Dear People of India,

You ask me all of the time to remember you.  Do you know how often  you are on my mind and in my heart?  I think about you all the time, I cannot forget.  I think about you when I do something that I love and I imagine how much fun we would have if you could be here doing it with me.  I think about you when I eat something delicious. I wonder if you would like it and I am guessing usually, that you have not tried it. I think about you when I am wasteful.  I wonder if somehow I/we were less wasteful or consumed less whether you would have more.  I think about the time you taught me to dance or showed me how to prepare tea.  I love the times where we speak without words....sometimes having conversations that look more like charades and other times just letting our hearts speak and our hands hold each other's for a minute.  I love how over time these little moments led us to be friends and I am grateful for that.  I think about those moments often.  I think about how excited you were and how hard you laughed when I tried to speak Telugu and I hope next time to know a little more.    I think about you when I feel ungenerous and I don’t want to share my time....I remember how generously you shared yours.  I think about how highly you value my prayers.....especially on the nights I forget to pray and I think it would hurt you a little bit to know that.  I think about you when I run.  I hate running so I try as hard as I can to picture being in your villages or at your schools. When I can picture being there I can enjoy the run a little bit (sometimes I hate running so much that it is hard for even you to help with that… but, it seems to help the most). I picture you when I teach my small class and when I see my cupboards of stuff.   I admire how you teach so many and that you choose to have big classes because you know the power of education.  I think about you when I get frustrated with children and people.  I picture the way I see some of you love and I want to be more like that.  I think of you when I get overwhelmed by serving and want to stop.  I think about your commitment to serve.  When the day goes too fast I think of you. At those times I think of how I am when I am with you how my pace is slower and my mind less stressed.  I like me like that.  I like being calm enough to see the beauty God has in that moment.....instead of worrying about the next.  I think about you when I buy things.  I think about how my living with less might allow someone to live with a little more.  Sometimes it is difficult to buy myself something new (I think this might drive my shopping partners a bit crazy but I can’t help it).  Sometimes I wish I could get over that part.  But really, I hope I never do. I want to stay changed.  I think about you when I am lonely or sad and I miss your company.  I talk about you to anyone who will listen.  I tell them how much I admire you and how much you mean to me.  Sometimes I talk about you so much that I fear it makes those around me feel a little bad.  I feel a bit sad for people who will never get to know you, never sit inside your home, and never hear your heartfelt worship and testimonies or be the recipient of your wonderful hospitality.  When I try to share - my words just can’t explain how it moves my heart.  It is hard to think about what my life would be like if I lived with you all the time.  I often wish I was brave enough to just do it but I am not.. at least not yet.   I wish that I trusted God the way you do. Many of you have given up much to pursue what you believe.   I wish I had faith like that. I admire you!  I think about you when I lay in bed since I know many of you who have never had a bed.  When I lie awake at night I pray for you.  I wonder what you are doing and if maybe God woke me up just to lay you on my heart because at that very moment you needed prayer.  You have changed me you are in me and I am better when I am with you. I just wanted you to know. 

Dear God

What scares me the most sometimes when I come back from India is the moment where my heart aches a little less or when my eyes stop tearing up every time I see a picture or re-play a moment.  I just want to stay in that place.  I want to lay in bed and pretend to walk in places again.  I still want the air to smell like a blend of tea, trash and spices.  I want to marvel at the contrast of the broken buildings,   and the beautiful people.  I want to stay in a spot where my heart becomes so overwhelmed with a joy that I can tangibly feel it move throughout my body.  I love this place - where the schedule and agenda are gone and I can quiet my plan enough to hear God’s and I become in tune enough with God that I learn to listen.  It’s beautiful.  In the loudest and busiest country my heart finds the greatest joy and I don’t want to become content with anything less than that.

Flying

Traveling Home

It took 52 hours from the time I left one home and arrived at the next.  If you add the time from the first missed flight till I got on one the next morning - it totaled 65 hours.  That is a really long time. (Usually it takes just under 24 hours.)  In D.C., (the last airport) the flight was first scheduled at 5:30, then 9:00, then moved up till 7:30 and then canceled. Later it was announced that it was back on again with a gate change (to a gate that never existed) and finally officially canceled.  We were told we would have to wait and fly out the next afternoon.  As we waited in line to be reassigned to a flight the man behind me, who was coming from Rome, spoke of his exhaustion. Poor guy had been flying for 15 hours.  My first layover alone was 14 so I was quick to point out how my travel time exceeded his. 

