The Simplicity of Necessity and the Simplicity of Surrender - lessons from our neighbours

“One thing I have asked of the Lord,

That will I seek after:

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

To behold the beauty of the Lord

And to inquire in His temple”

Psalm 27:4

For a long time, this has been a favourite verse of mine. What a beautiful place to be, dwelling, resting, in our Lord’s temple, with nothing else to do but enjoy His presence. As a mum of two small children, at first preparing to move and now living in an Asian slum, quite frankly, that rest is fairly inviting.

This invitation of rest and enjoyment of the Lord continues to beckon me further and further into His presence, but more recently I have come to see that rest and peace come from not only seeking His presence, but the reality of actually only having ‘one thing’ to ask of the Lord. As I have reflected, it has become clear to me that although I desired to dwell in the house of the Lord, I am unable to say it is the ‘one thing I ask’. In fact, it is one of many competing things I ask. My actions, decisions and activities are associated with many motivations, usually trying to please people, being impressive and looking good in the eyes of others. Try asking yourself for a day or a week with every new activity ‘what am I really doing this for?’ The answers can be quite revealing. Having our motivation stem from multiple desires or impressing multiple people (spouse, church family, co-workers, boss, even my under privileged neighbours with our simplicity) can make our lives very complex. The peace I'm so desiring moves further and further away.

On the other hand, if we can ground our thoughts and motivation around this one desire…to move continually closer to the presence of God, simplicity and its accompanying inner rest is within our reach. Richard Foster calls this making decisions out of our ‘Divine Centre’ (The Freedom of Simplicity p 99). This doesn’t mean reverting to the life of a monk, that we don’t make further decisions or take on further responsibilities. Rather that when our motivation and thoughts flow out of a desire for an ever closer relationship with our Creator, complexities of purpose and its accompanying time pressures, ego struggles and other things disastrous to inner simplicity can no longer steal us away from the joy that has been promised to us (John 15:11). As far as I can see, God doesn’t promise that a life lived in harmony with Him means less decisions, less external commitments or less busyness although a commitment to move towards a single purpose in him will likely produce this fruit. But it does make decisions easier when one path will lead me further away from His house and another leads me right to His arms.

Quite clearly this conscious decision to simplify the basis of all decisions and actions progresses naturally to a tangible simplicity of lifestyle. When I am no longer in pursuit of security, comfort or an ability to keep up with the Jones, the way is made clear for me to seek the heart of Christ in whichever manner He is inviting me to do so. What is not as obvious, at least at the outset, is the lessons to be learnt from those who have already lead a simple lifestyle not as a conscious decision, but as a necessity.
I am no expert on the topic of simplicity by any stretch of the imagination, but I have tasted enough to know that the things that I have allowed complicate my world, have also held me back from entering into communion with Christ’s heart completely. In my ever evolving journey of simplicity, one way Christ has invited me to know him is through his heart for the poor of this world. And one way he achieves this is giving me my urban poor neighbours as my teachers. Unbeknownst to them, my neighbours challenge me into stripping away things previously known to me as essentials. As a family of four, the children 3 and 2 years, even if we do this radical thing and move to a slum, we couldn’t possibly do it without running water, a flushing toilet, fridge. Or could we? As it turns out we can. It is important to note that for me to live without these things through the luxury of decision means a different thing than my neighbours who struggle with heavy loads of water across a railway track, illness from lack of sanitation and the like out of injustice and lack of opportunity. But in choosing to surrender in solidarity with them, I get closer to knowing and therefore loving the ones forgotten by society, progress, affluence, us, yet not forgotten by God. If I can know the heart of Christ by knowing the ones he looks out for, and if I can do that by living more simply than I ever imagined possible then I can honestly say my neighbours have blessed me more than I them. It is my prayer to somehow repay my debt to them.

A prayer for the children

Just after writing about our neighbours here, our landlord asked them to leave because the boys were naughty. They left before I even knew they were leaving. I will always wonder what will become of those two boys. I think of the times I turned them away from playing or got impatient with their fighting. Could we have done more? Shown more love in the time we had with them? My prayer is that they will find a place where they are tolerated, and ultimately, their true refuge.

