training. One person said, "Pip woke me up. The session woke us up to see that our work is not only about teaching but it is essentially about building relationships with the youth." Very cool! I'm looking forward to teaching the next seminar already.

Before counselling

Last Monday I presented a 2.5 hour training session to Cambodian staff I’ve been working with at a vocational training program for youth. Initially it was going to be about counselling. One of the program goals is to provide regular counselling for the youth. However, there are a couple of challenges. Firstly, none of the staff have had any formal training in counselling at all. Also, the concept of sitting down for an hour or so in a quiet place with someone at an appointed time to speak with them confidentially is quite foreign in this culture. (Not to mention the idea of paying for such a conversation!)

On the other hand, Khmer has a great phrase to sum up an informal type of counselling. In English it is usually translated as simply visit. A more exact translation would be to ask questions about happiness and sadness back and forth. These are the kinds of visits when we go to the hospital to see a sick relative or pop around to find out how a friend is doing with their new baby. These visits include taking time to ask our work colleagues about the university studies they are completing in the evening or chatting to the old man who sets up his hammock next door every after day at 2pm for an afternoon snooze.

It starts by paying attention. On Monday half of the training session focused on helping the staff to explore their roles in the program (thinking of adding another role to teacher). The other half was basically about how we can pay attention to the youth. The homework assignment for the staff this coming week is to spend a few minutes a day observing the youth. The have specific questions to ask themselves and points to write down in their homework report. They start by spending time in their work day just noticing the youth as individuals rather than a class of students or a bunch of rowdy teenagers.

It is ridiculously simple! But perhaps we too can practice noticing the poor man sitting at the gate. When we look into the eyes behind the dishevelled hair and the rat-bitten rags that pass as clothing, we can ask the question, Sir, may I know your name? And we will hear him say, They used to call me Lazarus.

That dare we also say

It is written, "I believed; therefore I have spoken." With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak... 2 Corinthians 4:13. I've been a fan of this verse for a while. Believe it? Speak it. Declare it. Blog it. Wear it on a T-shirt if you have to. But speaking out may come at a price. In looking back over the past year, Reporters Without Borders have declared 2006 the "deadliest year since 1994. They note:

In 2006
81 journalists and 32 media assistants were killed
at least 871 were arrested
1,472 physically attacked or threatened
56 kidnapped
and 912 media outlets censored

Iraq was the world’s most dangerous country for the media for the fourth year running, with 64 journalists and media assistants killed… The second most dangerous country was Mexico.

...About 30 bloggers were arrested during the year and held for several weeks, notably in China, Iran and Syria. Egypt appeared for the first time on the "enemies of the Internet" list for its growing crackdown on bloggers who criticised Islam or President Hosni Mubarak.

Reporting can be dangerous. Speaking out against systemic justice requires courage. Yet I want to say Amen to this poem-

We will speak out: we will be heard,
Though all earth's systems crack.
We will not bate a single word,
Nor take a letter back.
We speak the Truth, and what care we,
For hissing and for scorn,
While some faint gleamings we can see
Of Freedom's coming morn.
Let liars fear; let cowards shrink;
Let traitors turn away.
Whatever we have dared to think
That dare we also say.

John Wesley
(cited in John Smith's introduction to Ash Barker's Make Poverty Personal.)

New Year, Same Life!

As we begin another year I want to avoid resolutions, strategic plans and long-range guilt. Instead, here's a treat I just found on Ali's blog.

She Said

To be totally honest
I’m really tired and
Can’t be bothered washing the dishes tonight.
Do you mind?
I’ll do them tomorrow
She said.
But tomorrow came and went and they still hadn’t been done.
So I did them myself, as I needed the pots
To cook dinner with anyway.
Later she came home and said
You didn’t need to do that.
Oh, yes I did I replied.
I needed the pots.