Falling in Love at a Sari Shop

I think that possibly, maybe I’m falling for you

Yes there’s a chance that I’ve fallen quite hard over you

I’ve seen the beauty your fabric cretes

I want to wear you…

I think that possibly maybe I’m falling for you

Yes, I have fallen in love. With the sari. With Indian fashion in general, actually, and with Indian textiles. The colors, the textures, the weight, the embroidery…all of it. Today I went Christmas shopping with Rachel Patil, and she brought me someplace I have never been before. It is the Mysore Silk Emporium, and I’m pretty sure that I was in heaven. It was like a dream – you tell them what you are looking for, they lead you to the appropriate counter, and bring out fabrics, scarves, saris of all colors and price ranges. The tears came when I climbed up the stairs only to find bolts and bolts of incredible, incredible fabric. I don’t think Rachel shares quite the affinity for textiles that I do, so I didn’t linger as I could have, but I have big plans to return by myself and spend at least two hours perusing, feeling, and absorbing the beauty of it all.

Walking to School

This morning I had to go into town to meet a friend,
and I left early because you never know how long it will take to catch the bus.
I saw two of the girls up ahead on the road, but I also knew that they were running kind of late for school so I didn't call to them.
However, about 5 minutes later, they saw me.
They stopped, waited, and took my hands.

I was walking to Kothanur, and they were walking to Kothanur,

and we did so hand-in-hand.

Soon we came upon the rest of the 6th and 7th standard girls,

and I walked with them all the way to school.

I had a great day shopping, but this short walk

was probably the highlight of my day

and is something I will remember forever.

Almost Fluent

It's really too bad that my time in India is almost over.

Besides the obvious reasons that I'm sad,

I am getting really good at Kannada.

And by really good, I mean I can make some sentences,

my vocabulary is increasing,

and I can understand tumba kannada.

It was hard for me to catch onto at the beginning

because it's SO different from the romance languages that I know,

but now I can make sense of the sounds and noises

and it's a language that I would really like to be able to speak...

too bad they don't speak it anywhere but Karnataka.

An Indian Thanksgiving

Wearing plaid, listening to Josh, I could see my breath on my morning run, and, with a little imagination, breakfast tasted like stuffing. It’s kind of really Thanksgiving J

Other than that, though, an Indian Thanksgiving is pretty uneventful. It’s clearly not celebrated here, and we were working, as usual.

One of my highlights, though, was a facebook message I got from one of my students. I had written to let her know that I picked up her sari blouse at the tailors, and I received back a much longer message thanking me, telling me they missed me, and then wishing me happy thanksgiving. With an, “Oh. I don’t know if you do this in your family, but if you do….” And she proceeded to write a list of all the things that she is thankful for, and invited me to do the same. It was so cute, and quite the blessing as I sat and thought, really, of what I was thankful for. From silly things, like Sid's plaid shirt I was wearing that reminds me of holiday festivities, to serious things, like how thankful I am that I was not put through the Indian school system, to meaningful, like the growth that i can see in myself and the ability to see who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, because the main purpose is to just be with the people that you love. And looking around today, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and amazement that here I am, in india, halfway around the world from my family and friends, yet I am still surrounded by people that I love. And who love me. And that, dear ones, is something to be thankful for.

All for Ice Cream

it’s funny what girls will do for ice cream. Anybody, really, but girls in particular. Debbie and I, specifically. The girls were on leave again today (seriously, I think they have at least one holiday every week. These government schools will do anything to get a day off…) so English class was canceled and we headed into Kothanur to do the errand-running that we didn’t do on Monday. Which culminated in going to Cornerhouse.

In order to go to Cornerhouse, we had to hail an auto, ask him to drive us there, wait for us, and take us back. Thankfully, we had a wonderful man who charged us on the meter plus twenty rupees to wait from the get-go, no bargaining required. Phew. I had to direct him as we went, because I don’t know street names, have only been to Cornerhouse on the bike, and it looks a lot different in the night than the day. We made it, though, and ate our ice cream. It was Debbie’s first time, and it was fun watching her fall in love.