I would like to give a shout out to _____from Air India, who works in the Mumbai airport.  Thank you for your compassion.  I am sorry I was sobbing in your lobby and had to go to the bathroom twice before being able to collect myself enough to finally check my luggage.  I am not sure what caused it....I can usually  hold it together better than that.  But thanks, I love your country and was sad to go. Friends had been texting me all day, checking in, and your kindness felt like a final hug from them so thanks. I think, right then, your care was exactly what I needed.

Response

    I posted a picture on facebook (related to the previous post) which showed a village consisting of six families who were blessed by the generosity of a seven year old. At first I was upset by one of the responses.

  "Did you realize that one out of every four children in the United States are hungry? We need to help our kids."

   But you know what....she was right...after thinking about it for a few days I finally posted this response.

   "I always think about that. It messes with my heart to think about how much I have and how great the needs are in the U.S. and everywhere. Praying God teaches my heart ways to live more simply. In cultures that are so much "stuff" driven it is easy to forget how I live really could affect someone else in a positive way....if I am willing to do that."

  I hope you take her challenge....Do something..."No one ever became poor from giving."

 

A Feast

Dear Marc,


I am not sure if you will change the world…but for tonight, a community of people will go to bed with full stomachs, happy hearts, and giving thanks to God for the kindness of a seven year old.

Whenever I visited the ------- it seemed poverty was everywhere.  Families lived inside the broken remains of large pipes.  They made them into a dwelling by adding an additional cement slab brick room and maybe a little “patio” out front.  The living was simple and had been that way for years.  But this year, when I came back, all of the pipes had been destroyed.  Most of the families left but....for the few who remained, the conditions were much worse.  Now, they are living in homes made from cement and scrap metal.  There is no electricity and thus, there is no fan to move the air. The temperature in the rooms soar and it feels like an oven inside. Also, there is no water supply. The pipe company has closed but continues to promise future employment when they re-open.  Unfortunately, days have dragged to months, and those still waiting have no income.

Food, when they have it consists of rice and dahl.  They are hungry. So Marc, I know that you had hungry kids on your heart but I didn’t think you would mind if I made a slight change and included the adults. Tonight, they will have a feast.  Each family got 3kgs of rice, .5 kgs of chicken, and a small bag of vegetables thanks to you.  Additonally, they got a packet of milk, a few eggs, and some bananas.   I wish you could have seen their faces.  We told them all about you, your heart, your sprit, and your family.  They wanted to see your picture. I handed the oldest lady my camera and she kissed the image of you that she saw.  You may never meet them, but I know, that you and your family have a new prayer team that lives in a small village in a very poor section of India. We know that God hears the cries and prayers of the poor.  Marc, you have made a difference. 

Country Life

I have written about the clamor of city life but country life has a different clamor.  Days start early.  Hot water for a bath is heated over an outside fire (mine was graciously delivered in a steaming pot that was carried atop my neighbor's head each morning and right to my door).

While I was shocked the first day it happened....it was not uncommon for a herd of oxen to parade by on their way to the open grazing field, as I stood outside each day brushing my teeth (only feet from my bathroom, which was located outside the main part of the house and did not contain a sink).

By 8:00 am. I would walk a short distance to a teacher's house for breakfast.  The walk was short but as I took each step I carefully checked for snakes and made sure to step around mud puddles and oxen droppings. No matter how many successful walks I made I was always feeling nervous that a snake might be lurking somewhere (the number of snake killing stories did not help ease my fears).  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner was  served and prepared each day by the teacher's sister.  She was an excellent cook.  No meal was served twice.  Options were vada with corn....cilantro with coconut, and  tomato chutney for breakfast.  There was a delicious spiced carrot raisin dessert (I had no idea that shredded carrots could taste that good) and always a new curry to try for dinner.  Their  humble, straw roofed house was wonderful: two rooms in the main house and a washroom and kitchen out back.  The main room opened to a perfectly kept backyard which was a great spot for my morning tea. The walk to school was beautiful.  The sky always seemed to threaten rain; the clouds dark and heavy gave the sky a brilliant blue tint - providing a beautiful backdrop for the mounds of hay that towered above the houses' thatched roof tops.  Cattle grazed in people’s front yards and children in neatly laundered blue dresses waited to greet us. 