What is it about children anyway, that does tug at the heart strings? Why are we so endeared to them more than any other sub-group of humanity, particularly when they are in need? I have a theory..
With children, what we do now to them, with them and for them can be so influential. We have responsibility and opportunity.
Regardless of one's view on original sin, babies begin life untainted. True, child-like innocence is theirs. As yet uncorrupted, their trust is pure. And then life begins.
As parents and carers, we have an unparelleled treasure. A life to guard. A spirit of another human being to nurture and protect. Made in the image of God and with His handwriting already on their hearts, the task is next to overwhelming. I am not up to it.
I often think of the times I have yelled at my children, smacked them in anger, or perhaps missed sharing something special with them, even dismissing it because it was more important to them than to me. More than once I have wondered at me having the 'power' in the relationship when that power is able to corrupt, and when they have so much to teach me.  When childhood has such a bearing on all of life, even in shaping a psyche the guilt of influencing that to the detriment of my own children is sometimes suffocating. For me anyway, and I expect many mums, because my love for my children is consuming, so therefore is the guilt when that love fails.

I need Your power each minute to keep me from impatience, anger, pride, self-righteousness, inattentiveness.

I need Your Spirit to teach me to slow down and enjoy the moments of life.

I need you to somehow remove the unbearable guilt of failur, knowing that I can, have and will damage the most precious of souls. Oh Lord, how to let You be bigger than me??? How to let your goodness and plans for our children outweigh any harm we can bestow upon them. Children in my house and children playing across your earth. How to let your grace be sufficient - not just in the weaknesses I have, but in the weaknesses I cause. That our children may thrive because of you and despite of me.





The Spare Oom

"What will our children do in the morning? Will they wake with their hearts wanting to play, the way wings should? What will our children do in the morning if they do not see us fly?"

Jalaludin Rumi (1207-1273)

I never meant to care about the children here. Pictures on television and glossy brochures distributed by NGOs annoyed me with their heart-string-tugging clichedness. Little kids with pot bellies covered in flies staring listlessly. Or sometimes having a great time playing around the water pump. There was enough people to care about that, right? I had to find something different. (Those of you familiar with the enneagram will recognise some 4ness emerging here.)

But as I spend more time sitting on our front step watching our kids play with kids whose day includes playing around a water pump, through no fault of my own, I'm starting to care. It's apparent the lack of supervison and stimulation can really affect these kids. Actually, it's not all bad. The other day, some of them got a plastic bag, filled it with leaves and called it a football. Cool, Games still include nothing but imagination and a bunch of friends. Our kids won't know what an x-box, game cube, nintendo DS or playstation is for a very long time.

Recently a family moved into a little thatch room next to ours. Functionally, they consist of mum and two boys aged 6 and 2 (Dad works a lot). Their room is about 4 x 6 metres and is their bedroom, dining room, kitchen, laundry and living room. They are from another state so immediately face a language barrier. The boys, particularly when Mum is cooking in that small space, have nowhere else to go except wander between our house and our front step. It's pretty boring. And with such an expanse of waste water canal right in front of you, why wouldn't you throw things in? Aunty's cup and plate, and the toys from the white kids next door make great splashes! But now, the boys are in trouble. Not only from Mum, but from every Aunty within earshot. And this becomes the most interaction from adults for most of the day. Everyone says their piece and goes back to work. Mum goes back to cooking, now feeling condemned because not even a language barrier can hide the fact that all the women are talking about how naughty her boys are and that they should go back to where they came from. 



We rent two rooms here. One is our bedroom and dining room. The other is a playspace and 'school room' for our 2 and 3 year old. With a waste water canal and 2 railway tracks the prominent feature of our community, this space has been a blessing for us. There are number and alphabet posters hanging on the wall, and stars and moons made from cereal boxes and alfoil hanging from the ceiling.

Lately, it has also become a playspace for the other children in our community, who being kids, naturally gravitate there! It can be noisy, calm, creative and chaotic and (usually) we love it! It's nice to be able to provide a safe place for the kids to be allowed to play as well as provide a rest for the mums, who work so hard just to do everyday tasks of living in a slum. It's becoming one of the many little communities within our community and we are grateful for the privilege.

And we're back....

It's time to revive Ye Old Blogge. It's been awhile since my last post. It's a little ironic - it's been probably the most crazy time of my life, yet, what to write? Not for want of things to say, it just seemed as if putting the events of the last couple of months down on *ahem* paper would not do justice to the emotions involved. So I will not attempt, except for the brief summary below;

A) We moved into a slum whose main feature is waste water canal about a metre from our front door, and is sandwiched between two railway tracks.


B) A 21 year old from our community was subsequently killed on said railway tracks behind our house. The experience of grief with a Hindu community was both a privilege and a really hard time.

C) Our landlady turned into a dragon. Living at home was a little difficult. Looking for a new house so soon was an added stress. Since changing her mind about the whole dragon thing, things have been much more peaceful.