We laughed on the way back, because we spent more time in the auto than we did in the ice cream parlor. We also spent more money on an auto than we did on ice cream.

But it was so worth it.

I Think I'm in Love

His name is Nazar, he’s about 35 years old, and he is married with one spunky daughter.

But seriously.

Nazar has a deep passion for children, and it is so evident whenever you talk to him. Not only does he love children, though, he is passionate about empowering them. For some reason, I hadn’t talked to him a lot about his work or how he got where he is, but I have been spending more time with him recently (we even chatted on the phone on Thursday night) and wish that I had placed myself by his side from the beginning.

His eyes light up when he talks about his work with the children in the villages, and the way the girls love and respect him is unbelieveable. He’s an educator, yes, but he isn’t a teacher who stands in front of the room. He places the power in the hands of the children, and to see the impact that that has is astounding. I think that I could stay on another six months just to observe Nazar. I would learn sooo much. And I hope that, one day, I can be as empowering, passionate, patient and gentle an educator as Nazar.

I wish I would Have...

Well, it is exactly 4 weeks until I start the long journey home.
And today, there are so many things that have happened, people I have met,
That make me wish I would have done it so much sooner.
Tonight Debbie and I were leaving to walk to Kothanur
And just happened to be going at the same time as Pramilla, Tungha and Jyothi, some of the RLC staff. When they heard that we were going to Kothanur, they invited us to make a larger circle and walk to their homes in Bayrathi Bunde before Kothanur.
We never made it to Kothanur.
We visited each of their homes, starting with Tungha’s, which is a small one-room hourse she shares with her daughter and two sons. She made us delicious coffee (wow how I am going to miss fresh coffee!) and her son went to the stand outside to buy us biscuits and juice. Then we moved on to Pramilla’s house, but on the way she stopped at the same stand to buy us a “Karnataka Special” snack…which tasted strangely like Bugles. Pramilla’s husband (who has now passed away) was a construction worker, and for that she has been blessed with a bit of a larger home that she shares with her 11-year-old son who reminded me SO much of JJ. We declined the offer of tea or coffee, but on the insistance of her son that “You must drink something” sipped the glasses of water that were offered to us as Debbie murmered under her breath, “And will we have diarrhea tomorrow?”
We ended our neighborhood visit at Jyothi’s house; Jyothi is new on staff and oh-so-cute. Her oldest daughter told me that she saw me yesterday at Bala Mela, which made me (a) laugh because in a group of 7,000 of course she saw me, I was the white girl in a sari and (b) a little bit nervous because it’s quite possible that she was one of the ones wanting to talk to or touch me that I ignored. Luckily, through our conversation I gathered that I hadn’t been rude to her.
It was quite the wonderful evening, full of SO much food and hospitality and Debbie and I returned to Visthar without completing what we set out to do, but so thankful we took the walk to Byrathi Bunde. It made me wish I had trekked over there earlier, because I could have connected with these ladies so much more if I had had months to walk home with and visit them…as it is, I now only have a few weeks.

Bala Mela

I hate carnivals.

The girls have been so excited – and I have too – for today. It was “Bala Mela”, which is a big festival put on by an NGO called ECHO for the NGOs of Bangalore hat work with underprivileged children. A day when each can come, the children can perform, and there are food and games. Nazar started working on a drama about the story of the Indian girl child with the girls, and he was gone in Koppal so I have been practicing with them. They really are talented, and the story is moving. So YAY we’re going to Bala Mela with 5,000 other children. Great, awesome, wonderful.

For some reason, it didn’t register until today that “food and games” meant, in essence, a carnival. I also didn’t think about the fact that I was going to be basically the only white person there.

Picture this: the Annandale 4^th of July carnival. Or any small-town Minnesota carnival. Old, dirty games, cheap prizes, nasty smells, loud noises, rude children and sooooo many people. Now imagine that, in addition, you are the only person attending from the city. Everybody else is a country mouse, and you can tell. Because you’re from the city, you’re a big deal. Everybody stops and stares, the brave come touch your hair or pinch your skin, the women ask you to tell their daughters they are beautiful and hold their babys’ hands. Oh, and all of the men ask where you’re from and tell you you are looking very beautiful today.

