To walk into the Sari Bari office is to enter into the unknown. Each new day offers little consistency with the last, as one task or list of things to do quickly becomes secondary to more pressing issues. The lives of our women spill into the doors each day. With them flow their joys, but also their many hardships. These strong currents arrive with force, surprising and many times sweeping the day away from anyone found in their path. One is easily overcome, left trying to wade through the rest of the day.
In such a steady stream of life, anchors are needed to hold strong amidst this Sari Bari wellspring, to slow down the beholder and remind him or her why and from where this mighty river flows. One of them we call mother. She is quiet strength. She is a warm smile. She is a simple question. She is sometimes intimidation, but she is always love. When you arrive at the office, you might not see her. If you visit, you might not hear her. But if you know her, you will be sure to find her. And if she loves you, she will certainly make sure you do. She is Minu.
She asks you to stop, to sit, to be still. Whether there is a word she has for you or not, there is a place next to her on the floor, to steal a short breath from the ever long day. Her presence is not always inviting, but her invitation is learned and understood with time. “Come, remember to walk with me. Take a moment to recall why I sit here in your midst.”

Reflection by Kyle Scott