What am I doing here?

In the past months I've been considering this question. What, in all reality, have I done for Kolkata? I've tried to love it, to understand it, to feed it, clothe it, shower it, help it go to the bathroom. I've massaged its cancer-strained legs, bony back, its arms, head and feet. I bought it a newspaper and gave it some batteries. I've engaged in conversation and sat in comfortably contemplative silence alongside it in its pain and misery. I've laughed with it, cried with it, been sympathetically angry alongside it in its frustration. As I've wandered the chaotic city streets, I've prayed for it, and prayed with it for healing, renewal and for life. I've prayed for the bad parts to die and for the good parts to become moreso. In short, I've done nothing. I've done nothing but what God's asked me to do in the moments I've spent here. And you know? Maybe that's enough.