D) A health scare with our two year old. Hospital trips eat up time. Mental capacity diminished greatly. Thanks God for a happy ending.


And that's all I have to say about that. In other news, relationships with the neighbours are going well. Their names are Narkel, Sada, Naru and Cini. Unfortunately one of them fell of the roof yesterday (I'm not sure which one) and now will not come out from the safety of a narrow gap between two walls. Here they are in happier times...

Why this life matters (Part 2)

Why This Life Matters (part 2).


“The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 6:23).

As Christians, we have a tendency to emphasis in our thoughts, words, choice of songs and study material, the hereafter. Eternal life. Eternity. The general assumption seems to be that this earthly life must end before eternal life can begin. What excites me is that we don’t have to wait. ‘The gift of God is eternal life’ which begins with our first transformational encounter with Jesus. Eternity in Christ Jesus has begun. WE don’t have to wait for physical death to experience whatever that means.

So what does that mean? It means that this life matters. If the wages of sin is death, then the opposite is true for a life lived in the grace of Jesus., including the earthly bit. Jesus himself demonstrated that this life matters. He didn’t just forgive sins and promise eternal life in His presence. He healed, he restored sight, he banished hunger. He began the restoration of a broken world, which will one day not be broken anymore. And the really really great bit is that we get to help in the restoration. The way we lve our lives either will or will not work towards restoration and healing – spiritually, physically, emotionally. But whichever we choose, eternity has begun. The life of the lady outside the cafe matters. Now.

This life matters

"And if you said 'this life ain't good enough', I'd give my world to lift yours up."

I must’ve heard these words a thousand times over the years. It’s a favourite song of mine, and as it seems any cafe in Dhaka or Kolkata that wants to appear remotely western. But as I heard Santana’s ‘Smooth’ this time, sitting in a clean, air conditioned cafe, I listened to this part again. There was a lady on the other side of the glass, the noisy, dirty, hot side, looking at me intentionally, and waiting for me to come out. I could tell by looking at her, before she even had a chance to hold her hand out to me and say ‘Didi (Sister,) that her life ain’t good enough.

Right now, our team is in the process of figuring out what it means to give our world to lift hers up and the too-many-to- count people just like her. Specifically, we are trying to discern our location in this vast city of need. It’s already difficult to meet people and listen to their stories – maybe a family who works on a vast mound of the city’s rubbish, scavenging amongst the pigs for recyclables. The children should be in school, but the more hands on in the rubbish, the more chances of being lucky that day. And then to meet another family, maybe this time a lady with two sons and an alcoholic husband living in one room of a condemned building. She is the only one in her family who doesn’t know she has leukemia. They can’t tell her, because then she will know that she should have more treatment, and they can’t afford to pay for it. Or the mother whose son was shot dead at random by someone in their own community.

Behind many many cottage doors in this city, there are similar stories. And the reality is, we will never know the half of it. With each new exploration comes lamentation. We lift these people up in prayer in grief and at the same time wonder if we will return to that area to live. We’ve spent the last month or so meeting the people that live behind some of these doors and listening to words of wisdom from other people who know the city much better than us, both nationals and foreigners. If you are one who prays, please join with us we pray about three specific areas of the city that seem like good possibilities to set up our new worlds.

Bungled Bangla

Do you need a lesson in humility? One way to go about this is to attempt to learn a language and culture whilst immersed in the culture. This has really opened my eyes to what it must be like to be illiterate in my own culture. I have certainly felt very humbled. But as we wrap up our three months of formal language and cultural study, I’d like to share some of our lighter moments of not quite clearing the hurdle that is the English/Bangla barrier.


Most of these include Our Friend The ChaWallah (tea seller), herein called OFTCW.

*My friend told OFTCW that she was a mosquito.

*Another friend tried to ask OFTCW how many languages he knew. Instead he asked how much rent he paid.

*My beloved husband told OFTCW that he was going to marry my brother.

*I told some waiters at a restaurant after I had finished using the bathroom that I had no questions. (Although around SE Asia it wouldn’t have been unusual to have questions after using the bathroom.)

*I also told our language teacher that when our children wake during the night, we feed them chicken and salad sandwiches on Naan bread. With hand gestures to demonstrate how large the sandwich was. She was struck by the cultural difference. Bengalis give their children a glass of milk.

We are in good company. The founder of our organisation, when he moved into his first slum many years ago, wanted to ask where all the water pumps were. Instead he asked his extremely poor community where all the movie stars were. You gotta start somewhere.