It was so much fun to spend a week living in the same village as the students.  It was great to meet their families and learn about their lives. I am so thankful for all the effort everyone put into accommodating me this week.  The teaching and time at the school could not have gone better.

I Like to "Move It - Move It"

I have visited new villages several times on this trip.  At one village, some college girls came along and taught the women and children a song.  It was a hit.  During my last visit, I went but without the “entertainers.” The ladies begged me to dance.  “Dance teacher, dance.”  After numerous attempts to explain my poor dancing abilities I relented and taught the Hokey Pokey. The women were not satisfied. “No teacher. Dance teacher.”  I thought, O.K....maybe..."The Chicken." 

I got the same response.  My dancing clearly was not what they had hoped for.  Then, one young lady whispered in my ear, “Like this.....I like to move it, move it...I like to move it....move it.”  J
 I guess some things cross all cultures.  Too bad I didn’t know the dance.

Education

"I don't know," she said in very broken English as I pointed to Telugu letters and asked her to tell me the sounds. I questioned further assuming that Telugu must not be her native language (it is common for people to speak more languages than they can read).. but shaking her head she said.. "No school."  She never got to go. 
Sometimes things like this hit me hard, especially when voiced by someone  I really care about. It reminds me how lucky I am to be able to read, write, and have attended school. How cool that her children are studying in university and she is a soon to be grandma. :)

Hesitant

In city schools(in India) most children have seen a white person, but this week, for some, I was their first.  Fortunately, at this school, none cried at the sight if me (that has happened), but for sure some were hesitant.  For one beautiful little girl, the only pictures I was able to take show her looking at me very skeptically - as if checking to see whether I was real.


Often, if I am sitting on the gound with the smallest ones, they will poke my arm or lightly stroke it as if to discover whether it feels the same. Children aren’t the only ones who are curious. Adults, of course, know my skin feels the same - yet a dance of sorts seemed to play out all week as my new hosts and I tried to figure each other out.  Sometimes, I felt a like a trophy, paraded to different homes just so I could shake hands with the occupants.  Young and old would watch through the gates and ask questions of the teachers or children who were accompanying me. 

The smallest little girl in this school was not sure WHAT to think of me.  Since she was the shortest she was in the front - first kid in the first row.  Her arms were crossed tightly with eyebrows furrowed; she stared at me during the entire morning assembly.  If I stepped too close, she'd back away. She was not sure what to make of me but was determined to figure me out.  Her demeanor contrasted with most of the children who usually clamor all around in order to shake my hand. Some, I know would shake once and immediately stick it back out to be shaken again. At recess, in order to walk across the school grounds, I sometimes had to refuse to shake any hands for when I shook one - all would come running .  After a day or two, the smallest ones followed the lead of the the older students and got over their hesitancy about me but that never happened with this smallest child.  Every morning for the entire week, the stare down continued.  On my last day, she sat in the doorway of her classroom.  No other children were around to notice so I bent to shake her hand....not sure of what to expect.  She looked at my hand....gave it a nice looooong stare....and quickly pulled her own hand out from behind her back and touched mine for one second. One second was all she was willing to risk and then shoved it deep into her lap and stared. I congratulated her for her bravery. I was hopeful that since the initial contact had gone smoothly she might try again with less fear. I stuck my hand out again. With her eyes darting between my hand and my face she shook her head no.  Once was enough.  I am hopeful our brief contact took the edge off her fears and I do give her credit for trying.

Everyday Heroes

If you have not read the book titled, Half the Sky, you should.  It is not an easy read but worth your effort.  It is a book that shook my heart. It speaks of women worldwide, the trials they face and the things they do to overcome them.  They are ordinary people who do extraordinary things in their villages and neighborhoods.  Today I met some “Everyday Heroes”.

The school I have been visiting this week is in the middle of a slum.  Families live in homes made from scrap metal, wood, and tarp.  The roads are winding and muddy.  Dogs, chickens, and pigs (lots of pigs) roam freely. There is no electricity, running water, or bathrooms. The school consists of two buildings – shared by seven grade levels.  The school rooms have only one window and no lights. Children sit on the ground on mats with their backpacks, a notebook, and a slate.  There  are no “luxuries” -  no crayons, no colored charts and only a few students have books.

