Freshly showered, mentally foggy, and sipping coffee, I wrestle with all the ways Sri Lanka was nothing like I expected. I have learned from various trips to and through the majority world to hold expectations loosely because the only guarantee is plans will change. All plans changed a few days before arrival.
After 36 hours of travel, we arrived to the heat and humidity of a tiny fishing village no one has heard of in the corner of a country most people can not locate on a map. Our first day included attending a funeral for a teenage boy who had been killed by a drunk driver. Walking into a grieving, questioning village is anything but a light, airy welcome you expect after 3 days of travel. As I stood at the opening in the fence, I saw the heaviness of loss and grief of a family who lost their only means of income in a senseless accident. I spent this time in prayer as the Buddhist monks officiated the ceremony, and then the body was carried through the village on the way to its final resting place. The village followed silently as a mother stumbled in shock as she buried her oldest son. I was utterly at a loss for words. I felt so small, insignificant, and useless in those moments, but a breeze kicked up just as I was lamenting the amount of sweat dripping down my back and the feeling of hopelessness for this family. The breeze was a beautiful reminder of the opportunity to be hands and feet by simply choosing to be present at a funeral, in a village of hurting people.
All previous plans changed to accommodate the seven days of mourning which accompany a death in this village. Instead of hosting a weekly tea for the women in the village, we spent our second day visiting an injured teenager from the same accident in the hospital. If you have ever ventured into a government hospital in the majority world, you know the assault of sights and smells upon entry. Seeing this boy's face light up as his mom, brother and a gang of foreigners crowded around his bed was a beautiful reminder of the joy found in the midst of sorrow. Each change in plans proved to be a new, unexpected way to love this village.
Our days were filled with wandering through the village to sit with women as they talked about the reality of loosing this boy, and the hard realities of making ends meet when fishing season is coming to an end. We drank endless amounts of tea with way too much sugar, and one particular cup winning the worst cup of tea award. Our friends in the village taught us new card games which meant a streak of losses which bruised my competitive ego along with lots of laughter. We sat with a mom who had prayed for years for a baby as she gentle rocked her sweet baby boy to sleep. We got a workout as we played in the waves with children clinging to arms as the waves continued to crash. Laughter rang out from the shore and the waves as we collectively released the weight of a week of sadness.
Sri Lanka allowed me the time and space to sit back and be an observer. I watched the beauty of community grow as I sat and chose to listen to new friends. I was overwhelmed by the gentle whispers and cool breezes providing comfort as we wandered through the village. Anne Lamott sums it up beautifully in the title of her book Help Thanks Wow. Those words were often on my heart as I sat with a grieving family, shared a meal with new friends, and watched beauty appear all around me. This little corner of the world is now stitched into my story and my heart.
Sri Lanka allowed me the time and space to sit back and be an observer. I watched the beauty of community grow as I sat and chose to listen to new friends. I was overwhelmed by the gentle whispers and cool breezes providing comfort as we wandered through the village. Anne Lamott sums it up beautifully in the title of her book Help Thanks Wow. Those words were often on my heart as I sat with a grieving family, shared a meal with new friends, and watched beauty appear all around me. This little corner of the world is now stitched into my story and my heart.