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