It’s a fine line for me, because while I don’t want to perpetuate the ideology that being white is better or more beautiful than being of Indian skin tone, but neither do I want to ignore people who are just trying to be friendly. Normally, I don’t notice that I’m the only white person, and I make short and friendly conversation with those who initiate it. But the girls have never been with me in this kind of situation, and you better believe that they noticed that everybody else noticed that I am white. And they didn’t like it one bit. Even for me, today was overwhelming. I became an attraction. I dreaded leaving the program pavilion. And the girls kept me there, because “There are very bad people here, Aunty.”

We were sitting on the curb waiting for our bus when some women walked by lookoing at me. I smiled, and one of the girls aske,d “you know her, Aunty?” no, I said, “But why did you smile?” she asked. I explained a little bit of Minnesota nice, and they laughed. A few minutes later a group of guys walked by and said, “you look very beautiful in the Indian sari today”. I said thank you and averted my eyes, and Renuka proceeded to tell me that the next time anybody said anything she was going to stand up and fight them. Deepa covered my face with her scarf so I wouldn’t have to see anybody when they looked at me. These girls are the sweetest, and the cutest, and I am so thankful (a) to have them and (b) that they don’t esteem me any higher than themselves because of my skin color…that to them, I am just an aunty and a friend.

Oh but P.S. our drama was awesome. Most of the other NGOs did dances, and a lot of them were to modern music. I was appalled because a lot of the songs were sexual…and these were vulnerable children. However, you can also note that the only reason I knew the content was that those parts were in English. Thank you, Western influence. Even the other dramas, though, were waayyyy too long or confusing. Ours was simply music, it was 6 minutes long, and it was powerful. I filmed it…

A World Where They Speak English?

Sometimes I wonder what it will be like once I return to America and understand everything that people are saying.

I am so used to the melodic tones of Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil, and Hindi. Never do I feel uncomfortable because I don't understand something...because most of the time, I completely understand contextually what is going on. But I don't know what they are saying, exactly. And I think that, once I return to America, it may be very overwhelming to suddenly be in an environment where I speak their language fluently....and they speak mine.

Hm. Interesting to think about.

Investing Work in Nothing

Last night, Debbie and I decided that we should have started a blog a looooong time ago about our life working in India. Because seriously, I think we would have a lot of hits. In fact, they would probably want to make a movie about us. The number of crazy and frustrating things that happen in Indian work culture are absolutely astounding.

At tea this morning, it was reconfirmed: we should have started a blog. I just wish we would have thought of it sooner, because by now we have purposely forgotten much of what has happened to us. However, to give you a snapshot, here are the highlights from just the last few days:

- There is a group from Germany here using the space for an art program. Mercy thought it would be a good idea to do a workshop for them on women in India using Francois’ dolls. The date was set for Saturday. On Wednesday, Francois was talking with the group and they said, “No, it the workshop isn’t on Saturday. On Saturday we are going to Chennai. We have the program planned for Friday.”
- A Dutch program left yesterday. They had stocked the dining hall fridge full of Kingfishers and wine and have been drinking it openly during meals. Visthar has a strict no-alcohol-on-campus policy. Therefore the staff was quite upset. The question that we are asking, though, is Did they know about the policy??? Francois didn’t know, and she has been here 3 weeks. The Germans, who saw the Dutch drinking, are now bringing alcohol to campus. But the directors think they cant do anything about it, because the Dutch did it and they can’t stop the Germans from doing it now. So clearly nobody told the Germans…
- Visthar annually produces beautiful calendars to raise money for an outside cause. The Bandhavi girls do the drawings, and they are printed on the recylcled paper from our paper unit. David is really gung-ho about marketing these calendars and after a conversation with the Germans told us that if we could translate it into German before they leave on Saturday, the group will purchase 400 to bring back with them and sell. So poor Debbie spent all day yesterday trying to translate a Native American prayer (only to discover that only the first and second paragraph were the actual prayer…the rest had been written by Mercy…but that isn’t the issue at hand) and when she told the group this morning that she had done so and were they interested in seeing it? They told her that no, they had absolutely no interest in taking home calendars this year; it was too late to purchase anything to market for Christmastime and besides, they already have many calendars from other organizations. Perhaps next year they would be interested in some, but definitely not 400. But maybe they would like to take a few English calendars home for their own use?
- We are expecting a visit from the Gustavus professor who will be coming on SJPD next year. We are also in the process of expanding this program. At our last meeting, we decided we would have the proposal finished so that David could bring it with him to MN this winter. Sid and Roshen (my power team) are in Hyderabad with the students so we have been struggling to work together via email to cobble it together piece by piece. Sid has been really gung-ho, and on Tuesday night when I told him that there really wasn’t a rush, he had other things to do and we can go more slowly he said, “Wait, didn’t they tell you? They want the proposal ready to give to the professor when he comes.” I said, “Sid. The professor who is coming on Monday who I am hosting for breakfast and planning a welcome ceremony for? Monday as in 5 days from now?” Yup. One and the same.
- Along the same lines…Visthar is very busy right now. We have a lot of things going on, but everything was kind of stopping to revolve around the visit of this professor. We are inaugurating a new campus in Koppal, about 12 hours north, this weekend, but one of the directors stayed back to have breakfast with the professor and me. This morning what did we find out? That the professor has canceled his trip.
- Speaking of Koppal, have I mentioned that the campus buildings were supposed to be finished in August? And then in October for the SJPD program to stay in when we visited? Well…we stayed in a hotel. And I talked to Nasser last night, who went up to Koppal on Sunday, and he said that everybody is working from 5am – 12:30am daily to get things done and make it look nice for the inaugeral.

Yup, there it is. A snapshot into the wonderful world of working in India.

My Dream Is...

In English class, we've started our dreams unit.

Earlier this year, I had a conversation with Lakshmi when she told me she wants to be a doctor and then asked, "What is your dream, aunty?" This is a conversation that takes place frequently, so I decided it would be reallly cool to take a picture of each girl and have them write a little blurb about what their dreams are, putting them into a book at the end. So that is our new English project, and it has been a little bit difficult for some of the girls to grasp the idea. We want to emphasize not only that dreams are what you want to be when you grow up, but to talk about WHY that is your dream, and that you shouldn't be afraid to dream big. Also, your dreams don't have to be only about you, but about the world. For example, My dream is to be a teacher so that all children can learn how to read. My dream is to visit Jen Aunty in America. My dream is that all children have food to eat.

I was a bit nervous to start this with the youngest girls; they're kind of rambunctious and I thought it could possibly be a difficult conversation. However, as usual, they surprised me.

We talked for almost a whole hour about dreams, and about their villages where children only get one meal a day and families live without houses, without blankets, without clothing. We talked about what kind of dreams they could have that would help these people, and to see their passion and their excitement thinking of a world that is better than the one that they know was absolutely heartrending and inspiring.

Big Night Out

Today, Debbie and I had a big night out.

By Big Night Out, I mean we left Visthar at 2:30. We went to town. We went shopping. We ate in a food court. And we went to an English movie. Today is Eid-ul-Zuha, so the streets were fairly empty and for once walking through Bangalore was relaxing, not wearying. It was the first time I've seen an English film in theatres here, and I loved being able to relate to the cultural references that were used...sometimes, I was the only one in the theatre laughing.

We got back to Visthar at almost 11pm. Which is way past our bedtime. But it was so worth it.

Proud Mama

I feel like a proud proud parent.

Kengemma, who I have been "reading" with every once in a while,

sounded out a word by herself!

Let me back up by saying that Kengemma is in 4th standard.

She comes to me, puts her hands in front of her face, and says,

"Aunty. English study?"

Coming from a girl who once ran away embarrassed when I asked if she wanted to read with me, this is incredible.

Reading for Kengemma consists of spelling out every word letter by letter.

I'm pretty sure that she struggles with learning differences (for which the Indian school system, especially the government schools, have no accomodation); she may read an "I" in one word, but in the next word she sees that "I" as an "S" or "T". Words are just a bunch of letters for Kenge, and they hold no meaning.

