Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Still Worth It
Our sweet friends and teammates are leaving India. Sometimes you gotta just get out and they are. But, oh, we'll miss them. They've struggled, laughed, cried, and worshiped with us. Their kids are ours and ours are theirs. We spent our first (very hard) Christmas away from family with them. C came bearing gifts that day and cooked in my dingy kitchen. She wore a smile when I could not.
She is the most consistently encouraging person I think I've ever met. She believes that life will work out and she makes me believe it too. She's a girl's girl, a listener, and a gift-giver. On my 32nd birthday she made me a little poster and wrote out Psalm 32 in glitter glue. It was a psalm of hope, of love, and of a future and I loved it more than the store bought presents I received.
JM is a thinker and a doer. He believes in things passionately and he cares about people. He has laughed with my J, been a friend, accompanied and worked with him to do things that seem impossible. He stood in the gap for us here when we were away in the States. He's been an uncle to our boys. He's listened to them when they talk on and on about video games, and taught them lessons from the Bible as we all sat on the couch.
JM and C's little girls will leave a hole in my heart and in G's, especially. Those little imps are lit up from the inside, full of laughter, and mischief and emotion. How many times have we spent with all six kids around the table, watching them eat as they try to make each other laugh and spit out their juice?
Love is painful. But it is still worth it.
Go with God, friends. Thank you for making an imprint on our hearts and on the hearts of our Indian friends. We love you.
She is the most consistently encouraging person I think I've ever met. She believes that life will work out and she makes me believe it too. She's a girl's girl, a listener, and a gift-giver. On my 32nd birthday she made me a little poster and wrote out Psalm 32 in glitter glue. It was a psalm of hope, of love, and of a future and I loved it more than the store bought presents I received.
JM is a thinker and a doer. He believes in things passionately and he cares about people. He has laughed with my J, been a friend, accompanied and worked with him to do things that seem impossible. He stood in the gap for us here when we were away in the States. He's been an uncle to our boys. He's listened to them when they talk on and on about video games, and taught them lessons from the Bible as we all sat on the couch.
JM and C's little girls will leave a hole in my heart and in G's, especially. Those little imps are lit up from the inside, full of laughter, and mischief and emotion. How many times have we spent with all six kids around the table, watching them eat as they try to make each other laugh and spit out their juice?
Love is painful. But it is still worth it.
Go with God, friends. Thank you for making an imprint on our hearts and on the hearts of our Indian friends. We love you.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Happy Birthday, Indian-Style
Around the birthday table.
Party game. Guess who the white kids are?
Three faiths represented in this photo.
The birthday boy, his brother, and his dad. We live with them.Highlights of this one-year-old birthday party:
- As all the kids passed a balloon around a circle, trying to not get stuck with it, I heard the song lyrics, 'Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me.' I'm not even kidding.
- Our landlord introduced me to a woman whose daughter "lives in the States." When I asked her where in the US she's located, the woman answered, "Switzerland." Ah yes, I see...
- When people were milling about, eating and making conversation, what was playing on the CD player? Shakira. Shakira, folks. I'm sure the one-year-old absolutely loves her.
Monday, August 23, 2010
An American Education
J had an unpleasant but necessary conversation with our landlords and their families the other night. See, they are in our business beyond anything we've ever experienced. They ask me a hundred questions--really, it's more like the Spanish Inquisition--every time J travels anywhere. I end up feeling like my back's against the wall and no answer that I give (i.e. He's working, he's with friends, he's got a meeting, he's doing business) is ever good enough for them.
They give their opinions about the wisdom of traveling to certain towns, traveling during monsoon, traveling with the friends we've chosen and trust. They ask us how much money we make, how much our driver charges us, whether our children miss their daddy when he's gone. They speak sternly, eyebrows knitted together, with an air of authority. They invoke their elder status. In short, they feel a great deal of ownership over us and our decision-making, and they try to exert their will.