Yet it is here that I found some “Everyday Heroes”.  All of the teachers specifically requested to be at this school. They could have been at schools with painted walls, multiple stories, and electricity but instead they asked to teach here. 

Hero # 1-  Stays after school every day for two hours of tutoring.  As I sat waiting for my ride I asked her how much students pay for tutoring. I assumed the small fee required would pay her expenses.  “Nothing,” she said.  “Then how do you get paid?” I asked.  “Well, I don’t. You see, the children's parents can’t come for them till late at night and the homes have no electricity so it is too dark to study.  I felt they needed a place to work, so , I stay.”

Hero# 2-  Helped start this school.  Each school day I spend 45 minutes with the teachers,  sharing and discussing teaching strategies.  One day I noticed that this teacher was just leaving the school an hour after the school day finished.  Another teacher commented that she stayed late today in order to make up time with the children that she didn't get to during the day. She knows that education is hope. Today, this same teacher showed up late to my session.  Later, she apologized.  She explained that a particular family had been on her heart all morning. As she prayed and fasted at lunch she felt moved to check on them. She found that the couple was fighting.  She opened her hand to reveal what looked like black rocks.  “Poison,” she said.  “The husband was going to feed them to his wife.  I had to stay until it was settled.”  She knows this community, lifts them up in prayer, and in this case saved a life.

Hero # 3- A nurse, quiet, English speaking but timid when using English.  On her own, she would not have made my hero list because she would never share how hard she works.  Only when the others on the staff spoke of her dedication did I come to know that she stays late - sometimes until 8:00 in the evening. She goes into the village, checking on people and taking them to the hospital if necessary.  She stays long past her time.

Hero # 4- A student in fourth class (around age 9).  She is lovely. Her hair is neatly braided and she has a sweet, shy, smile.  Her teacher say she is very bright but has difficulty focusing on studies. This is understandable since I learned that her father abandoned the family and her mother has seizures.  The young lady leaves her home by five each morning in order to arrange fruit at the market. She and her 11 year old brother are the only money makers in their family.  She returns home in time to make breakfast and feed her mom and brother.  Next she heads to school. When she returns home it is time to cook and clean again. 

Hero # 5- I met her a few years back but didn’t know her very well.  In school the lessons are memorized and understanding is expected.  For those who don’t understand it can be a lonely battle.  There are so many students to reach so giving individual attention is not easy. But this hero is well aware of the strugglers in her class.  I watch as she rests her hand on the back of one student and reassure him that mistakes are alright and she will help.  When asked about how she teaches she says, “I want the children to learn to think - not to just memorize.”

Hero # 6- Cleans at the school. She is tall and lean, her cheeks sunken, and her hands rough.  After school a small two year old becomes her shadow.  This little one's mom and dad are still off at work.  Her cleaning task would go much faster if she shooed this little shadow out the door but she does not. She lets the toddler help by giving her a job and nurturing her pint sized, strong willed spirit.  The small amount this woman earns is just enough to feed her children and herself.  Her husband has left.

As I was leaving today Hero #2 asked what she should be doing differently in her classroom and what she should improve.  My response, “Nothing..... I cannot answer that question,” I said. “You are my hero and I should learn from you.  You reminded me that I should pray for my students and care for my families as you do. In this case, I feel that I should be the learner.”

 Maybe, I was lucky enough to have shared an idea that will assist her in her desire to reach all of her students.  She certainly was receptive but, in this case, in the presence of these ladies I can only stand in awe and be humbled by what I have witnessed.  I am blessed to be here and to meet true “Everyday Heroes”.

Cheap Good

Crossfitters please don’t judge. Today, it is possible, that I ate spoonfuls of sugar straight from the bag.  I was feeling desperate (I should not have felt desperate since I DID also have ice cream today...a rare but wonderful treat). I took just a tiny dab of peanut butter and attempted to satisfy my craving by coating it in sugar.  UGHH!!! Not only should I not have needed the second dessert but I certainly should not have picked sugar straight from the bag.  I could have walked to the store and easily picked up a small chocolate or something but I didn’t.  I ate spoonfuls of mildly satisfying sugar from the bag.  Sounds a bit like life sometimes.  I find that I often settle for things that are kind of good because they are convenient and familiar and easier than walking to the store or making a change. I like comfort (who doesn’t) but I don’t want to settle for something comfortable and familiar if giving up the something comfortable and familiar could lead to something great.  But mostly, unfortunately just like today, I pick to eat bagged sugar on a spoon instead of striving for something more satisfying.  So, I guess my prayer today is that my life choices do not reflect the eating choices of July 19, 2012.