Love - beyond the assumed

Today was pretty awful. Our team was in a language class while the kiddies stayed with their usual carer at home. Hubby and I had a message to go home immediately. That’s all. Just get home as quick as you can. This message had already passed from the carer, to the guard at the front of our building, to the maintenance guy, to the landlord, to our friend and then us, so the effort alone was worth some concern.


It’s a very short walk from our language school to home, but today, each step seemed to be getting us nowhere. It seemed like a long time to have to dwell on possible scenarios. Brutal. The calming prayer in my head competed with my rising adrenaline. In that time, I wasn’t sure what the final outcome was, but I didn’t really question that there would be blood involved. So thankfully I wasn’t surprised when I saw it. The usual crowd had gathered. I can’t remember who was holding Henry, but we saw the gash on his forehead, instantaneously noted the need for stitches, got the story (or Banglish version of same) and headed to the local emergency department. Again.

And although we knew it wasn’t serious, yes it was bad, but not life threatening (or life taking – it’s pretty surreal to spend two minutes thinking it’s a possibility that you would come home to that) this was probably the worst part.

Gashes require stitches. Stitches require anaesthetic. Adequately administered anaesthetic requires a still, calm patient, and we were lacking the last ingredient. I held my baby down with all my might. I listened to him scream, I felt him kicking against me and with each injection into the gash we both cried a little harder. The pain he was feeling was unbearable, and I was holding him down so he couldn’t leave. All I wanted to do was pick him up and hold him so close he could barely breathe. But instead I listened to his shouts of ‘Mummy!’ and showed him the best love I could at the time, while all the time he was wondering why I did not love him at all.

Later on, when things were calm, I had a chance to think about it. I wondered if, when God says we will be refined through fiery trials, as we encounter suffering, both ours and our neighbours’, that this may be the way God sees his own children. During those times, God sees us in suffering. He may allow that to happen, because without the initial pain, healing cannot begin. If I had picked Henry up when he cried out to me, and removed him from that pain, he would still be walking around with an open wound. He would have no defence against infection or blood loss. The most loving thing I could do at the time was stay with him, let him know I was with him while making sure he got what he needed to begin healing, even if that meant a temporary pain.

I believe that it may be the same when God walks with us through suffering. It may be a trial we perceive is bad, or that it really is, untheoretically, undoubtfully bad. We wonder where he is when we cry out? Why would a loving God allow this? Why is the pain not over? Surely this is not love at all. But our God promises treasures in darkness, and we may not always see them straight away. Treasures can come after we realise God has not allowed us to walk around with gaping wounds, but the healing process may be painful. I believe with all my heart that God loves His children with all of His heart. I’m sure that seeing His children in pain, and hearing his children ask him why his love is absent, when it is the strongest love that ever there was, grieves Him. And the goal is healing, to once again know the feeling of being held so close by a loving God that we can barely breathe.

A Franciscan Benediction

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.




May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.



May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy.



And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

There Is One True Liberator....

the rest of us just stumble along in His footseps....

I have been thinking for the last couple of years about principles of fair trade and in many cases, the lack thereof. I am no expert on global economics, but one needn’t be to understand that world trade markets and so called ‘free trade’ is structured in such a way that the purchaser/buyer/consumer end of the chain is the one holding the power. Often this forces the producer/manufacturer/seller to cut corners because to ‘take what he can get’ is not enough. The dynamics of this power imbalance is a significant factor in making trade unfair. I’ve been known to be on my soapbox about these very things at any given opportunity, and rightly so if you ask me.


A little while ago we stepped of a banca (small boat) onto a beautiful island in the Philippines. It was an extremely tourist reliant community. Immediately we were surrounded by vendors all trying to sell their wares to the new tourists. We were literally surrounded. Being accustomed to vendors now after a few days on another island, we were quick to make it clear that we did not need any more jewellery, sunglasses or DVDs. In the midst of all the chaos and shouts of ‘I give you fair price!’, one vendor in particular caught my eye. He was easily the eldest of them and he held out a handful of necklaces for me to see. He said he’d had no business all day and I believed him. There must’ve been at least 6 other vendors selling the same jewellery. I felt bad for him, but the fact remained - I didn’t need any more jewellery, so my refusal stood.

The offers however, kept getting better, and yes, he had my interest now. Five necklaces for 100 pesos? That’s a good price. But what would I do with five necklaces? Souvenirs for friends back home? Ebay them and make my own profit? Five necklaces? That’s a bit over the top. Sorry mate, no deal.