I got to the point where I felt I could not stand it any longer. So J decided that it was time to gently inform them that this isn't acceptable. All things considered, the whole conversation went well. They back-pedaled some, said that they were only concerned for our safety, etc.. J was able to communicate that while he appreciates this, the third degree is still not ok. Our job will not change. We will take risks in our lives, and we have counted the cost of our profession. They seemed to hear it all, though I have no doubt we'll have a reprise of this conversation in the future if the past is any indication.
So today was about showing love, declaring that we have no hard feelings with actions because words are cheap. We spent the entire day decorating their front room for a birthday party they plan to have tomorrow. In fact, J is still working at the moment.
At midday, when our eldest landlord came home for lunch, we sat and made conversation with him. It was the first time I'd seen him since The Talk. He was slightly grumpy, baggy-eyed, short and terse. I knew he was nursing his wounded pride. After all, how dare we thirty-something, whippersnapper Americans set boundaries around our personal life with our elders? Who are we to talk with such confidence and optimism and look people in the eye as if the world belonged to us? We who neglect our offspring by allowing them to wear t-shirts and not woolen coats in 72 degree weather! We who drink cold juice in the winter and hot coffee in the summer! We who sometimes go without socks in the house!
It's sheer madness is what it is. Just who do we think we are?
Well, it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it still stung a little when Eldest Landlord looked at all the decorations we'd spent the day putting on the walls--at the behest of the women of the family--and he muttered, "It should be more...colorful..." I wanted to look him in the eye and say, "You are totally welcome to climb on that rickety-crap ladder of yours and put up better decorations. But then, you'll have to find them in the market first, and I defy you to find ones that don't look like they're made from toilet paper."
But you know, I didn't say that.
I tried to let it roll off instead. I feel like we've tried to be as Indian as two white people can be. I dress like the locals, we eat Indian food, and we speak Hindi. But in the end, we're American. And I guess I'm starting to think that it's ok if our landlords try to understand us a little for a change. Goodness knows we've spent 17 months trying to understand their mindset and hearts and we don't regret it. As long as they look at us and see Him first and America a distant second...Well, I'm becoming more and more ok with that.
They give their opinions about the wisdom of traveling to certain towns, traveling during monsoon, traveling with the friends we've chosen and trust. They ask us how much money we make, how much our driver charges us, whether our children miss their daddy when he's gone. They speak sternly, eyebrows knitted together, with an air of authority. They invoke their elder status. In short, they feel a great deal of ownership over us and our decision-making, and they try to exert their will.
I got to the point where I felt I could not stand it any longer. So J decided that it was time to gently inform them that this isn't acceptable. All things considered, the whole conversation went well. They back-pedaled some, said that they were only concerned for our safety, etc.. J was able to communicate that while he appreciates this, the third degree is still not ok. Our job will not change. We will take risks in our lives, and we have counted the cost of our profession. They seemed to hear it all, though I have no doubt we'll have a reprise of this conversation in the future if the past is any indication.
So today was about showing love, declaring that we have no hard feelings with actions because words are cheap. We spent the entire day decorating their front room for a birthday party they plan to have tomorrow. In fact, J is still working at the moment.
At midday, when our eldest landlord came home for lunch, we sat and made conversation with him. It was the first time I'd seen him since The Talk. He was slightly grumpy, baggy-eyed, short and terse. I knew he was nursing his wounded pride. After all, how dare we thirty-something, whippersnapper Americans set boundaries around our personal life with our elders? Who are we to talk with such confidence and optimism and look people in the eye as if the world belonged to us? We who neglect our offspring by allowing them to wear t-shirts and not woolen coats in 72 degree weather! We who drink cold juice in the winter and hot coffee in the summer! We who sometimes go without socks in the house!
It's sheer madness is what it is. Just who do we think we are?
Well, it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it still stung a little when Eldest Landlord looked at all the decorations we'd spent the day putting on the walls--at the behest of the women of the family--and he muttered, "It should be more...colorful..." I wanted to look him in the eye and say, "You are totally welcome to climb on that rickety-crap ladder of yours and put up better decorations. But then, you'll have to find them in the market first, and I defy you to find ones that don't look like they're made from toilet paper."
