Almost Murder

A short memoir for my creative writing class. 

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Summer might be the favorite season of every school-age kid, or at least I think it should be.  It always seemed brighter than any other time of year, and its beauty colors my childhood memories.  The mountains dance, adorned in their best dress of brilliant green, underneath a cloudless sky bluer than a jay bird’s wing.  All the anticipation of spring consummated in the splendor of the land.  The wildflowers in my backyard, at the edge of the woods, sway in the sultry, sluggish August breeze, their blooms a kaleidoscope seemingly unaffected by the oppressive heat of what my grandparents term the dog days.  With no school and a million adventures to experience or imagine, the dog days didn’t hinder a young kid much either, even though I’ll admit it was always a welcome pleasure to crowd around the humming window unit in Pap’s bedroom (the only room in our house with air conditioning for years) or lay on the old plaid couch in our cool, musty basement for a few hours on a lazy day.  

The first summers I can remember meant catching worms and being rowdy with my cousin Trey, jumping on a blazing trampoline for hours at a time, eating bowls of 

glistening, fresh-picked grapes on Grandma Chub’s back porch.  I spent a lot of time in summer at that woman’s house, and she remains a legendary figure in my memory.  A strong woman, widowed by her second husband, she held our family together for a long time, helping raise her great-grandbabies (that’s where I came in) and making sure everybody stayed in church and kept on having reunions.  I still remember her ruby nail polish, her perfectly coiffed hair the color of steel wool, the way she couldn’t keep from walking around while she brushed her teeth, how her hands looked, strong and worn, so often caked with flour as she rolled out the best biscuits you’ve ever tasted.  She was beautiful, full of that firm, motherly sort of grace that time and hard experience and lots of children lend a woman, and it was most often in her presence that our family and all its friends came together.  

The slow, hot days and general lull in activity that belong to summers made them a particularly suitable time for entertaining visitors - “having company,” my family calls it.  Distant relatives, old friends, gospel singing buddies, you name it and they’ve probably stopped by.  The adults in my family took great joy in this, seemingly unaware of the limitless exploits waiting just a few steps away in the sunny backyard.  They could sit endlessly in Grandma Chub’s ever welcoming living room, talking, joking, telling stories the way only older people can.  

A child’s role in all this, however, is very different, more a conversation piece than a participant.  Large strangers you swear you’ve never met hug you and pat you on the head, commenting on how much you’ve grown or how beautiful or pleasant you are while you do your nervous best to fake remembering them for the sake of politeness.  

Then someone tells a story about your latest honorable deed or the good grade you made in school or the rascally thing you did when you were sure no one was looking.  The living room chuckles while you blush, and then the show’s over.  The adults return to grown-up things, and you slink away since it’s likely in your best interests to be unseen and well-behaved.  It was during those slinking away times, with all the adults busied in that ancient art of talk, that we had our fun.  All supervising eyes turned elsewhere, we roamed, unbridled, over the entire premises, the plain red brick house and its neatly groomed backyard now a wide-open range of possibility.  

I stood barefoot on Grandma Chub’s bright red second floor deck, looking out on her backyard in midday as Nebuchadnezzar must have gazed on Babylon in all its grandeur, the crown of my five-year-old head just level with the porch railing.  The fresh-cut grass wore that emerald radiance characteristic of the season and the grape vine curled around the clothes line below, hanging sumptuously in the bright sun.  A perfect day, the adults all busy inside with visitors, I was looking for something to do when Trey came gamboling up to my side.  

(I should take the time to mention here that, at this stage of life, my cousin Trey and I were best friends.  With only nine months’ distance between us in age, we were inseparable, both in good and mischief.)  

Trey had reached that stage of life when one has flying on the brain.  All he wanted to do was jump off something and soar into the clouds.  He expressed this desire to his father often, but no one took the idea into serious consideration.  To a young, invincible boy, however, a perfect summer day (when maybe you really could do 

anything) with no adults in sight and a porch the perfect height for takeoff made a marriage of ideal conditions beyond his power to resist.  

He looks at me, kind of sideways, a little hesitant, knowing he’s about to venture into forbidden territory.

