Visiting Savar Survivors

Today Bro. Abraham, Sis. Miller, Fran and I went to a local hospital to visit some of the Savar building collapse survivors.  When we walked into the main doors of the hospital, instead of a lobby area there was an open-air emergency room.  Not the most welcoming sight with blood, scalpels and screams.  Absolutely nothing was sanitary nor sterilized in this hospital.  Cats were roaming the hallways.  Later, as we were leaving the hospital, I saw a goat outside the front door.

Bubbly 16 year old girl

The women's ward was one large room with 40 beds and no privacy.  The first patient we visited was a beautiful 16 year old girl with a bubbly personality.  She had a broken leg and stitches in her head.  She was outgoing and talkative, giving no indication that she had just suffered a horrendous trauma.  It was more like she had a minor motorbike accident or something similar.  We chatted with her for a long while.  She allowed us to take pictures and begged us to come again to visit her.

Next, Fran and I were taken to an adult woman who had two grown children.  One of her sons and his family were there visiting with her.  She had suffered a broken leg, back pain and partial facial injuries.  Fran and I stood on opposite sides of her bed; we each took one of her hands and began softly praying with her.  The woman looked at Fran, then at me, nodded her head and spoke kindness with her eyes as she received the healing, comfort and peace that flowed through her body.  After the prayer, she did the most amazing thing ever.  She invited us into her "home" of the hospital bedside, asked us to sit in the two chairs for a chat, and offered us water to drink.  It is part of the Bangladeshi culture to always entertain visitors by serving them drinks and food. This precious woman continued her treasured tradition even in the midst of tragedy.

The patient that tugged at my heart the most was a young 19 year old girl who had broken both of her legs in several places.  What struck me was not her broken legs, but her broken mind.  She was still mentally traumatized after being pinned under concrete for two solid days before being rescued.  She barely responded to my touch to her hand and arm as she stared into space.  Finally, I could restrain myself no longer, I reached up and laid my hand on her head.  Stroking her hair, I broke out into a spontaneous prayer.  This brought a response from her as she turned her eyes upon me as I prayed.  Only Jesus can heal such trauma.

The needs of these suffering people are vast, far beyond our imagination.  The pain goes far beyond the physical.  What do you do when you are the sole breadwinner of your entire family and now you can no longer work due to paralysis?  What do you do when your parents are deceased and your two sisters' education (and hope for a better future) must be stopped because you, their only brother, can no longer work?  What do you do when you are the sole surviving family member of this terrible tragedy?

Please keep these precious Savar survivors in prayer.

Sis. Miller with one of the Savar survivors

We are Family

"We are family."  I've heard this phrase numerous times since living here.  It is how the Bangladeshi people describe their relationship to others, including me, a foreigner.  For someone who's lived her entire life desiring a family, it has special meaning to me, and I love being part of the Bangladeshi family.

It is this special bonding of relationships that makes the Savar tragedy even more tragic.  On Wednesday, April 24, 2013 a nine-story building collapsed in the town of Savar on the outskirts of Dhaka.  The building housed four garment factories, a major source of income in a nation where thousands of people live below poverty level.  Today, four days later, the death toll stands at 371 while 2,431 have been rescued...and the search for survivors continue as people still cry out for help beneath the cement rubble.

Oftentimes an entire family may work for the same garment factory, so you can only imagine the losses experienced, not only of people and family units, but of incomes and ways of life.  In a culture where everyone is embraced as family, the entire country is feeling this great tragedy very deeply and expressing their grief passionately.  Even though I did not know anyone personally involved in the Savar tragedy, I, too, mourn the loss of my "family members."

Please keep us in your prayers during this special time.

If you want to know more, I suggest two Dhaka news sources:

The Daily Star

Dhaka Tribune

Note: Photos copyright of CNN.com

What is Surrounding You?