I would love to video our reading sessions, because she is the absolute cutest. If she doesn't know a letter, she'll hold up her hand to keep me from telling her the answer. But then she'll get this sneaky look on her face and whisper, "One Aunty, just one tell me". Gosh darn it she is precious.

Each time we read, I try to get her to sound out one word. Only one, and then every time we see it I ask her to pronounce it after she spells it. It had been awhile since we read last, so the word last weekend was "the". Today, after we reviewed "the" a few more times, I moved on to "it". "Is" was on the next page, and because they were similar, I took a leap and asked her to pronounce it. With a little help, she figured it out.

But the grand finale came on the next page. The first sentence had "the". Check. The next sentence started with "It is in." I pointed at "It" and she pronounced it. Pointed to "is" and she knew. Then I pointed to "in", a word that we hadn't worked with before...and she sounded it out all by herself!

I started to cry. I caught myself, but the tears and the welling up of emotion in my chest were definitely there. Throughout the next couple pages, we worked on identifying "the" "it" "is" and "in". These sound like small victories, and they are, but oh so meaningful!

New Earth

Now that poverty has become so much more personal to me,

I can understand so much more of the Bible

and of God's call for justice.

Before, I knew it was there

I would read God's heart for the oppressed,

my heart would break with his,

and I would feel anger towards structural injustice,

and a desire to do something.

But what, and how?

Now I have seen it, experienced it,

and I am walking through life with those who are victims of oppression,

and the call of the prophets, the life of Jesus, the responsibility of Christians

to bring God's kingdom to earth

has such greater meaning.

I think that often we read the prophets as something of the past,

a story of God's call to his people and to Babylon etc to repent.

What we in the West don't realize is that the injustices the prophets are crying out against

still exist.

Last night I was reading Isaiah,

and my heart yearned for the New Earth

that we always speak so much about...but whose meaning I don't know that we grasp.

At least I hadn't.

The sound of weeping and of crying will be heard in it no more. Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years; the one who dies at a hundred will be thought a mere child....They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit. No longer will they build houses and others live in them, or plant and others eat....my chosen ones will long enjoy the work of their hands. They will not labor in vain, nor will they bear children doomed to misfortune... (Isaiah 65)

When I read this passage, the images that come to mind are India. Not the superpower India that you hear about in business, and not the India that Obama interacted with when he was here last week. This is real India. Infants die malnourished, females are killed via gender-selective abortion or shortly after birth because girl children of of no use - they simply another mouth to feed and a large dowry to pay. India has the 2nd largest population in the world, but only 5.2% are over the age of 65. Many have been displaced by settlers and farmers, given instead a plot of land worth 45 cents, and rather than work the land for their own sustainability they are paid meager amounts to produce food for others. The work that most of India does is not for them, it is for the benefit of those who are already wealthy...or at least better off. And their children, their dear sweet children, are born doomed to the same undignified life.

I wish you could see the images that I have when I read this passage, the people who I've met who flash through my mind...I only wish that, when I read "Your kingdom come" in the New Testament, of "freedom for prisoners and the recovery of sight for the blind", of "setting the oppressed free" that the images coming to mind were as vivid...if not more.

Making Poverty Personal

Although I have been living among the poor for 5 months now,

have been meeting people

and spending time in village communities,

tonight the reality of the meaning of poverty became personal.

Yesterday, while we were watching a Kannada film (It's called Milano - I recommend it), Padma (our oldest girl) started to cry. She is generally strong - very strong - and when others cry she tells them to stop. Previous times when she has cried she has been ashamed. Yesterday though, she didn't stop. For about a half and hour she just cried. None of the girls knew why, and she didn't want to talk, so I just sat holding her hand and wiping her tears.