Good Stuff

My heart sank. I was thinking that I still had a long time left but when I looked at a calendar I noticed that time is fleeting. I feel so confused. I never want to leave but when I think of staying my heart sinks too. I picture missing my parents and having to hug them good-bye at the airport...and I just can’t do it.  I picture my red electric blanket from Elda and I imagine not being able to curl up in my chair to sit and read with a cup of tea in the morning.  These are some of the favorites I would miss. 

I picture unending days of freezing cold showers that feel terrible no matter how hot the day was. In reality, and I  can’t imagine having a solid rice diet forever.  But on the flip side I have favorites here too.  My heart aches that I have not been to church in the villages even once this year. I know if I stayed longer I could make going a regular routine.  Nothing encourages my heart more.  I am sure it sounds crazy but I love to “lift people up." While I often don’t like the drawbacks of being a foreigner, there are some pluses that go along with that status. 

I love making people laugh at my failed Telugu attempts. Mostly though, silly as it seems, I love holding people’s hands....especially old ladies' wrinkled hands....hands that have weathered more than any hands should. I also like holding young hands that question their worth or hands that worry about pending marriages or how to raise small children.  Sometimes the hands I hold are ones with past regrets and/or questions about the future.  I guess I like to think that in a small way, those whose hands I hold are as blessed by our brief moment together as I am. That is the kind of stuff I want to have more of in my life...the really, really good stuff. 

Shanua Niequist (You should read her books)

I am fairly certain that Shauna's books have spoken to many hearts but somehow when I read them I feel fairly convinced that she is talking directly to me.  It is almost as if she has my mind because she so clearly articulates my thoughts, chapter after chapter. I feel like I am reading something I wrote (only she is much funnier). Today there was a strike in the town where I am staying so I had time to read this morning.  The chapter was on anger.. how often we get so mad at something or someone that we play it over and over in our minds, playing over whole conversations that never take place.  She talks about how debilitating that can be. She points out that really only one person is having the argument and only one person is being held back.  You know, she is right.  When I have any unsettledness or "unfinished business" it weighs me down, I can't enjoy the present moment, enjoy God's presence, or anything for that matter. I can't see beyond the problem to enjoy the beauty that the day offers. 
I am not upset, India is wonderful...but I am just thinking about how much I need to learn to live in the moment, work to clear up old junk, and trust that this day like all the others is unfolding exactly as God intended it. If I learn to listen and act as directed I will love it all even more.

Committed Teachers

I think, that when I first started coming to India I felt more confident. Over time, it seems that it should get easier to stand in front of a group of teachers and speak but it has not. Often now, I am speaking the words I planned to say but my brain is thinking something completely different. Usually, over and over again these thoughts are repeating in my mind..."You have no business talking to these teachers. You know nothing about Indian education."


In reality, that voice is probably more accurate now than it was years ago. These teachers are amazing. They tech in their third or fourth language, sometimes not even able to speak a common language with their students. There are often 50 (or more) students in a class, in rooms that are packed so tightly that you cannot walk from the front of the or back of the classroom without having to shuffle students around or step over them. Teachers do not have full cupboards... or any cupboards of supplies for that matter. They face the same pressures we do- a curriculum to follow, content to cover and students who do not always understand. There is not a resource room or extra help available. So they alone carry the burden of moving student forward.
There is no copy machine so tests and papers are written by hand. Teachers come to school by bus, sometimes traveling for more than an hour. If they miss the bus they may wait a very long time before another comes. From the bus stop they may walk a mile or more before reaching school. All receive less pay than they might elsewhere. Despite all of these truths, they accept me and allow me into their classrooms to speak with them and teach their children (me who comes from a class of 7 children with access to lots of help and full cupboards and endless resources).

I am humbled by the work done here and thrilled to be a small part of it. I am so happy this week to work with teachers who are able to use some of the ideas I have shared despite my own insecurities. I think I am the one who has much to learn.

