My health is good. I believe that I can eat anything without getting sick in any real way. I have a super stomach. That is good for me as one living where I do, eating what I do. But one day I wondered about my ability to take in successfully what was put before me to eat. I didn’t know if it was humanly possible even with my super-powers. Worse than the eating of earthworms or donut off my friends shoe or burnt hair.
I bought some rice, tomato salad and mixed noodles. I went to my friends home on the sidewalk. I took off my sandals and sat on tarp next to this woman who I had met through the community of women who gather around the mosque to make a little money watching mens sandals during ramadan.
I hand over my small but I hope meaningful gift and allow my friend to host me. While she is unpacking the food her little daughter comes dancing over in that carefree way she has. Dodging between cars hazardously, almost as though there is a force field around her to repel all harm. She doesn’t even watch where she goes, trusting in all her senses and intuition to guide her safely through life.
And she sees that I’ve come to visit and quickens her pace. scarred grubby feet on oily pavement beating out the very rhythm of joy. And then she sees the plastic bag of noodles with sauce on top. She sees her role to play. She loves doing her duty for me.
And so it happens that before I can fully assess the situation my little friends’ dirt encrusted hand has submerged itself in noodles and is mixing wildly – squeezing out little noodles between little fingers. Noodles flying onto clothes and the ground. Precious noodles. Precious girl. My stomach is good…but
I have to share the noodles. I have come this far, I have no other option. It would be like coming up to the communion table and taking a cube of bread only to put it back.
She pulls her hand out of the noodles. Licks up the main bits, grabs a different plastic bag from among their meager belongings, and is off on her little carefree urban dance again.
She comes back with a leaky plastic bag which contains a translucent plastic mug. The mug contains a little water, but most of it has jumped out into the bag. She pours some of it back in and hands the mug to me. I look into it. It’s full of dirt, some of which is in large enough pieces to be more properly called sand or even tiny pebbles. Yup, gotta drink it. Gotta drink it.
“For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”
I don’t see what good it does most days, yet I believe so so much that the act of really entering into peoples lives regardless of how uncomfortable the settings of those lives makes us does do good. The same kind of good that very God being born as a human baby does. Still working on what exactly that good is as sometimes it feels like the only result is unhelpful attention for the poor and discouragement for me.
But we continue.
[Che is part of the new team in Myanmar]
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