But you know, I didn't say that.
I tried to let it roll off instead. I feel like we've tried to be as Indian as two white people can be. I dress like the locals, we eat Indian food, and we speak Hindi. But in the end, we're American. And I guess I'm starting to think that it's ok if our landlords try to understand us a little for a change. Goodness knows we've spent 17 months trying to understand their mindset and hearts and we don't regret it. As long as they look at us and see Him first and America a distant second...Well, I'm becoming more and more ok with that.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Twice As Good
I'm so glad to have J back. I'll steal an idea from my favorite singer/thinker/feeler, Sara Groves. With you everything's half as hard and twice as good, babe, and I love you.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Tricky
The power was out last night but there were no rats and the kids did not roam around. J called to tell me there are some 'complications' happening (associated with his work) and he and his partner need wisdom. Tricky, folks. Tricky.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
What's in a Name?
Oldest Son: I wonder what my wife's name will be...
Middle Son: Mine's name will be Killer.
Youngest Daughter: Well, my husband's name will be Puny 'cause he's going to be small.
Me: Then I'm going to have weird son-and-daughters-in-law.
Youngest Daughter: Ok, then. I guess my husband will just be normal and ripe.
Oldest Son: Ripe? Are you going to pluck him from a husband tree?
Youngest: Yes.
Middle Son: Mine's name will be Killer.
Youngest Daughter: Well, my husband's name will be Puny 'cause he's going to be small.
Me: Then I'm going to have weird son-and-daughters-in-law.
Youngest Daughter: Ok, then. I guess my husband will just be normal and ripe.
Oldest Son: Ripe? Are you going to pluck him from a husband tree?
Youngest: Yes.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Booyah!
Oh yeah. Oooooh yeah. Last night J and I were watching an episode of '24,' a new favorite of ours. We were sipping decaf and I was trying to unwind from a difficult day. Suddenly we heard a loud snap! and squealing. We ran into the living room and there he was. A jumbo-sized, bright-eyed, mouse-like thing. I say mouse-like because it really didn't look like any mouse I'd ever seen. We had already killed it's cousin (see below posts). Now it was his turn.
I admit to you that I felt a stab of remorse as we drowned him five minutes later. A stab, not an overwhelming weight, mind you. I love my husband a little more than I did two days ago, though, because he felt terrible. Don't misunderstand, he hates rodents with a fierce passion. But when he saw Mouse-Thing drowning (and the man could not tear himself away from the death scene), he felt guilty, sort-of.
I reminded him that if we let the varmint go, he'd come straight back into our apartment. He would poop everywhere...He had to be removed permanently. As Jack Bauer would say, we had ourselves a situation. And then I reminded him that this wasn't my first go-around with rodent killing. It gets easier. Some of you may remember that about a year ago, I killed a large, long-toothed mole with white eyes. I felt bad about it, even as my grateful friends called me a rock star. It was repulsive. But I got over it. And this time I only cringed a little.
As I told my husband last night, it was Mouse-Thing or me, y'all. Him or me.
I admit to you that I felt a stab of remorse as we drowned him five minutes later. A stab, not an overwhelming weight, mind you. I love my husband a little more than I did two days ago, though, because he felt terrible. Don't misunderstand, he hates rodents with a fierce passion. But when he saw Mouse-Thing drowning (and the man could not tear himself away from the death scene), he felt guilty, sort-of.
I reminded him that if we let the varmint go, he'd come straight back into our apartment. He would poop everywhere...He had to be removed permanently. As Jack Bauer would say, we had ourselves a situation. And then I reminded him that this wasn't my first go-around with rodent killing. It gets easier. Some of you may remember that about a year ago, I killed a large, long-toothed mole with white eyes. I felt bad about it, even as my grateful friends called me a rock star. It was repulsive. But I got over it. And this time I only cringed a little.
