“Our problem today: the space for imagination to expand and take shape is inversely proportional to the speed at which we live. Driven hard and fast, we lack the time to allow alternate worlds and possibilities to form, careening past small turnings and exits, bound to follow the obvious straight paths of the present arrangement.””

- Kester Brewin - Signs of Emergence

cannot seem to get enough of this song…

When the world welcomes us in,
We’re closer to Heaven than we’ll ever know.
They say this place has changed,
But strip away all of the technology
And you will see
That we all are hunters,
Hunting for something that will make us okay.

Here we lay alone in hospital beds,
Tracing life in our heads;
But all that is left
Is that this was our entrance and now it’s our exit,
As we find our way home.

All the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand

That we are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of it.

“You were a million years of work,”
Said God and His angels, with needle and thread.
They kissed your head and said,
“You’re a good kid and you make us proud.
So just give your best and the rest will come,
And we’ll see you soon.”

All the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand

That maybe Hollywood was right:
When the credits have rolled and the tears have dried,
The answers that we have been dying to find
Are all pieced together and, somehow,
Made perfectly mine.

We are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of love

see the entire photo set from my two weeks in india here.

the rain falls. its been falling all day and all night and all day again. the air, once hot and stale, now sends goosebumps up my arms and smells fresh. or at least as fresh as air in india can smell. the ground is saturated and standing pools of water are everywhere. watch your step. the green parots seek shelter from the wetness by floating from quava tree to quava tree finding their breakfast and entertaining me as i eat mine.

i find my shelter from the rain on the porch, sitting on the three legged bench, hoping it doesn’t fall while munching on my peanutbutter’ed toast and sipping my mug of nescafe. my two weeks in india are coming to a close and i wonder where they went and how they passed so quickly. in the busyness of going and doing, i have found little time to sit and reflect. that’s not what i had planned. i needed to return to a place where i found clarity, i needed to go back to the mountains of india. in their presence i had to unwind and shed the layers of distraction from this year in san francisco. i needed to step outside the city i’m trying to call home and away from its people to gain perspective…and just as i finally feel the weight fall and i stop fighting the battles of the day, my time has come to a close. just as I’m ready to embrace the stillness, i find it slipping between my fingers.

nearly two years ago, i stepped out of the door at the dehli airport recognizing the significance of the moment. i knew somehow my life would never be the same. at that moment, i became an international citizen, aware of the small role i played in the global story which to which i was being introduced for the first time. when i left, i was thankful for the experience and my time in that land, but i didn’t know if or when i would ever be back. i didn’t know if this chaotic indian world had any more room for me or if i’d want to fill it even if it did. but as i stepped into the plane this time to leave india, i took one last glance out to the sky and felt the peace. somehow, i know i’ll be back.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to grow up an orphan. I wonder how it would feel to know I have no parent’s love or care. What would it be like to come home from school to no afternoon snack or questions about the day’s happening? Who would hug me goodnight or look after me when I was sick? Could I even fathom such a life? Who I am and what I have become cannot be separated from the love and support of my parent’s so to try to remove their presence in my mind is impossible. I cannot image life as an orphan.

I spent the this week living at Shyshia orphanage (Shyshia means ‘disciple’ in Hindi). It was begun 25 years ago by two young ‘hippies’ who came to India in search of truth and purpose. Through several powerful events, they found Christ to be the end of their pilgrimage, or perhaps only the beginning. They’ve given their life, their family and their love to the children of India ever since. What started as 20 acres of rocky, desolate soil, has now grown into a school for 400 children, a large agricultural farm, and a community of families to care for 50 boys from leprosy backgrounds or those without parents.

This week, we live in one of the campus houses and have been adopted into the Shyshia community. Ever lunch and dinner, we join the boys for rice and dahl. They line up, smallest to tallest with their little silver plates. Shyshai proclaims equality and foreigners are treated no different then homeless. We take our place at the back of the line and wonder how we’ll be able to consume another plate of rice. We sit along side them, digging our fingers into the warm mix of lentils and rice, and discuss the events of the day while drinking water from the well. Beginning at 5:30 am and not finishing their studies until 9:30pm, their days are full and exhausting. For boys who would otherwise be on the streets begging, they are learning the value of work and that they have the capacity to provide for themselves. Nearly half of the boys who move on from this place, return to the places they are from and share with their fellow villagers the hope and purpose they’ve found in the Syshia through a loving community and a loving Christ.

The purpose of my time here was to create a 20 year master plan for the campus. I pray for vision and clarity as we discerned Ken & Frieda’s dreams of what could be and what steps the organization needs to take in order to get them there… more hostels to house 150 boys, a home for widows/AIDS women and their children, new school additions for up to 900 children. And of course, most importantly, a regulation sized cricket field so Shyshia can proudly compete against the other private schools.

As I shared the plans with the boys and school staff, the excitement in the air is contagious. This isn’t just another project, another building to be built in India. This was their home. This was their future. They knew they would be the ones pouring the foundations and learning to place the bricks, and they couldn’t wait to get started. If I could, I’d give every cent I have to make it happen. I’ll never be an orphan, or come from a family with leprosy, or grow up in India. But if I did, this would be where I would want to be. This is the place I’d want to call home.

