somewhere over the rainbow there is stress that will paralyze
lights out, dabbing incessant perspiration from my brow with my dupetta, I drop my eyelids and draw a deep, labored breath. I somehow achieve some actual oxygen from this stinging, toxic haze for a shallow second. Engulfed in the sarees of 20 indian women casually snoring and whispering, the honking, shouting, whistles, and disgusting call of stray ravens ring in my ears, but the chaos faints away. Peace diffuses into my veins, its nap time at work. This is a sanctuary. Money could not buy the realestate this moment holds in my daily routine [est necessito- ya heard?]
these women are our heroes, formerly working the ‘line’ in the red light district of kolkotta, their determination to surpass the past has brought them to this place where despite broken hearts and memories that would make you cringe, they smile where you couldn’t buy a smile and hug me when I should be hugging them.
The ability to find peace amongst the insanity of this city is a miracle and an honest testament to Christ, the hope of glory, living inside of us. (Col.) Smiles are scarce, like real scarce, so to see these women smile, knowing what they have been through, I know Christ is a peace beyond any manufactured man achieved peace- its the real deal kemosabee. Philippians says we can shine like stars in a wicked generation, and I know I might be the only blond in this city right now, but sometimes people stare and I wonder if its just because I can smile at them despite the chaotic anger this city brews inside your existence.
tea time is another sanctuary. chai-o!