As I told my husband last night, it was Mouse-Thing or me, y'all. Him or me.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Triggers
I have a skin condition called Rosacea. Some people think it's related to an autoimmune disorder and I'm inclined to agree. It makes my skin supremely sensitive, blotchy at any given moment, and hostile to ordinary facial products. I can cover it up and look normal, but I always know it's there. Sometimes, a food I ate, or extreme temperatures, or stress will cause my smooth, normal-looking skin to become an inferno of pin-prick pain.
Lately I've been thinking that my sin condition is a lot like having Rosacea. Certain situations trigger the badness in me. They don't cause it, of course. It's always there of it's own accord. But a series of unfortunate events, or a cultural clash, or even homeschooling can bring it out in all it's ugly glory. Today (well, ok, for several days), I've been in a full-on sin flare. I am short-tempered, sarcastic, cynical, irritable, and depressed. My kids have caught the brunt of it. What do you mean you forgot how to count by fours? That is super easy and you can do it in your sleep. Pay attention or I'll lose my mind! Come ON!
And then I have the painful misfortune of seeing hurt and resentment in their eyes. And I'll know I've failed again. I'll feel like I can't do this life. I can't be what people (especially my kids) need me to be. And so it goes.
The only thing that causes my Rosacea to calm down when something has triggered a flare is to wait it out. To try to stop doing whatever it was that brought my skin to this point and exhale. The tricky part of living this life, however, is that I can't just stop it even if I feel like it's exposing and exacerbating my sin. It's painful. It burns. It feels like it won't quit. But I testify to this truth in my life and I hope you know it too:
Lately I've been thinking that my sin condition is a lot like having Rosacea. Certain situations trigger the badness in me. They don't cause it, of course. It's always there of it's own accord. But a series of unfortunate events, or a cultural clash, or even homeschooling can bring it out in all it's ugly glory. Today (well, ok, for several days), I've been in a full-on sin flare. I am short-tempered, sarcastic, cynical, irritable, and depressed. My kids have caught the brunt of it. What do you mean you forgot how to count by fours? That is super easy and you can do it in your sleep. Pay attention or I'll lose my mind! Come ON!
And then I have the painful misfortune of seeing hurt and resentment in their eyes. And I'll know I've failed again. I'll feel like I can't do this life. I can't be what people (especially my kids) need me to be. And so it goes.
The only thing that causes my Rosacea to calm down when something has triggered a flare is to wait it out. To try to stop doing whatever it was that brought my skin to this point and exhale. The tricky part of living this life, however, is that I can't just stop it even if I feel like it's exposing and exacerbating my sin. It's painful. It burns. It feels like it won't quit. But I testify to this truth in my life and I hope you know it too:
For you, O LORD, are good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you. Give ear, O LORD, to my prayer; listen to my plea for grace. In the day of my trouble I call upon you, for you answer me.
Psalm 86: 5-7 ESV
Psalm 86: 5-7 ESV
So how do I deal with a sin-flare? Avoid the triggers? Escape to easier fields? I ask for more grace, that's what I do. The worse it is, the more I ask. And He answers me. Thank God.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Surrender
Remember surrender,
Remember the rest.
Remember that weight lifting off of your chest.
And realizing that it's not up to you and it never was...
Remember surrender,
Remember relief.
Remember how tears rolled down both of your cheeks.
As the warmth of a heavenly father came closing in...
I want to do that again.
Why can't I live there
And make my home?
In sweet surrender
I want to do so much more than remember...
Remember surrender,
Remember the peace.
Remember how soundly you fell fast asleep.
In the face of your troubles your future still shone like the morning sun...
Remember surrender,
Remember that sound.
Of all of those voices dying down
But one who speaks clearly of helping and healing you deep within...
I want to do that again.
Why can't I live there
And make my home?
In sweet surrender
I want to do so much more than remember...
Remember
Oh, surrender...
I want to do that again.
Oh why can't I live there and make my home?
In sweet surrender
I want to do so much more than remember...
Remember.
Remember surrender,
Remember the rest.
Remember that weight lifting off of your chest.
And realizing that it's not up to you and it never was...
Remember Surrender, Sara Groves
Remember the rest.