“Do you wanna jump?”

Neither of us grasped the potential weight of this decision - the possible broken limbs, the trip to the emergency room, the damage that might have been done to our tiny bodies.  I wasn’t scared to jump; I’ve just always been a little passive, not very good at leading.  

“You go first.”  

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  Go.  I’ll come after you.”  

I watched as he stood on the railing, poised and motionless, ready to take flight.  As he fell forward, time slowed down like it does in most good action movies and a lot of special moments in life.  His little body spiraling and flipping in the air, my cousin tumbled downward until the clothes line below intercepted him.  His fall paused a moment, suspended in the tension of the line.  Then, with sudden momentum, the line twisted and flung him to the earth.  I stood and stared aghast at his form, spread-eagled and motionless on the emerald grass.  

I burst into tears and sprinted through the house.  Our secret exploits were about to be exposed, our future liberties jeopardized.  My panicked entrance into the living room full of adults must have upset its pleasant serenity considerably.  

“I killed Trey! He’s out in the yard, and he’s dead!” 

Ten minutes later, I sat by his side on the cool smooth hardwood floor of Grandma Chub’s living room as he continued to hold that same spread-eagle pose, belly up, eyes closed, breathing slowly.  I waited somberly, silently - as though by the bedside of a dying man - for him to either get up and play again or give up the ghost.  As I waited, sorrow penetrated my repentant little heart as if I myself were responsible for the fall of man or killing all the dinosaurs.  

Repentant or not, I experienced a lot of grace.  Far from being angry, the adults were simply glad we were alive.  (Their wrath had been my second greatest concern next to losing a cousin and best friend to an untimely end.)  As for Trey, after about twenty more minutes, he did indeed start moving again, confirming the notion of many mothers that little boys are elastic and can simply bounce back from anything, and we were back to play within the hour, no hard feelings and no questions asked in that special way that only little children and saints can seem to manage.  

The appeal of weightlessly rushing through thin air, untethered and untamable, had captivated my cousin’s mind that day.  Most five-year-olds experience this, I think, but maybe this isn’t just a phase.  Maybe this is something that shows up when we’re five and never quite goes away.  We want to soar through the sky, to be superman or Tarzan, to have some great adventure, to do something besides go to plain old kindergarten or sit through Mrs. Kearn’s algebra class or toil away inside a cubicle.  Wondering whether your leap off the jungle gym will end with your soaring into the 

clouds; a late-night joy ride in your parents’ car; daydreaming, staring out your office window, we all want freedom, and we want it all our lives.  Our souls yearn for takeoff. 

Closing Time

Hi everyone!


     I can't believe it's already August, and I'm sending my last update from India. We're traveling around in the plains for the next few days (it's very hot here, and very different from the mountains I've been living in), and then we'll be on our way back to America.

     So much has happened this summer, and I'm not sure that I can even articulate all the things I've learned and the ways God has been changing me.

     There's a lot to rejoice about: 4 new Christians in two of the villages we visit most often, three of them the first Christian girls in Deolsari; a new friend from Kashmir named Ashfaq, whom we had the privilege of praying for and giving a Bible to in his own language; and two of the long-termers here, Jana and Joni, will be moving to a town very near the villages where we've been ministering, allowing them to disciple the new Christian girls and make many more friends and contacts as well.

     There's also a lot to be praying about here. Pray for the 7 Christians in Deolsari, all of them teenagers from Hindu families. Pray that they will grow closer to God and to one another as the body of Christ. Pray that they can be a witness for God's love in their families, loving and serving them humbly and following the example of Christ in serving and loving us. Pray also that the gospel would continue to spread in the villages of Deolsari and that God would continue to grow His church there.

     Pray also for our friend Ashfaq. I don't know that anyone else has affected me as powerfully as meeting him has. Only 22 years old, he's been running shops for his uncle selling textiles since age 15, and he's become one of our good friends here. He'd been suffering from insomnia for two months, only sleeping about half an hour a night; when we started praying for him, though, he began sleeping again! We've also had the chance to give him a Bible in Uldu, his native language, as we learn from him about Islam. Pray that as he reads the Bible for the first time and interacts with some of the Christian residents of Mussoorie that we've connected him with, that he would encounter Jesus in a powerful way. He's become our good friend, and I couldn't want any better joy for a friend.