Tonight, she came to me and said, "Aunty. Yesterday I had a phone call with very bad news." Her brother had called, and he is not well. "Is he sick?" I asked. "No Aunty. In my village, there is no food." Now, already I knew that Padma's mother died about 2 years ago, 3 years this April. Her father passed away a month after her mother. I knew that she had a small sister (who is here at Bandhavi) and also two brothers who were aged similar to mine. And a cute 2-3 year old sister as well. For some reason, I hadn't realized that there were 8 children all together. Her oldest sister is married, and she has left the village with her husband, taking the smallest girl with her. Another brother lives near Bangalore, and this, her 13 year old brother, is living in the village with an aunt. "Aunty, there is no food. And my aunt is beating him," she said. My heart broke. "Is this the village you will return to when you are finished here?" I asked her. "Yes Auntie. But I am not going back. It is very bad in my village. I will stay here." "Here?" I asked. "You will be finished with Visthar when you graduate, Padma. Then what will you do?" "I don't know Aunty. I won't be here. I won't be there. It is very bad. I will be...somewhere." "Do you have a dream, Padma?" "No dream, Aunty. Dreams are bad."

This is common in India. Food shortages, domestic abuse, girls without dreams...girls who know they can't have dreams because they won't come true. All this I knew, and I have seen, but in talking to Padma it became real. It broke my heart. And I don't know what to do about it.

Children's Day

November 14th is Children's Day in India. It is Nehru's birthday (Nehru was India's first prime minister after Independence from Britain), and for some reason (nobody yesterday really knew why), they have decided to celebrate Nehru's birthday by celebrating children.

What a beautiful idea and a beautiful day. I celebrated with the girls and we invited children from Kotumba, a nearby NGO that is a home for disabled girls, to join us in the celebration. I gave a welcome speech, and there was singing and kolatta [traditional Indian dance], a drama and biscuits with juice.

Why don't we celebrate a Children's Day in the United States? We have Mother's Day and Father's Day...but not Children's Day. Maybe it's because in many cultures in America, we rush childhood. From the youngest age, we ask children what they want to be when they grow up. Throughout school, they are being prepared for when they grow up. Children are taught that every activity they do will go on their transcript, which will transfer to their college applications, which will provide experience for future jobs. Therefore nothing [and I am using the word 'nothing' in a harsh and over-generalizing manner] we do as children is for the fun, innocent joy of being a child. It focuses on the future. Children don't need to be celebrated in one day - Mothers and Fathers, now they do a lot of work. They definitely deserve a celebration. Some may argue that we do celebrate children daily because our lives as mothers and fathers, teachers and caretakers, revolve around them. Which is true, in a sense. But when do we actually celebrate childhood?

We can learn so much from children. Even my girls, who have experienced a lot more of the harshness, complexity, and struggle of this world than I probably ever will, still have a childlike trust, innocence, and blitheness from which I learn daily. Through the lens of a child, life is so simple and clear. One song that the girls sang was about the impact of America on India, on the impact of Western business and globalization on Indian lifestyle, economy, and livelihood. It wasn't a song they were forced to sing; they heard it on the radio, copied the words, and practiced to sing it because they believed it. "Before, we used to drink coconut water. Then coca cola came and started producing in India. It polluted the land and the water and made life harder for those in agriculture. Coca cola is bad for you, and now children want to drink it instead of coconut water. It is expensive and people cant afford it and they feel bad because they cant give their children what they want." This could clearly be quite a political song, yet for the girls, there were no politics involved; rather, as children they saw it as truth, plain and simple. There was no judgement; they just saw the effects on their lives and the people they love and wanted to tell us about it. (Another thought that would require another blogpost is this: would American children be aware of issues like this and care enough to sing a song about it?)

Jesus said we must be like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven...how often do we remember this? And what does it even mean?

Light in the Darkness

Tonight as I was riding with the girls to a dance performance in the city, we drove past the church with it's red cross aglow on its roof. The doors were open wide revealing the activity going on inside; it appeared as if a small choral group was practicing...

I smiled, as the warm glow and spirit exuding through the doors brought me home to my church family. I marveled at the small church and the lack of resources that I know it experiences, yet how just the fact that the door was open and there were joyful faces inside made me want to enter in.

Immediately I was brought back to "vision" meetings that I have participated in in the states. Let's build a big building - that will bring people to church! Let's have an arcade - everybody will want to come to youth group! Let's integrate celebrities into our dramas - then people will know that Christianity is cool! Our church will be on the map, and people will know who we are...and, of course, will know who Jesus is through us.