A Lesson in Living/Loving By: Mom

  My short airplane trip from Hyderabad to New Dehli was diverted to Jaipur due to poor weather conditions in New Dehli. I was not worried because Jaipur was only a 30 minute plane ride from Hyderabad and I had almost 4 1/2 hours before my flight to the United States. Although I'd had some concern that once I left Hyderabad I would have no way of communicating with anyone (only having a U.S. phone, no computer or i-Pad), Lauren assured me that the time between flights should allow for smooth connections.


  As we continued to sit in the airplane, with delay after delay, my concern grew. Four hours after landing in Jaipur, we finally were airborne. We landed in New Dehli with only 30 minutes remaining to catch my flight to the United States and I still had to go through immigration, navigate through the airport to find my gate (gate had not been assigned on my boarding pass), and make it onto the plane. Only two immigration stations were open. The official scrutinized the address I had given as a location while in India. I realized that I really didn't know any of the addresses and had written the address of the airport hotel we stayed in upon arriving in New Dehli.  Time ticked by - he finally let me through but the time for departure had passed.  Some passengers behind me speculated that the plane might be held because of the unforeseen weather delay (pre-monsoon showers). I raced into the airport and found the first arrival/departure screen available (hoping to find my gate number). There flashed the stark reality....the plane had departed. Two young girls looked at the screen with me and I conveyed the message that the plane had taken off. They ran to tell their dad....who joined me, in disbelief.

  Thus began the formation of the randomly displaced group of 17 who missed their flight to the United States. The time was 11:30 P.M. I was the only non-Indian in the group and the only single female. Whatever level of calm I had clung to thus far quickly began to erode as I realized my communication limitations and my minimal understanding of travel rights. Verbal exchanges in Hindi or Telegu began but I had little clue of the content. I knew that my best chance of a successful outcome was to cling to the group. By 3:00 A.M. we were still in the airport going through procedural paperwork and were told that the missed flight was not the fault of Jet Airlines. Thus there were no guarantees for a flight out the next day and no hotel accommodations were being made.

  Families began to make plans to leave the airport and find a hotel for the night. As they began to move towards the exits to hail a cab, I tried to stay close. I didn't want to camp all night, by myself, in the airport guarding my luggage. One of the group, a young man named Meer, who seemed to be an organizer, said, “You can stick with me.” He secured cabs for the two of us and three other families and we headed for a hotel near the airport. From then on, each step of the way, he oversaw my needs.

  I am in awe of these generous people, words cannot convey how I was taken in as one with, rather than as the “foreigner” I was. At the hotel, Meer said that he was going to order some food and asked what I would like. I explained that I had no money, having given almost all of my remaining rupees to Lauren, knowing that I would not need them. He said not to worry, we would have the food put on the hotel bill and I could pay by credit card when we left. So he placed the order and the food was delivered. He made sure that I was not alone in the hotel, getting a room next to mine, checking out the accommodations, making sure the air conditioning and fan worked. When I mentioned that nobody in my family knew of my situation, he offered his phone so I could try and reach Lauren (at 3:00 A.M.). She was asleep so I left a text.

  At 8:00 A.M. there was a knock at my door, I was afraid to open it but did. The hotel clerk stood with a bill for the food ordered during the night and wanted payment. I tried to explain that I had no rupees and thought that I could pay the total with the hotel bill. However, since the food was actually purchased off-site that probably wasn't going to work. He eventually left and two hours later there was another knock – Meer appeared and told me he had taken care of the bill.

  For breakfast I decided to make due with the granola bars I still had left and I wanted to offer some to the other families. I knocked on the doors of the two families who actually made it to the hotel with us and found that the family of 4 and the family of 3 had all slept in one bed. While my room left something to be desired, their situation was worse. After sharing what I had, I returned to the room.

  An hour later, there was a knock at the door and Sati was there, offering the breakfast she had purchased for me. I once again explained that I had no money – but she said that it was not a concern. Shortly thereafter Rao appeared and wondered whether I had been able to contact my family. I explained that my husband did not know and I wasn't sure whether my daughter did either. He said that he had a friend in India who had an international phone and he would call him and ask him to call Doug. He also let me use the phone to call Lauren, who had a local phone. I was able to reach her and let her know the circumstances. Once I was able to get word out to them, I felt a sense of relief. I then was able to sleep a little bit more.