     As we leave India, pray for the long-term team here, that God would continue to protect and provide for and sustain them and fill them with His love and nearness as they serve him in the Himalayan foothills.
Namaste, and see you all soon!
Brittany

Big News, New Things

Hello everyone!  Sorry once again that it’s been so long since my last post.  Days can be so full here. 

    Before I write any further, though, I have some very exciting news:  we have two new Christian sisters!  They live in a village called Pujaldi – a Hindu village the long-term team here has visited for about 12 years now (talk about faithfulness and patience).  When the long-termers first started visiting Pujaldi, these girls were small enough to sit on laps.  Now they’re teenagers and have asked to receive Christ and become Christians.  I imagine that the consistent love of Christ displayed in the Christians who visited their village the past twelve years helped open their hearts and pave the way for the gospel in a big way.  I pray the same for the present little children of Pujaldi, that God would use the games we play and stories we tell and the laughs we share and the love we show to open their hearts so that they know Him some day. 

     So as you might imagine, a lot has happened since my last post, and as my summer here is starting to wind down, I’m really amazed and honored at all the things I’ve been able to do and see and learn here – both about God and about myself.
Since my last post, I’ve been to the Christian hospital here and watched two surgeries from a comfortable distance of 5 feet away; seen a swarm of gnats that was the closest thing to an Egyptian plague I’ve ever experienced; sang into a microphone for the first time (in Hindi, no less); eaten more lentils in a week than I ever had in my life up until this summer; hung out with a goat shepherdess; sat by a swimming hole full of naked little boys; eaten my first lychee (which I highly recommend if you’ve never had one); stayed up till 3 AM talking about God and marveling at the way He works; made a friend from Kashmir; rejoiced over the answer to a long-prayed prayer; and played basketball barefoot, wearing a kurta, in the rain.
    I feel so privileged and blessed and honored (and all kinds of other good words having to do with gratitude) that I’ve been able to have these experiences.  This has been such an incredible adventure, though one thing I’m realizing is that all of Christian life is an adventure (you don’t have to go halfway around the world to experience it).  God is present everywhere, and He’s so incredibly creative – why wouldn’t He want our lives to be an adventure?   
    I’ve learned a lot about God on this adventure, more than I could ever possibly fit into one blog post, so I’ll just share one thought instead.  This is a journal entry I wrote recently, about the night I stayed up till 3 AM: 

