Publications

The Looms of Our Lives

It was a jolt in a jeep on a mountainside in Northeast India that jarred me out of complacency. This was two years ago during an Ignatian immersion experience and my challenge now is to take the threads of this experience and a trip in 2009 and to weave them together. In the midst of our bristling winter weather and with thoughts of Lenten preparations, I am reminded to stretch the fabric of my life and weave it in with the lives I found on the other side of the world.

There was so much to absorb on our travels. People lived on the street or in humble dwellings just outside our room, our jeep and our train windows. Life jolted us with the immediacy of the need to feed and warm the family. Baskets shouldered by even the oldest and youngest members of the family were filled with wood and produce from the fields.

So many tasks were done by hand. Rocks were hammered into gravel, fields were worked by hand and fabric was made from yarns hand strung on simple looms. As a maker of things, I was drawn to the hands of the weaver as she wove the multihued yarns into works of visual art. There was such complexity to the laborious task where the woman controlling the tension becomes a true part of each piece she weaves.

I became connected to these women as they bonded together in Jesuit-sponsored self-help groups. Like women the world over, they care about the health of their family, the education of their children, having funds to meet simple needs, enough food, finding a voice, and making their community better. These humble people welcomed us into their homes and lives as honored guests sharing a communion of spirit with their hospitality. The tables had subtly turned, and those of us with plenty became the humbled.

Standing on the shore of the Brahmaputra River in Guwahati, I realized my world view and Midwestern comfort zone had shifted. The fabric of my life now has a richer texture and dimension. I have heard the cry of the poor calling me closer.

A Lenten speaker once advised her audience to care enough to the point of some discomfort so that we can better connect with those we serve. Service then becomes its own prayer. Often it takes a bump on our road to get us moving forward.