  I snacked on granola bars until we left for the airport around 5:30 P.M. I was able to pay the hotel bill with my debit card (the first time I had ever used one) and offered Meer the 200 rupees that I had left to go towards the returning cab ride. I told him that once we got to the airport, if someone would help me use an ATM machine, I would pay him back – he brushed my offer off. However, things did not go smoothly at the airport. As we approached the ticket counter we thought we had vouchers for the same flight we had missed the night before but that's not how things unfolded. By about 7:00, fourteen of the 17 airplane refugees got tickets and 3 of us were put on standby. The group rallied around me and would not leave me side while I waited. At around 8:00 they were ready to head towards the gate, and I was still without a ticket. Meer said to me, “You have to eat,” and bought me a doughnut and a beverage. He then took 500 rupees out of his wallet and gave it to me. I told him, “No,” but he insisted, stating that I could return the money when I finally was issued a ticket. He instilled hope. Bijay took me to an ATM and together we were able to obtain 500 rupees. I returned the money to Meer. Rao called his friend in India and once again asked him to make another international call. Meer allowed me to try and text Doug with his phone. A call was made to Lauren to let her know that a flight had not been secured.

  My support group started to the gate and I was left with a single man, I had not met previously, and a father with two daughters who were still short one ticket assignment. Their focus appeared to be on their own needs … and I knew that I was somewhat more on my own. One of the ticket agents indicated that by 9:30 they would be able to tell us whether we would be seated on the flight. The plane was scheduled to leave at 10:50 P.M. By 9:30 we moved towards the ticket counter...where we waited and waited. The ticketing agent acknowledged us but still did not attend to our needs. Finally, around 10:00 he told us that we would all get on but the process of issuing tickets seemed to drag...and time was ticking. It was after 10:00 before I had a ticket and I still had to go through immigration (for the second time having done it the night before) and then security. Immigration went quickly this time but I got stuck in security because the people in front of me had packages that were falling apart inside the scanner. (At this point, I was the last of the 17 still not on the plane.) Meanwhile, the United Airlines agents told me that I needed to hurry because the plane was boarding. I tried to get into another lane but that was not allowed. Once cleared, I ran to the gate, where there was yet another screening process. When I finally boarded the plane....my group, who were scattered throughout the plane, rose and cheered. Meer found me and handed me his phone saying, “Your daughter has been worried, talk to her.”

  Over and over I thanked these wonderful people who took me under their wing. I was so appreciative of their kindness and generosity. I kept thinking, would a foreigner be so warmly adopted in the United States, would we so lovingly share our time, resources, and money? Would we be so caught up in caring for our own needs that we would not risk anything that might jeopardize that? I have tears in my eyes again, right now as I remember and relish the love I was shown.

  I have many wonderful memories of my time in India but this one is a memory of the heart. While it was extraordinarily special, I must say that inclusion was the predominant theme wherever I went. I never once felt like a stranger in India. I was always treated as a familiar friend. There was an openness of spirit that exuded “one with.” These are lessons that I want to remember. I thank God for teaching me in this way.

  Before I left the plane, I walked to the back and located Meer. I handed him the remaining 500 rupees I'd gotten through the ATM. It was the last I saw of this wonderful young man.

Her Life in India by:Mom

She said, "I am different in India," and perhaps she is.
Anticipation built from the time we boarded the plane in Cleveland - soon she would reconnect with dear friends, reunite in worship, pray in village homes, laugh with shoeless children while seated on straw mats covering dirt floors, and share chapati, dhal, rice, and curd around a small table while reminiscing over shared experiences.
In the Hyderabad airport she gazed up at the blue sky and breathed in deeply. The blue sky and sultry air wrapped tightly around her with welcoming arms. When the familiar voice of our driver greeted her she nearly leapt into the van that would carry us to our destination.
Upon driving onto the campus greeters were drawn to the American girl, many running up to say, "Hello." She called them all by name, remembering details about each of their families. There was a camaraderie one would expect among long time friends rather than annual acquaintances.
All of this was magnified once she stepped foot into the villages where people living in squalor ventured out of tentativeness into relationship - recognizing genuine sincerity and warmth, emanating from one who neither looked or sounded familiar. Perhaps she is a Pied Piper of sorts - with children clamoring for attention whenever she walked by.
Relationships are not formed by accident - people are drawn in by eyes that truly see, ears that truly hear, and a heart that truly cares.  Children through adults sought her out, teachers invited her into their classrooms because there was no sense of judgment but rather a sense of partnership that offered possibilities.
Time and time again I heard that she was seen as an "Indian girl," one who became one with rather than a foreigner passing through.  A dear Indian friend calls her, "daughter," a title lovingly bestowed. 