Sunday July 25, 2010

    Church at Kellogg this morning, and a Sabbath at the house.  When night time came, most of the team was watching a movie, but I was feeling stir-crazy and suggested we take a walk; so Nick, Jess, Emily, Kirra, and I set off.  We didn’t walk too far – just past Dobighat to this bend in the road that overlooks an incredible valley where clouds like to dance.  The moon was full, and everything looked black and white, like the 1920s.
    We sat on the road in that spot for a long time, talking and listening to each other.  Mixed emotions of anxiety and excitement over the future; the magic of seeing God in everyday moments, unexpected places; what we wrote about last in our journals.  Time passed, and we walked home. 
    Nick, Jess, Emily and I stayed awake for a long time after that – all the way till 3, though Emily didn’t stay with us quite that long.  We talked about a lot of things, some funny, some serious – the will of God, His timing, having visions and dreams and strong feelings (or prophecies) about things, how God’s Spirit moves in us, how God speaks to us and answers prayers, how His glory has been displayed in our lives, short as they are. 
    I’ve been wondering lately about how the Holy Spirit speaks to people, how Christians – on a very practical basis – discern the will of God.  I’m certain that a large part of the will of God is what theologians term His “revealed will,” or the desires and purposes of God for man as set forth in Scripture.  I’m also certain that whatever Christians discern of God’s will for their individual circumstance or decision must be consistent with this revealed will; God doesn’t lie or mince words.
    But I’m still very interested in what I guess I’ll call the Holy Spirit’s method of action.  How does God actually direct individuals?  So when someone said during our conversation, “But that’s something I need to pray about…” I asked, “How does God actually answer you in prayer?  What does that look like?”
    So each of us tried to explain it, and the four of us discovered we were talking about the same thing.  This might sound mystical or hokey to you, but stay with me.  What writers call a stream of consciousness exists in every human mind – thoughts and feelings and perceptions streaming though, sometimes seemingly endless – and this consciousness is particularly directed toward God when in prayer.  Statements of thought and feeling are poured out to Him; sometimes questions are asked, and when that happens, possible answers arise in the consciousness.  The possible answers can be many or few, but when a thought comes from God, it is decidedly unique.  It has a different nature, a different level of certainty; it is consistent with Scripture and glorifies Him, not one’s self; and it brings a peace with it that is difficult to articulate.  We were all talking about this same phenomenon, how it happens to each of us, though we are each so very different. 
    I marveled at this, though it didn’t really shock me (after all, if God can save sinners from hell, He can certainly do something cool like communicate with 4 people in the same way).  I agree with the writer Donald Miller when he says that the intellectual side of the argument about God comes down to some really smart people who believe in God and can prove that He exists and some other really smart people who don’t believe in God and can prove that He doesn’t.  All that can end up boiling down to people trying to prove their own points for the sake of their own egos, and then we miss the point of actually connecting with God.  “As if the Good Lord had nothing to do but exist,” CS Lewis wrote. 
    I write all this to say that I’m not much interested in proving God to anyone, though I am very much interested in helping people connect with Him.  However, by nature, I have a very rational, skeptical, factual mind (I relate a lot to doubting Thomas), and this was a really cool encouragement to me – to see God’s consistency in communication.  Walks like a duck, talks like a duck, looks like a duck, smells like a duck; must be a duck.  To me, listening to each of our descriptions, this looks like God; in fact, I’m sure it is, though you may not be.  (And if you aren’t sure, ask God to show you.  Jesus had a lot of grace with Thomas, and He’s certainly had a lot of grace with me.)
    We also discovered the answers to the questions in our prayers don’t always come this way.  Sometimes, I just make a decision based on what I know I should be doing according to the Bible (since I know that’s true and right and doesn’t change).  I commit my decision to God, pray that whatever action I’m taking works to His glory, and try my best to trust that He’ll redirect me if I’m screwing up or affirm me and help me along if I chose correctly.  I think God has us do this, take these steps in faith when we may not be exactly sure what to do, to deepen our trust in Him, to build our assurance that He can and will take care of us. 
    So then all of a sudden it was 3 AM, and we’d covered a lot of really great stuff, and I’m fairly certain all our hearts were singing praise to our Redeemer; I know mine was. 

“My heart is steadfast, O God! I will sing and make melody with all my being!”
[Psalm 108:1]

Shakedown Cruise

Well, this is my first time on the computer this summer, and I have to admit - it's been very refreshing to be disconnected.  I also apologize, though, for failing to keep this thing updated.  I'm pretty horrible at writing consistently.

