Crossing Borders to Break Down Barriers

stig·ma:

1. a mark that is characteristic of a disability or disease.

2. a mark of disgrace or infamy; a stain or reproach, as on one's reputation.

We did it. We crossed more than just a border separating two states of India; we crossed the border of a destructive stigma--the stigma of Leprosy. For almost two years now, Dr. Kumar and Rising Star have been working to make this journey, this expansion, a reality. And as of July 20th and 21st, we did more than make it a reality. We made it a success.

I had the opportunity to be among the first group of Rising Star to extend our work outside of the state of Tamil Nadu into the neighboring state of Andhra Pradesh. Getting to Tirupatti turned into a bigger ordeal than planned as we were bombarded time and time again with happenings that easily could have made us turn around and head back to Rising Star. Our RSO vehicle was not allowed to cross the border because it was a private vehicle, so after 4 hours of driving instead of turning around and go back, we decided to yes, turn around...but go to the nearest village and rent a bus that would be allowed to cross. Just to do that, which in the States would take maybe a total of 45 minutes, became a 2 1/2 hour ordeal. The whole situation of us not being able to cross the border made me think of the stigma in which leprosy-afflicted people bear on a daily basis. They can't cross the street, let alone a state border without some sort of opposition. For this reason, I couldn't help but be patient with the situation, the delay, the long bus ride, and the 4 am wake up. Once we finally crossed the border, we were stopped almost every 5 minutes where we had to pay bribes in order for us to continue on. I felt very strongly that the adversary was trying really hard to discourage us, and change our attitude towards this whole thing. Dr. Kumar at one point turned around and said "just remember, this will all be worth it."

For the trip we planned to visit two colonies that have not had medical care in up to 60 years. This is different than going into the colonies we visit here in Tamil Nadu, because they know us. They know we are there to serve and love them and not to mock or to scorn. So having been isolated and disregarded as human beings for so long we were unsure of how these people might react to us. Because of all the craziness in getting there, Dani and I were talking about how much comfort comes from being at RSO and how you can feel the absence of its security while being away from it. But as we drove up to the first colony, I looked over at Dani and said, "We're home." The colonies, the people, truly are a place of home for me.

The moment I stepped off of the bus, I was overcome with immense love for every individual I saw. They had been waiting for us all day and as we walked into their community center their smiling faces and happy hearts welcomed us. I walked around and shook every individuals hands, greeted with Namaste, kissed their hands, and smiled into their eyes. I remember one lady in particular that I shook hands with. When I knelt down and shook her hands and kissed them, tears welled in her eyes as she continued holding my hand. Can you imagine what it would be like to be to touched when being an untouchable? I will never underestimate the power of looking into someones eyes, or even a simple handshake. It was so overwhelming I had to take a moment to step back, look around, and soak it all in. The intensity of the pure love and gratitude radiating from these beautiful people encompassed me from the inside out, so much to the point that nothing could hold back my tears of joy, of praise, of gratitude, of pure love. Moments later, a man came in carrying a crate full of sodas for each of us. I am still amazed by how willing they are to give so much even when they so little. How lucky they are to have a knowledge that things don't bring you happiness. I saved my bottle cap from my soda that the man opened for me. I will never forget how happy he was to give that soda to me. As I was walking back to the bus to help carry in medical supplies I felt a hand pull on my hair as I realized a woman standing behind me had pulled out my elastic and was fixing my hair. I am sure after 9 hours on a bus my hair looked rather hideous, and for her to smooth out the bumps, calm down the frizz, and braid my pony tail was a very sweet act of kindness. One I will never forget.

That evening as a group we saw up to 100 patients: we washed their feet, photographed their feet and hands for medical records, bandaged ulcers, tested for diabetes, and tested for hypertension. I was among the group that bandaged their feet and hands. It was humbling to kneel at their ulcered, crippled feet and bandage their wounds. As I layed pieces of gauze over their open ulcers and began to wrap the bandage around, their disfigured hands would always try to help hold the gauze in place. I loved looking up at their faces when I completed bandaging their feet and hands and seeing their smiles of love and gratitude followed by a "thank you" or a "namaste" or a pinch of my cheeks.

The next morning we arrived at a second colony. It was rainy and I was the first off the bus. As I stepped down a man was there waiting with an umbrella. He walked me into their tiny church building holding an umbrella over my head. I walked back to the bus to carry in medical supplies and as I turned around to carry it out, another man was there with his arms stretched out in front of him, no hands, wanting to carry it for me. I let him and turned around to get the next box only to find another man there to help, too. I didn't have to carry in a single thing. When we walked into the tiny building they had set up enough chairs for all of us. These people are so thoughtful. I was on bandaging committee again, which I was really happy about. The condition of those in this colony was even more severe than the first. The smell of rotting flesh, even the memory of what it smells like, still to this day makes me shudder, the look in the faces of those who have suffered for so long, those whose leprosy has settled into their bones--the most painful stage of leprosy in which most don't live long enough to experience, their pain breaks my heart. One man came to us crawling, another came to us demanding Dr. Kumar to cut off his legs, another would shake so violently in pain every time I touched his foot It was difficult to bandage. But what stands out the most, what makes up for the smell, the pain, and the wounds, is their pure Christ-like love. I wish the feeling I felt from these two colonies I could bottle up and share with the whole world. It is a love that transforms you, a love in which barriers break, stigmas fade, outward appearances don't matter, spirits shine and all that exists is God's love. It is beautiful.

we were the ones doing the medical work. But no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I work, nothing I do will ever be more than what these people gave to me. I cannot wait until we meet at Jesus' feet, where I will see them Whole, when I can adequately express my love and gratitude for what they did for me.

We saw over 200 patients in less than 24 hours. A 24 hours that changed me, transformed me, and inspired me to be that kind of person. One which is grateful even in the poorest of circumstances, one which loves quickly and judges slowly, one in which stigmas don't exit, one who lives in humility and service of those around you, one who appreciates the little things, and one who reaches out, looks to God, and lives happily because of it.

We did it. We crossed more than just a border separating two states of India; we crossed the border of a destructive stigma--the stigma of Leprosy. We broke down its barriers and love has bridged us back together.