This week I am staying in another area of Dhaka.  This afternoon I walked alone to a nearby park.  It was so peaceful and quiet with the trees and pond as the sun set in the evening sky.  Nature has such a calming effect on me.  Unfortunately, the only nature I can find in Mirpur, the area of Dhaka I live in, are the dirt streets.  It was truly relaxing as I sat there listening to the sounds of birds chirping and geese honking.  The park reminded me of home in America.  Not that I am homesick, because I am not, but because parks were one of those pleasures of life I enjoyed in America.

As I sat there enjoying the serenity of it all, some black birds began to land near me as I sat quietly on the park bench. It was an eerie feeling as they kept landing, one by one, surrounding me like I was a dead carcass.  I almost froze in fear from the entire experience.  I knew there was only one solution to the situation: movement.  As I stood up with my arms outstretched, the birds scattered back to the skies where they came from.

The strange experience caused me reflect upon my life lately.  Birds of doubt, fear, worry, self-pity and loneliness have been surrounding me threatening to eat up my carcass.  But, as I stand upon the Word of God, those birds have to scatter and flee from me.

What is surrounding you today?  Is it loneliness, fear, a wayward child, an unfaithful spouse, or a sick parent?  Whatever it is, put your faith and confidence in Jesus Christ.  You cannot just sit there hoping the situation will get better.  You have to stand up and put some movement to your faith by praying the Word of God regarding your situation.  When you do, those black birds will have to flee.

Prayer:
Father, I come to You today because my life is surrounded by black birds of prey whose goal is to eat up the peace and joy you have given me.  You said in Your Word that when the wicked, even my enemies and my foes come upon me to eat up my flesh, they will stumble and fall.  Father, as I stand upon the truth of Your Word today, I pray that You will arise and let Your enemies be scattered and let them that hate You flee.  I praise You and thank You for Your Presence and deliverance today.  Amen.

Two Inspiring Stories

God is doing great things in the lives of people, in this case children, in Bangladesh.  Here are two stories that I believe you will find inspiring.

Nuthon Bazar church: The little girl in the pink dress walked several blocks to and from church by herself for months, sometimes in the dark. Now, her mother and sister come with her.

Mirpur church: This little boy was mute (possibly deaf?) when the ministers laid hands on him about a month ago and prayed for him. Now he is talking up a storm! He also goes around laying hands on other people and praying for them. We believe that even at such a young age, he associates his healing with the laying on of hands.

Scenic Tours

Fran and I have taken quite a few scenic tours of Dhaka lately.  Not by choice, mind you.  The baby taxi and rickshaw drivers have taken us on strange routes the last few days.  Before I begin my rant, I must admit that for the most part, the drivers are nice  and competent.  Last Sunday night, we were traveling home to Mirpur from Banani by baby taxi.  The driver's first mistake was to take the Cantonment Road, a road restricted to foreigners.  We yelled, "No Cantonment Road! Na! Na!"  He paid us no attention.  That should have been our first sign of the trouble that lay ahead.  He got us to the Mirpur area after a wild bumpy ride which included hitting another baby taxi, but he refused to follow our directions and thus turned down an unknown street.  We were in our neighborhood but we were totally clueless to how to get home.
 We called Liza who spoke Bangla to him by phone, but it was useless.  He stopped and asked directions at a market.  We gave the market owner a church card.  He called Bro. Peter whose name and number was on the card.  After a quick conversation, the market owner gave the driver directions.  The driver got back in the taxi and we were relieved thinking we were on our way home.  But, no!  A few feet down the street, he stops and asks someone else for directions!  He refuses to listen to them and repeats this strange behavior all throughout the neighborhood.  If I could have reached through the wire barrier separating the front and back seats, I would have boxed his ears!  Soon afterwards, while Fran is on the phone with Liza again, I spotted a familiar store in our neighborhood.  I knew where we were!!  So, we started yelling, "Thamen!  Stop! Bame! Left!"  He stopped, turned around, hitting a rickshaw in the process, and took us home.