Remember that weight lifting off of your chest.
And realizing that it's not up to you and it never was...
Remember surrender,
Remember relief.
Remember how tears rolled down both of your cheeks.
As the warmth of a heavenly father came closing in...
I want to do that again.
Why can't I live there
And make my home?
In sweet surrender
I want to do so much more than remember...
Remember surrender,
Remember the peace.
Remember how soundly you fell fast asleep.
In the face of your troubles your future still shone like the morning sun...
Remember surrender,
Remember that sound.
Of all of those voices dying down
But one who speaks clearly of helping and healing you deep within...
I want to do that again.
Why can't I live there
And make my home?
In sweet surrender
I want to do so much more than remember...
Remember
Oh, surrender...
I want to do that again.
Oh why can't I live there and make my home?
In sweet surrender
I want to do so much more than remember...
Remember.
Remember surrender,
Remember the rest.
Remember that weight lifting off of your chest.
And realizing that it's not up to you and it never was...
Remember Surrender, Sara Groves
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Testing, One Two Three...
I have not been uplifting in a while. I know this. I'm sorry, but this blog will be about real life or nothing at all. So to sum up today:
- rat poop all over our kitchen floor (after finding one in the toilet two days ago).
- mold in all the curtains.
- mold in the bathroom such that I had to throw out my Clinique makeup bag, all of our toothbrushes, and scour my mouth guard container.
- mold in the kids' bathroom.
- burst pipe in the kids' bathroom which is, at the typing of this blog post, flooding the floor. Then why am I posting, you ask? Because there's not enough room in there for me to be useful.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Dryer
Our dryer is fixed. PTL! I love the smell of our laundry now. It's soft and fluffy and smells vaguely of Snuggle fabric softener. Before it smelled vaguely of mildew and I-don't-know-what. It's the little things, y'all.
Yesterday we did something scandalous. We started a load of laundry at 3:00 p.m. because we could. We knew that it wouldn't have to hang out on the balcony without enough sunlight and that we could dry it immediately. I was stupidly happy. So even though we've had other things happen that are decidedly uncool, this wasn't one of them.
Yesterday we did something scandalous. We started a load of laundry at 3:00 p.m. because we could. We knew that it wouldn't have to hang out on the balcony without enough sunlight and that we could dry it immediately. I was stupidly happy. So even though we've had other things happen that are decidedly uncool, this wasn't one of them.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Control+Alt+Delete
This was what greeted us this morning. Well, this and bugs and leaks in the kids' bathroom.Friday, August 6, 2010
Public Trash
Ok, so my landlady came up today to say hello, to look at our new shelves, and to...drum roll...tell me that they went through our trash and noticed we had thrown away some perfectly good coloring books and other books. She requested that I not do that anymore because they would take stuff we don't want in the future.
But here's the thing: we were warned that sometimes it's offensive to offer your old stuff to people from upper castes. They take it as an insult. We didn't want to create any more tension than already exists between us and our Indian wardens, er, family. Plus, we already have three or four garbage bags worth of stuff to give away to underprivileged people we know. So we thought it was safest and easiest to just get rid of things this time.
Apparently, no. I don't hate our landlords and their families. I know it sounds like I do. I'm just in a complaining mode and I'm screaming, through the blogosphere, Going through our garbage, really? Even our trash isn't private? Can I get a witness??
*collecting my breath*
But here's the thing: we were warned that sometimes it's offensive to offer your old stuff to people from upper castes. They take it as an insult. We didn't want to create any more tension than already exists between us and our Indian wardens, er, family. Plus, we already have three or four garbage bags worth of stuff to give away to underprivileged people we know. So we thought it was safest and easiest to just get rid of things this time.
Apparently, no. I don't hate our landlords and their families. I know it sounds like I do. I'm just in a complaining mode and I'm screaming, through the blogosphere, Going through our garbage, really? Even our trash isn't private? Can I get a witness??