Something about that has always bothered me, and tonight I realized why.

Did Jesus ever say, "They will know that you are Christians by the things that we have"? No. In fact, Jesus probably didn't have much himself. Last I checked, it was, "They will know that you are Christians by your love." Church of America, do you know that much of our affluence and perpetuation of things is in fact what has turned most of the world - and much of America for that matter - away from the church?

The Kothanur church I speak of is small and one-roomed. There is no arcade, no ipod giveaways at youth events, no hot tubs at retreats [their retreat WAS trekking through a nearby jungle, though, which although simple is pretty cool], and I've never heard speak of a celebrity guest. However, this church is very involved in its community. From the few times I've attended I can tell you that its heart is for justice and for Jesus can't be beat, and on Sunday morning people are spilling out of its doors, with chairs set up on its front step and people lingering under the portico.

Micah 6:8 comes to mind, and as I reflect on the American church I can't help but ask myself, what on earth has made us think that we will bring people to Jesus through things? Although I do realize that living in American society amidst American consumerism, it appears as if this is indeed the way to do it. That this is the way to draw people to church and therefore to Jesus. But I wonder. We always say that money can't buy love...is it any different when it comes to evangelism, when we attract people to Christ through things? How did Jesus bring people to himself? Shouldn't we be spending that time, that energy, that money on loving people? Sharing those resources with those who need it?

Isaiah 58 says that, "If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."

I would love to see American churches becoming lights in the darkness because they spend themselves on behalf of the needy rather than from the electric glow of the video games in the basement. And wouldn't you rather be known for being the restorer of streets with dwellings than as the church with the delicious cafe?

If I Had a Million Dollars...

I decided today that there are two things that I am going to do as soon as I enter the MSP airport. The first is to buy a postcard showing pics of Minneapolis. I am going to address it immediately and send it ASAP back to Visthar.

The second is to buy a lottery ticket.

Because if I had a million dollars, I would buy a very large house and I would bring each and every one of these girls home with me. Not right away, mind you, and not for forever. As they graduate from Bandhavi, I will send them back to their village for a month or two of leave. And then I will fly to India, pick them up, and bring them back to the states. They will live with me for the summer getting adjusted to America and will then enroll at the U of MN...with my lottery jackpot, I will of course be footing the bill for their tuition. They get to ride bikes around campus just like they do now, to and from school, and will become equipped to follow all of their dreams.

10th class is 9 girls this year...9 girls who are looking ahead to an uncertain future. Yes, it is brighter because of their time at Visthar, but these girls are bright. They are gifted. They are beautiful. And in April they will be returning to their villages in rural India, most likely not quite schooled enough to cross the bridge into college. By bringing them to America I would in no way be trying to save them from the poor country of India, but rather to help empower them to return to their country as strong women equipped for change.

Start praying that that Christmas lottery has my name on it...

Sweet Talk

Last night a man participating in a workshop here said to me,

Your eyes are like cat eyes (which I guess is a compliment here; I get it often), your cheeks are round like apples, your hair is soft like silk, your lips are like pomegranates, your teeth shine like diamonds.

Unfortunately, as usual, he was 32, married, with 4 children…why don’t guys that I actually have a chance with ever talk to me like this? Why don't American guys in general talk like this? I tell you, it'll melt girls' hearts....J

I Hate India.

I know the title of this blog post is contrary to everything that I have already written today. But sometimes, I confess, I do think this. And tonight was one of those nights.

My room is often damp, and sometimes smells. Welcome to India. So yesterday I washed all my laundry, took everything off my shelves, and washed them. Tonight I collected my dry clothes, packed for Bombay, made sure my shelf was clean, and proceeded to replace everything onto the shelf.