After our Bangla class in Banani yesterday, Fran and I got a rickshaw to go to someone's house which was nearby.  To get there, we always tell the driver, "Australian High Commission."  We were enjoying a nice new scenic ride on the rickshaw since the driver was apparently taking a different route, when he suddenly stops and demands that we get off.  We are at a cul-de-sac street in front of a Thai Coffee House, NOT the Australian High Commission.  We refused to get off since he had not taken us to the correct destination and repeatedly said,  "Australia High Commission!"  The man was not going anywhere!  We get off, but I refused to give him the pre-agreed 40 Taka.  I handed him 30 Taka instead.  He would not take it, so I placed it on his rickshaw and walked off.  Fran picks it up, adds the 10 Taka to it and hands him the entire 40 Taka.  I'm yelling, "What  are you doing?!  He did not take us to the agreed destination!"  She calmly said, "Let's go.  God will take care of him."  I immediately knew she was right and felt bad that I had acted in such a high-spirited manner.  So, we started walking.  After some confused turns and a few phone calls to Matthew, we made it to our friends' house.

Last night, we took a baby taxi from Gulshan-2 to Mirpur, traveling the forbidden Cantonment Road again.  We were almost home when the driver stops and motions for us to get out on the Main Road.  He refused to turn down the little neighborhood streets where we lived.  It was not a big deal because our house was not too terribly far, we were not lost, and we could have walked home, but it was late at night and Fran had a watermelon.  We needed a rickshaw, but we were low on money.  So, Fran hands the watermelon to me while she digs in her purse for some money.  I almost dropped it because it weighed as much as I did.  She rescued the watermelon and I said, "Fran!  Why did you buy a watermelon on the other side of town?!  There are plenty of markets near home."  She said, "Sis. Miller said this one is the best."   I said, "We will never know if we burst it on the sidewalk, huh?"  We laughed so hard over that watermelon!  We managed to scrape together a few Takas, hired a rickshaw and got the watermelon home.

Today, Fran and I rode the bus (a double decker one at that!) to and from Bangla class all by ourselves!  No Liza, no Matthew, nobody!  You know, the bus is rather comforting.  There's no yelling directions to the driver.  Even if we get on the wrong bus, if we stay on it long enough, it will eventually take us back home.

Life in Dhaka, Bangladesh is definitely a scenic tour, with or without  baby taxis, rickshaws or buses.

Kolkata - The Dying Home

Today, we visited Missionaries of Charity’s (Mother Teresa's organization) Dying Home.  It was not what I had expected at all.  I expected to see people lying on beds in their final stages of death.  Maybe like a mass hospice unit or something.  What I did not expect to see was people walking around, including young adults.  Some of the people looked far from death to me, at least in their bodies.  Yes, they were all skinny and somewhat frail looking, but many of them moved around somewhat swiftly.  The death I saw was not in their bodies, but in their emotions, their eyes, their minds, and their spirits.  They were all completely lifeless and hopeless.  They were empty dead people living in physical shells of bodies.

We walked through the men’s unit first.  It was dinner time; the volunteers and nuns were busy preparing the plates as the men lined up to get them.  When I walked into the women’s unit and saw the women dressed in white gowns with shaved heads squatting on the floor, it seemed like I had walked onto a scene of the 

Bollywood movie, “Water.”  The movie is set in 1938 and it explores the lives of Hindu widows at an ashram in Varanasi, India.  The movie features a seven-year-old girl, who loses her elderly husband, and in keeping with traditions of widowhood, she is dressed in a coarse white sari, her head shaven and she is deposited in an ashram for Hindu widows to spend the rest of her life in renunciation, cut off forever from her family and society.  The movie disturbed me for days afterwards upon watching it because the widows were so lifeless and without hope as they sat around waiting to die.  The movie moved me with compassion and deepened my burden for the country of India and the city of Varanasi.