I am only one, But still I am one. I cannot do everything, But still I can do something; And because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

The other shoppers in the bookstore today, crowded around to hear Marc’s story, even asking questions as they tried to wrap their mind around the tale of this generous and ambitious seven year old.


Last year Marc developed a heart for India and wanted to do something. So, by saving his allowance he bought five of his favorite books and sent them with me to pass out to schools. Months later his mom called, after the family returned from a trip to the beach. On the trip Marc had collected an abundance of shells – more than any kid should be taking home. When his mother asked, “Why all the shells?” he told her that he wanted to sell them to make money for the kids in India. Inspired by her son’s vision and wanting to help him fulfill it, she was somewhat uncertain whether many people would purchase any of her son’s shells. After some crafty packaging, the date for the sale was set. With final preparations in place Marc said he wanted to make sure to invite “the guys” (his baseball team) and handed out fliers. At his sale Marc raised $140.00. Inspired by his efforts, a friend from church offered to match Marc’s sum…bringing his total to $280.00. Driven by his desire to do even more Marc informed the donor that with only $20.00 more he could reach $300.00. It was given. Joined by yet another donor and ten dollars of his own allowance Marc was able to send $410.00 to India. His plan is to fill an empty library with books and give the rest to “feed the hungry kids.”

Thanks Marc for inspiring me, those in the bookstore, and now those reading this blog, of your generous heart. A few days before leaving for India Marc’s asked his mom, “Mom, do you know what I am thinking…. I think that next year I need to build a lot of libraries.”

If you would like to help Marc reach his goal please let me know.. or just be inspired to

From Scraps To Tapestry

Enter a door to safety. Inside, women's lives shredded by hardship are pieced together by the loving hands of those who see beauty where others have seen waste. Scraps gently lifted and held to the light – revealing threads of gold, red, amber, magenta, etc. Carefully salvaged, restored and pieced together – new creations.

A hand held out – healing – lives lifted up. Rejoice!!

Train of Thought

The rain is pouring down the window of the train.  What are they doing now?  They said the roof leaks.  Has the mud floor turned into a mud puddle?  He lay curled up on an empty rice bag. His wife, head down and arms crossed, sat beside him in the metal walled home that felt like a baking oven.   Is it muddy?  Can they keep a fire burning in the rain to cook the food?  Maybe that doesn’t matter. Last night, they said they had no food to cook anyway.  

We Made It (by my mom)

We are here. Happy to say those words after almost encountering a glitch before even arriving in Hyderabad. Following an overnight stay in Delhi, with a flight scheduled for 9:15 a.m., we stepped up to the check-in counter only to be told that we were too late for our flight (even though we thought we still had plenty of time). It was time to run. Even if we got on the flight our checked baggage would not likely make it. We were ready to hustle, but Lauren had an extra special examination of her electronic equipment, an exasperating delay. Lauren told me to hurry on ahead to try and secure our spot. When I got to the gate, there was no one to be seen…just one official looking person who radioed that we had arrived. Lauren puffed in behind me and we boarded the plane. Upon landing we planted ourselves at the baggage carousel...just in case. We waited and watched and waited and watched….and down the chute dropped our red and green bags. 

Within minutes we were met by our driver, who escorted us into our next adventure….driving on the roadways of India, an adrenaline spiking transportation experience, which is not for the faint of heart.  A confluence of cars, trucks, bicycles, pedestrians, dogs, cows, auto rickshaws, and motorbikes all jockey for dominance on the road, all vying to squeeze into whatever space may open up in the traffic while continually administering fervent thrusts to the brake and horn.

Yes, we are happy to be here.

Closing the Gap

“You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place, I told him, like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again.” 
― Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran

A great part about returning to India over and over is I get to be "that person" every year for six weeks....This time, is a new adventure.. My mom will be joining me.  For her, it will be a new adventure of smells, sights and sounds.  For me, it will be an adventure of letting her see a part of me, an inner joy that only seems to show it self a whole world away. 

Let the adventure begin!