*collecting my breath*
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Someone Else's Story
The kids and I are, once again, reading C.S. Lewis' classic series The Chronicles of Narnia. We're currently working on The Horse and His Boy, which I think is my favorite. There's a line in it, steeped in theology, where the little protagonist, Shasta, asks the great Aslan why he allowed sorrow and suffering to occur in his friend's life. Aslan's reply resonates in my mind, and echoes of it haunt me as I live in a land characterized by suffering. Indeed, I've asked my Aslan many times why such things should exist. His answer:
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."
I have to remember that or perish. While I can participate in someone else's story-- am commanded to--I cannot know the end of it or control what becomes of him or her. That belongs to Someone whose thoughts and ways are higher than mine. Selah.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Here's Hoping
We had shelves delivered to our apartment yesterday. It makes me so happy to have all of our books and our kids' toys up off the floor and in neat rows. I wanted to hang out my bedroom and the kids' room just so I could obsessively observe the extra floor space.
Then today I knew I had to go downstairs and talk to my landladies. They've been a little passive aggressive and manipulative to me lately because I'm busier than I used to be and less inclined to hear their many opinions. So honestly I would rather have had a root canal than have another fireside chat about why it's been so many days since I came down. But I knew I needed to and I prayed that I could do it out of love and not a sense of misplaced guilt. I went down expecting the third degree...and I got it. But I was also able to say, We love you, we are busy, everything's fine, let's have no hard feelings. They seemed to hear it this time.
I sincerely hope so.
Then today I knew I had to go downstairs and talk to my landladies. They've been a little passive aggressive and manipulative to me lately because I'm busier than I used to be and less inclined to hear their many opinions. So honestly I would rather have had a root canal than have another fireside chat about why it's been so many days since I came down. But I knew I needed to and I prayed that I could do it out of love and not a sense of misplaced guilt. I went down expecting the third degree...and I got it. But I was also able to say, We love you, we are busy, everything's fine, let's have no hard feelings. They seemed to hear it this time.
I sincerely hope so.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Who Knew I Could Be This Happy?
Oh, man, was today great. For starters, J is home and his time away was very productive. Good things are happening (!) and we see forward momentum in this area of the country. He also took some gorgeous, heartbreaking photos which we'll post on FB soon.
Ok, but I'm going to be honest: the best part of all of it (at least at the moment) is that we ordered a clothes dryer and it arrived today! J installed it without killing himself, burning down the apartment, or causing a power outage. Now I'm not gonna lie. This dryer looks like it was specially designed for Little People. Even our kids were like, man, that thing is super small. It gets very hot on the top. So hot that you have to wonder...And then there's the fact that it dries clothes to the beat of Queen's 'We will, we will, rock you.' Duh, duh, chhhh. Duh, duh, chhhh.
But since I threw out a pillowcase because it was polka dotted with black mold today, I'll take the beat boxing and teeny loads. Plus our towels no longer crunch when we try to fold them.
Update: G's head smells very like my parents' Yorkie, James, after he's been to the dog groomer. I'm assuming it's because of her "special" shampoo. Sheesh. And, *drumroll* our dryer already needs a technician. Gotta love these quality Indian products. I think J's gonna blow his top, people.
Ok, but I'm going to be honest: the best part of all of it (at least at the moment) is that we ordered a clothes dryer and it arrived today! J installed it without killing himself, burning down the apartment, or causing a power outage. Now I'm not gonna lie. This dryer looks like it was specially designed for Little People. Even our kids were like, man, that thing is super small. It gets very hot on the top. So hot that you have to wonder...And then there's the fact that it dries clothes to the beat of Queen's 'We will, we will, rock you.' Duh, duh, chhhh. Duh, duh, chhhh.
But since I threw out a pillowcase because it was polka dotted with black mold today, I'll take the beat boxing and teeny loads. Plus our towels no longer crunch when we try to fold them.
Update: G's head smells very like my parents' Yorkie, James, after he's been to the dog groomer. I'm assuming it's because of her "special" shampoo. Sheesh. And, *drumroll* our dryer already needs a technician. Gotta love these quality Indian products. I think J's gonna blow his top, people.
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