The caretakers and volunteers at the home were apparently filled with compassion and love for these dying people. But, I asked myself, “What kind of love is being demonstrated if it does not produce life, hope and joy in a person’s life?”  For me personally, the love of God radically changed my life, giving me hope, joy and a future.  Today’s visit to the Dying Home was completely different than I had expected, yet the visit met another expectation:  I left that place with a greater burden and compassion for the lost souls of India.

Kolkata - Children's Home

We arrived in Kolkata, India last night.  This is my first time to visit the city.  Today, we went shopping at a Christian bookstore, which was nice since there are none of those in Bangladesh. I bought a Hindi Bible, something I’ve always wanted.  Most of the signs around Kolkata are in Hindi, Bangla and English.  I was surprised at how easily I could read some of the Hindi words.  Unfortunately, I need to learn the Bangla language, not Hindi.

We also visited Mother Teresa’s home.  Before I left the States, I had read many books about the life of Mother Teresa.  She was an amazing woman who gave all for the cause of Christ as she knew Him.  I am truly inspired by her sacrifice and compassion.  I am sad she wasted her life in Catholicism.  (Yes, I said that!)  One book I read told how she lost her mind at the end of her life because she had not heard the voice of God since she was very young when He told her to go to India.  It saddens me to know she cried out for a personal relationship with Him.  She so desperately wanted to hear His Voice.  Mother Teresa shared the LOVE of Jesus with many people, but the GOSPEL of Jesus Christ with none.  Lord, may I share the love AND the gospel of Jesus with others.

Quiet child in the middle.

We visited the Missionaries of Charity’s (Mother Teresa's organization) children’s home. They allowed us to take pictures of the children.  They were so precious, but so wild!  They are apparently accustomed to greeting people all day every day.  They were saying in Bangla, “Hello. How are you? What is your name?”  There was one little girl who did not act wild and crazy like the others.  She reached through the gate, quietly took my hand and looked at me with her deep brown eyes, not saying a word.  I knelt down to get eye level with her and we quietly locked eyes.  My heart was instantly captured!  I wanted to take her home with me!  I took her picture, but no camera can ever capture her quiet beautiful spirit.

Silly laughing child.

We walked to another area of the home when I noticed a young girl lying in a bed wearing a body cast from the waist down.  While Fran interacted with the children in the room, I stood by this girl’s bed.  Without hesitation, I reached out and laid my hand on her face and began to pray for her.  She laid there so quietly looking at me with her beautiful eyes soaking in the prayer as I prayed.  I asked her if I could take her picture and she nodded yes.  But, to my delight and surprise, she busted out laughing each time I took her picture.  She would be so calm between each shot but would laugh out loud during each picture.  Then, she wanted to take my picture, so I let her.  What a joyful time it has been with these precious children! 

Welcome to the War Zone

"They don’t teach this in School of Missions,” Sis. Corbin told me as she placed a book in my lap. I looked down at the title and saw that it was a book on spiritual warfare. My initial thought was, “I’ve been in Bangladesh a few days and you’re already talking to me about spiritual warfare?! What kind of war zone have I entered?!” On the other hand, I was very excited to have someone knowledgeable with whom I could discuss these things. Spiritual warfare is not an area that many people dare venture into in their walk with God. In fact, most people run far away from it. Looking back over my relationship with God, this is the area He has directed my steps. I am not a weeper in prayer. Yes, I weep and intercede for souls at times. Mainly, I pray warfare type prayers. Apparently He was preparing me for this point in time.

I’ve read some books on spiritual warfare and surprisingly, most are written by people who learned this stuff first-hand on the mission field. Many of the authors echoed Sis. Corbin’s words, “This was not taught in mission classes.” While in Kolkata, I purchased a few books on the subject. I have so much to learn about spiritual warfare; I haven’t even scratched the surface. I am glad God put me under the leadership of people who are knowledge and experienced in spiritual warfare.

As I sat there looking at the spiritual warfare book in my lap, I was reminded of my pastor back in America who told all the new converts, “Welcome to the War Zone!”