     I haven't been a lot of places in my life, but after being here for a few weeks, I have to say that India is the strangest place I've ever been.  Monkeys hang out by the roadside; people live in estates and shacks made of tarps by the roadside, right next to each other; women in the villages, miraculously strong, like ants, carry bundles of leaves on their heads larger than their own bodies, straight down mountains; the former pet dog here was eaten by a panther; there are absolutely no rules when driving; eating out can give you diarrhea faster than you can say tandoori chicken; and toilet paper is a rare and special commodity.
     And yet people here are very much the same as people in America.  People share the same needs, deal with the same problem of evil, share the same laughs.  People may worship concrete idols here, but we have our own idols in America (they're a little more subversive, more cleverly disguised, but just look for them, and you'll see).  When two Indians begin a conversation, they find out which caste each man belongs to.  In America, we do the same, only we're less straightforward (your hometown, what your parents do for a living, where you went to college, what kind of car you drive).  The human condition is the same, I think, no matter where you go or what cultural veneer it's covered in.
     Thankfully, the fellowship between Christians and the way that God redeems each of us is the same as well.  Hearing the redemption stories of two of the people working here was such a great blessing - listening to the way that God pulled them from their old lives and gave them a new reality, with the underpinning of their stories, their thoughts and emotions, very much the same as mine, very much the same as every story I've ever heard (though the physical details may differ).  The Spirit of God is the same all over the world, and the warmth and genuine love with which Christians receive one another doesn't change because it is the manner of Christ, which transcends time and space and culture.
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     On another note, we visit the villages here on 4-day camping trips about every other week, and they too are unlike any place I've ever been.  The trip starts with a 2-hour jeep ride to the first village (the only one we can reach with a car).  After that, we load our stuff on donkeys and our backs and walk the rest of the way in.  These places remind me of ancient towns out of Lord of the Rings.  The flies buzz around incessantly, water buffalos and cows live in front yards and in the bottom floor of homes, goats walk the streets, people farm on terraces carved into the side of sometimes impossibly steep mountains, and people invite you to sit on their verandas and drink tea without hesitation.  Though I can't speak much Hindi, I can still share a smile and a laugh with people as I ask them how they are, and it's a blessing for me to sit by as the Hindi speakers with us talk about family life, share the gospel and pray.  Little girls have fleas and lice, but it's a privilege to play duck, duck, goose with them, wash their hair, and hold them in my lap (they feel like little skeletons).
     Up until very recently, there were no Christians in these villages - not a single one.  I don't know if you can imagine a place with no church, no pastor, not even a single Christian.  People here still pray and offer food and who knows what else to their little idols at shrines in their homes and the concrete gods in shrines by the side of the path; processions of people carrying idols and playing drums in a frenzy still move through the village streets.  They estimate 9,000 villages in the region, and we've only visited about five or six.  Many people have never even heard of Jesus.
     Now, though, in one of the villages, three boys have accepted Christ - and one is telling others.  This is a big deal.  In America, religion is very much a personal thing - a decision often made on an individual basis, where your beliefs may not often have much of a consequence in the way you're treated.  Here, it's very different - to abandon Hinduism here is to abandon everything: cultural identity, family values, unity in the village.  One woman who attends church here in the city was forced to leave her village 15 years ago for marrying a Christian man and hasn't seen her parents since.  And so, these three boys are the first Christians out of Poojalti.  Another girl is very close, and many of the little children are learning a lot.  There is so much hope, if for no other reason than that God is moving and will accomplish His purposes.  And that's very exciting.  Pray for these kids - they have a big battle to fight.  And pray for our team - that we'll stay unified, focused on serving God in whatever way we can.  Pray for the long-term team here as well - that God will sustain them, give them energy and creativity, faithfulness and courage and determination as they minister to the people in these hard-to-reach (in more ways than one) places.
     I've learned a lot here in these past few weeks - about myself, about this place, about God - much more than I can write in a single blog post.  Hopefully I'll be keeping up with this a lot better from now on.

"You see that turkey feather? There's an Indian cave up there."

     Sitting on my aunt's porch, a warm summer evening, what will likely be my last cookout stateside for the summer, the conversation flowing around me like a bubbling mountain stream, I think of all the things I love about my family.  There are so many things that make me smile when I think of these people I hold so dear.

     Little Lindsay's sass with her brothers.
     Uncle Jimmy's knowledge about snakes and spiders and planting flowers.
     The way Grandma teases Pap.
     Pap's laugh when Zach does his Forrest Gump impression.
    
     Even in those precious, beautiful moments with my family - those moments where, for just a little while, nothing's wrong - I am unsettled.  More than unsettled, I am grieved.  Those seemingly perfect moments are ephemeral and quickly pass away.  I visit long-established graveyards on Sunday afternoon, according to tradition, and am reminded that life itself quickly passes away.  Before we know it, the show's over, and - as it stands now - not all of these people I love so deeply will enjoy God forever.