“These two for 40 pesos?” He was getting desperate now, and a little annoyed. Why was this foreigner woman being so difficult? Two necklaces I could handle. It would set me back about $1. It wasn’t going to break the bank. A deal was made. I told myself he’d like that. I’d done him a favour. Gave him some business for the day. After all, he wouldn’t have offered me that price if it wasn’t worth it for him. Fair trade right? He practically threw the necklaces at me and walked away in disgust, with a look on his face I will never forget.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow - or right in the middle.

It’s not often we think about what a blessing colour is. It really is everywhere, so it’s easy to take it for granted. And if I have given it more than a moments’ thought, I sound like I’m giving myself a Sunday School lesson “God made rainbows and pretty flowers.” Living in Dhaka and my short time in India has given me a whole new appreciation for the wonder of colour. Colour is flaunted here in free abandon. It is splashed across anything and everything and it is incredibly beautiful. My favourites are the clothes and the rickshaws. Rickshaws are elaborately hand painted with scenes of gardens, waterfalls or a handrawn portrait of a Bollywood actor. Yesterday I bought an anklet made of little coloured beads and tinkling multi-colour bells. I appreciated the little tag attached – “ The people and culture of Bangladesh are vibrant. Our journey is to keep that alive and to bring back the beauty of human touch to our lives... Let’s walk in harmony towards a colourful, beautiful Bangladesh”.

To wear jewellery here is to ‘adorn yourself’ with ‘ornaments’. I love that you can jingle from your wrists, ankles and/or ears and no-one bats an eyelid. If I see a woman outfitted in a sari, with all her jewellery on, I admire her like a 3 year old admires a bride and aspires to one day be a princess herself. Similarly, if I see a lady who has been working hard all day, her sari is old, faded, torn, yet to me it is stunning. It speaks of who she is and where she has been.

Imagine for a minute a world without colour. But not for too long or you might throw up. It’s monochromatic, horrible and immediately depressing. There is little room for expression and creativity. Being green with envy, feeling blue or being tickled pink is much more descriptive than being jealous, sad or happy. Imagine not having freedom to express your taste by choosing the colours you wear. It would be like wearing a uniform everyday of your life!

Of course there is potential for tension here. We are clearly warned against beauty coming from our outward adornments. And with outward beauty defined and worshipped by media and society we absolutely need to guard against placing value on people and ourselves according to perceived ‘beauty’. But to cherish and value the inner beauty that God adorns us with is not to dismiss colour and beauty and pleasing asthetic. After all, God did make rainbows and pretty flowers. Let’s remember that we are made in the image of our creator. Let us create!

Who do you think you are?

I have a memory of a little girl, maybe about 7 years old, begging from us as we walked down a relatively quite Kolkata street. She walked along beside us for a little while. As I thought about her afterwards, I wondered if she knew that there were other boys and girls that didn’t grow up begging, that although it is the norm, it is not normal. It’s not the way the world is supposed to be. And then I realised, of course she knew that, she was looking at their parents.


She knew who to ask for money and who was worth chasing down the street. The white skinned couple. The “bideshis” (foreigners.) So often I question myself – why am I even bothering? Who am I to relocate into a poor neighbourhood with grandiose, idealistic, vague notions of helping? What do I know about community development, poverty relief, articulating my faith in a King who will restore His earth and His people. But as I see myself more as a citizen of His, having global neighbours, I begin to understand that the real question is ‘who am I not to help?’

The buzz words in community development, poverty relief and cross cultural servanthood are things like ‘contextualisation’, ‘empowerment’ with concepts reeling from mistakes made in the past by foreigners coming into a community, emparting their ‘knowledge’ and all-powerful dollar and creating a group of people, who by the end of the process look just like them, quite often with no real long term solution. This of course is a good thing. We must battle against old-school ways of thinking. But when I begin to realise the complexity of what lies ahead of me, I find myself shrinking back. Surely I will make a thousand mistakes. Step on cultural toes. Perhaps leave my neighbours even worse off than when I came? Even as we get so close to heading into India, I am plagued by questions. ‘What is the role of a foreigner in a country like India?’ ‘Shouldn’t development and gospel application be done by those who know it best – Indians?” “What about the extremely poor in my home country?” The conditions of some of the Aboriginal Settlements are often compared to the slums of India. The obvious answer is ‘yes, of course Bengalis need to be attending to their own neighbours .’ Ideally, bideshis wouldn’t be needed at all. However, we live in this age where God has begun a great work to restore His earth and this work is not yet complete. The world is not an ideal place. It is within my physical, emotional and spiritual means to provide immediate relief, at least to that one beggar girl if that is what is truly needed. It is within my means to be used within a longer term solution. I’m not exactly sure what is needed yet. What I do know is that I don’t have a right not to be involved.