I turned to put a book into my purse, and when I turned back to my shelf everything – and I mean EVERYTHING – was swarming with baby carpenter ants. Seriously, it was as if something had hatched. I stood, paralyzed, not knowing if I should cry or throw up. [Please not that at this point it’s around midnight, I had just spent the night at Nandini with the kids before they leave tomorrow and I am planning on leaving Visthar by taxi at 3:30 this morning. I am exhausted and emotionally drained.] I was also alone, and could definitely have used some emotional support. So I texted Sid, and thankfully he provided the comic relief I needed to get moving. I threw the cardboard hairbinder box outside, because for some reason they seemed to be most attracted to that. Then I grabbed Ziplock bags (thanks mom for leaving them for me) and proceeded to place all of my clothing inside of them in hopes that, by the time I return on Tuesday night, all of the bugs will have suffocated.

I wiped down the shelf again and again with chlorox wipes until not a single bug was left moving.

When I finally climbed into bed and turned off my light, it was 1:45. But I don’t think I slept; all I remember was swatting imaginary bugs off myself. I actually even found some live ones on my blankets. No joke, they were all over the place. Ew.

It is times like these, and only times like these, when I find myself thinking, “I hate India.”

Emotional Breakdown.

I had an emotional breakdown today. It was bad – really bad. I think I could see it coming, yet didn’t expect it to really happen.

This morning I had a meeting with Roshen. The professor of the Iowa program died, and the program isn’t happening. Which means my job is ending, and there is nothing more that I can do here that would make sense for me to stay.

Sid invited me over for lunch; his family was having friends over, and it would give us some time to hang out since the students are leaving for a month tomorrow. I left around 3:30, hugged him goodbye, and got in the car. As we drove towards Visthar, I felt like I was in a movie. There were conversations going on around me, but it was just static. Instead, I was fighting the emotions that came up as I realized, not that I wouldn’t see Siddo, Roshen, and the kids for a month, but that in a month, I would be saying goodbye for quite possibly forever. I knew I shouldn’t break down sobbing in the car, so I forced myself out of my melancholy reverie to chat with Ruben about inconsequential things such as the fireworks that he set off last night for Diwali.

When the car stopped, though, I practically jumped out. I didn’t know what to do. What normally makes me feel better? the girls. So I headed over to Bandhavi, which was an awful idea. Because the second I got there, I just fell deeper in love. I stood in the courtyard watching everybody go about their Saturday afternoon business, and the sadness built. Subi came and did her usual, “Hi Jen!” and I weakly tried to smile to say with the same enthusiasm, “Hi Subi!” She struck a pose and said, “How are you Jen?” and I said, “I’m fine…” and started to cry.

And cry.

And cry.

This was concerning for them. Hugs, kisses, and “Aunty why are you baydger [sad]?” I told them, through gasping breaths and laughs, “I don’t want to leave”. “We still have one month. Don’t waste your tears.” Said Padma. I sat with Padma, Subi, and Raji for a long time on the step; girls came to hug me, to talk…but as we sat, I felt wet drops fall onto my hand. I looked up, thinking it was raining. But the rain was falling from Raji’s eyes, and Padma was wiping away her own tears. This made me stop, because I didn’t want to cause a fuss, didn’t want to make them all cry because I know there will be more than enough crying come December 21.

As I sat holding them (or rather, as they sat holding me), I realized that when I came to India, I knew that I would be okay. I knew it would be a great experience, and I knew that I wanted to make the most of it. I’m a “bloom where you’re planted” kind of girl, and honestly I think I could thrive anywhere. But what I didn’t know - or expect, for some reason - was that I would ever love it as much as I do. I started thinking of the other times that I have cried in India, and realized that except for the one time I lost if after Crystal left, all of the other times I have cried have been related to a love for India. And that is saying something.

Tomorrow My Life Will Change

It’s funny, because I’m pretty sure that I had a blog post with this title at the end of the summer before the kids got here. And it was me dreading the next day, dreading the change that was going to occur, and a little bit of fear of the unknown (will they like us? Sid and I were asking ourselves. But most importantly, will they like ice cream?).

And now, tomorrow my life will change again. Because the kids are leaving for a month. And it’ll just be me and Debbie and the girls. am I looking forward to it? Yes. Excited to spend more time with the girls, excited to hopefully get more work done. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t going to miss them!