     There is anguish in my heart as I long for each one in my family to make Christ their treasure, to put away an empty way of life and trade it for the life of one redeemed.  We need God so desperately, though we may not always realize it.  Christ pulls us from the depths of guilt and condemnation, and His spotless righteousness is credited to us if only we'll accept the offer.  Greater than any hero we could ever dream up, He saves us in every way.  Not only are we spared the penalty for sin (as if this weren't enough!), but we are blessed beyond measure with a hope and joy unspeakable in the One who is unshakeable and given a life of abundance and freedom from sin.  As a slave of Christ - how Paul so aptly described himself - we can discover and fulfill our purpose as humans:  the worship and enjoyment and praise and glorification of God!  My heart yearns for every soul I know to find this true and treasure Him.

"Remember your Creator in the days of your youth;
before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say,
'I find no pleasure in them' -
before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars grow dark,
and the clouds return after the rain;
Remember Him - before the silver cord is severed, and the golden bowl is broken;
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring, and the wheel broken at the well,
and the dust returns to the ground it came from,
and the spirit returns to God who gave it."
[Ecclesiastes 12:1+6-7]

Parallel Universe in a Hair Salon

  A few days ago, I walked into a salon for a much-needed haircut, and the woman at the register asked for my name.  She wrote it down on a calender or something and called a hairdresser forward from the back. 

“Brittany Ratcliff would like a trim.” 

The hairdresser looked surprised.  Then she got a good look at me, her face settled into a more comfortable smile, and she took me back to her chair. 

The cape swirled around my neck, and she spoke as she began combing through my brown mess of hair.

“You know, sweetie, there’s a girl in Weston with the exact same name as you - Brittany Ratcliff.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t like her.”

She got the attention of her friend, Sam, passing by with some clean towels.  “Hey Sam, this girl’s name is Brittany Ratcliff.”

Sam’s face dropped as she heard this piece of news and looked at me.  “I’m sorry,” she said and moved on to deliver the towels.  

The hairdresser continued, “A few years ago, Sam was in a car accident with a girl named Brittany Ratcliff.”  Brittany had fallen asleep at the wheel, and she wasn’t hurt at all.  Sam, though, hadn’t been so lucky.  Partially scalped and with a broken arm and major blood vessel in her neck severed, it seemed that Sam had barely skirted death - and Brittany had tried to drive away.  “Sam’s my best friend in the world, and Brittany just tried to flee the scene of the crime.  So we don’t like that girl.”

“Wow, that’s horrible.”  I didn’t really know how to respond.  A girl with my name tried to leave this woman's best friend half-dead by the roadside.  It reminded me of the good Samaritan parable - only, some version of me from another dimension was one of the bad guys.  

“But you’re much sweeter than she is.  I like you,” the hairdresser added reassuringly, snipping off my locks all the while.  “I was just surprised when I heard your name and thought maybe it was that girl, coming in for a haircut.”  

There’s a lot in a name - after all, it’s the primary way that people identify others.  A name captures (or attempts to capture, sometimes pretty poorly) the essence of a person - their nature, character, personality - all in one word.  A name is the label we associate with all those other observations we collect about someone, and when we speak their name, we’re not just saying a word; we’re referring to everything we know about that individual.  

A couple days after this incident, I was reading John, when my Bible referred me back to a footnote on Jeremiah 16:21.  I learned that, in the Old Testament, the Jews took the name of the Lord very seriously.  It wasn’t just a word or a tag or a label.  To them, it was the embodiment of all that He is as manifested to His people, synonymous with His entire character and His gracious accessibility.  The Name had no existence apart from the One to whom it belongs.  

  This gave me something to marvel at, then, in the New Testament.  In John 16:19-28, Jesus speaks to His disciples about asking God for things in His name.  For a while, I've understood that Jesus is the reason we can pray, the reason that dirty little ants like us can approach the Holiest of Holy.  He clothes us in His righteousness, something we couldn’t possibly earn, and makes us acceptable to God.  But it just struck me so powerfully that when we pray in His name, it’s not just a word we toss in at the end of our prayer.  We’re making appeal to God by the righteousness, the essence, the character, the Name of Christ, and we can do so because of His saving work in us - all the more glory to Him.  

“Though I have been speaking figuratively, a time is coming when I will no longer use this kind of language but will tell you plainly about my Father.  In that day, you will ask in my name.  I am not saying that I will ask the Father on your behalf.  No, the Father Himself loves you because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God.”                                      
   -Jesus [John 16:25-27]