If you are interested in donating to this project and purpose, please contact me at jsornson [at] gmail.com

Oh, Mussoorie… my Indian home.
If I could, I would ask you all to visit this place once in your life.
You don’t know India without meeting its Himalayan mountains.
And you don’t know the mountains until you visit the Himalayas.

I spent one week tucked at the foothills of the 22,000 ft peaks. After a few chance circumstances, Eric were able to return for the same two weeks in India. He and I both served the same year long term in the eMi India office and it only seemed appropiate that we both be there to complete the return visit experience. Friends there feel like Indian family and there was much to catch up on after a year away. Talking and walking, eating and laughing. I shared from my life in San Francisco and they caught me up on what’s happened in theirs since I left. The Pinkstaff girls are taller and many new babies now fill the Friends of Garhwal church. Trash cans have been added around the mountain chakar and Anil’s has a new fancy menu. The bedroom’s been painted and new flowers have been planted.

But for the most part, the hill station of Mussoorie remains virtually the same. There is almost timeless character of this place, as if 10 years of technology and development could pass and the little city would remain immune to its effects. Yes, we still hope for high speed internet and electricity that is constant… but the familiar feel as you walk down to sister’s bazaar, run by chardukan in the morning and grab a chai at the local daba will remain in an indian time capsule.

it took me multiple days to finally get my computer connected to the internet in india.
i’m okay with that.
here’s a quick photographic summary in my absence.

oaklands: it feels good to be back

mussoorie: oh, how i've missed living in the foothills of the himalayas

engineering ministries international: good friends, good times

sophia: pretty in pink and lost in her own little world

asha: sometimes, you pick up right where you left off

hannah: not a baby any longer.

sunrise: i fell in love with mornings the year i lived in india.

i leave soon… real soon.
real soon as in 10 hours soon.
yikes!
yet, i sit in the laundromat, no bags packed nor any camera batteries charged.
the to do list is long and the flight is early.
ah well…sleep is over-rated.
or at least slightly less necessary prior to a 15 hour flight to india.
there’s lots of time to sleep.

every other big trip i’ve ever taken was anticipated, planned, and prepared for.
this one kind of blindsided me and then smacked me across the face.
six weeks ago, i didn’t even know i was going.
are you excited? they ask
yes… no… i don’t know. i haven’t had time to thinka bout.
of course, i want to go… the people, the purpose, the place…
but i don’t feel ready yet.
ah, but wait. there is a 15 hour flight ahead of me.
plenty of time to get ready.

and then there’s work… oh the ever present cloud above my head.
did i get everything done? will anything come up while i’m gone?
will small deals be made big? can things wait until i return.
it’s just a building… i have to remind myself.
they rarely move, they only breath if you design them well, but never do they bleed.
they’ll be here when i return.
still, there are emails to write and open loops to close.
that’s what the 15 hour flight is for, right?
finish loose ends… 15 hours worth of them.

and so i’m off, to a land once unknown but now familiar.
to a place of ‘family’ and a feeling of home.
time sitting around the office table playing speed scrabble,
and enjoying a bengan on the front steps during lunch.
there will be tea parties with sophia and long walks with laura.
mornings with the rising sun and nights enveloped by the immense sky.
i have to move from a place of restlessness, to find a place of peace.
i must move beyond the distractions to return to the source of stillness.
i have to transition from there to here, from that to this, from me to them.
ah…
lots ahead. and a 15 hour flight will get me there.

i write from my bay window in the bay i’ll no longer inhabit.
i watch the sunrise above my computer screen one last time.
i see the street life below gain momentum and brace itself for my last day here.

i’ve been in san francisco one year this week.
one year.
i don’t really believe that.
has it really?
has it only?

one year.
i leave tomorrow.
physically only 13 miles.
but in a city only 7 miles wide, 13 miles changes a lot of things.
i’m separated from ‘the city’ by a 5 mile mote.

across the water in the ‘east bay,’
some feel removed from the activity and opportunity.
some feel disconnected from others happenings.
some miss the density.

across the water in the ‘east bay,’
i feel protection from the stimulation and intensity.
i feel more connected to my own thoughts.
i love the breathing room.

50% of the population of san francisco has been here for two years or less…
whether you’re a suit and tie,
dreadlocked hippie
mexican bus driver.
or a prarie girl from kansas…
living in this place is just difficult to sustain.
i’m tired of just surviving.
i’m want to thrive.

i usually become overly sentimental when i leave a place.
i run around at the last minute taking photographs of my every day things.
i schedule dinners/lunches/coffees/walks with all the people i’ve grown to love.
i try to soak up every moment and tuck it away in my memory.

but this time, the sentiments are missing.
maybe because…
i’ve already spent the last year taking photographs of my every day things.
i have met very few people whom i love and who love me back from this place.
i’m ready to tuck this year away and move on from it.

i don’t know why this absence.
it’s kind of bizarre.
this feeling, this year… it’s not normal for me.
but then again, what years was?

i leave tomorrow.
i depart from the city and move to the east bay.
i become a bridge and tunnel person.
i move from the third floor to the second.
i change from a house of many to a place of few.
i go from bus riding to bike riding.
i’m ready. its time.

to everything there is a season….

a time to be born, and a time to die;
.   a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
.   a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
.   a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
.   a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to get, and a time to lose;
.   a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to rend, and a time to sew;
.   a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
.   a time of war, and a time of peace.