Bill Groman's Goat

   I stepped back in time today.  It started when S. told me that I needed to handwash my salwar-kameez.  Those are my Indian outfits, and you have to handwash them the first few times because the dye is still loose.  If you wash them with other clothes the dye will get all over the other clothes. 
   Once the kids were down for their nap, I grabbed a bucket and the detergent that she uses and headed into the master bathroom.  It's closer to the back door where we hang up our clothes to dry outside.  In fact, the window in the bathroom looks out on the clotheslines.
   I've handwashed clothes before, so I wasn't a bit concerned.  I think it's fascinating.  I remembered reading about the pioneer days when the women and children washed all their clothes like this every week!  Mentally I took my hat off to them.
   I was wearing a long loose dress...what I used to hear called a "jumper."  The skirt swishes around my ankles when I walk, and I found a way to tie it up so that the skirt only reached my knees. 
   Even though I was frowning in concentration, I was perfectly happy.  I hummed "I Am Sixteen Going On Seventeen," and scrubbed away at one of my scarves.  Then I rinsed and wrung it out and carried it out the back door.  I had to pause in the doorway to slip on S.'s outdoor shoes that she keeps on the ground outside, and that gave me time to see the goat tied to one of our clothesline posts. 
   I've seen the goat several times around the campus.  This little older fellow with whitening hair and a brown, wrinkled face leads it from place to place. 
   It's not a very frightening animal, and I could see it was tethered so it couldn't even reach me.  I just grinned.  It reminded me of that old song that I played on the piano out of the Bastien Books so many years ago, and I sang it gleefully:

   "Bill Groman's goat was feeling fine
    Ate three red shirts right off the line!
    Bill saw the shirt, 'twas in the dirt,
    Picked up the hose, gave it a squirt!" 

   Anyway, I was hanging up my scarf and going from side to side to make it straight, since I was hanging it over all three of the lines.  Just then, I saw the little man walking toward the goat from the other direction, and he was staring at me. 
  
   I glanced down and saw that my tied up skirt revealed my right knee.  And he was staring at it. 

   Instantly I guessed that in India that was terribly immodest.  All the women I've seen wear these tunic-like things with lightweight slacks or leggings underneath as well as scarves draped around them.  I felt guilty, and scrambled to get the scarf hung up and get myself into the house allegro-presto. 
   I felt bad, but couldn't help giggling a little.  In the States it's culturally acceptable for a woman to wear shorts or skirts above the knee, but I am not at home!  Oh dear, I had been careless...but then again, I hadn't thought anyone would be around that area behind these houses!  Well, you live and learn...still, I felt bad.  Modesty is so very important by itself, but it is to me individually!! 
   When I came out to hang up my other clothes, I yanked my skirt down and kept a sharp eye out for Bill Groman. 
   I certainly won't be that careless again!  I just hope he didn't hear me giggling through the screen! 

~Cadenza     
 



 

Just Joy

   I have never lived like this before.  At least, not since I was a child myself.  Only now I have the capacity to enjoy every moment.  I'm writing this with a little one squirming on my lap and listening to "This Is Where," by The Wailin' Jennys as the other little ones are put down for their afternoon nap. 
   The sun is shining today.  That's very good, because it'll dry our clothes outside.  Inside, the fan is going full blast, but it's on the inverter, because my battery on my computer is slowly draining.  Outside of the window, the sunshine gleams on all the foilage in the still, warm air.  In short, it's a golden afternoon.  Someday when I'm old, I'll close my eyes and wish to be where I am now. 
   I wish I could express how lovely each day is.  Something funny or beautiful or meaningful happens every day.  Life here is so much slower, and I love it. 
   Back home, I rushed around all the time, searching for pleasure and excitement, and sulked when I couldn't find it.  I would tell you that Jesus Christ was the only thing that could fill every nook and cranny of my hungry soul, but that's not how I lived.  I tried to see how much work I could do to earn time for myself, and when I got it, I hid away and vainly attempted to make myself believe that I was happy.  Life was so insipid, so meaningless.  Something was horribly wrong.  I know I love the Lord, but where was my joy?  I had told someone several weeks ago that I couldn't remember the last time I had felt true joy bubble up within me so that I could not keep from singing. 
   I'm determined that this be a short blog post, so I will not explain fully right now.  Suffice it for now to say that as I'm here serving the Lord, joy has found me again.  Every day as I give and serve, I know what it is to live for God's greater glory.  Here out on the front lines everything is real.  Every moment I am unable to forget my mission in life.  Everything is so much simpler.  Not easier, simpler. 
   Before I left, I asked people to pray for me that I would have joy in my duties, and that I would not get weighed down in normality.  Brothers and sisters, I don't know how to thank you enough!  I had hoped that God would give me joy, but what I'm experiencing here exceeded all my wildest hopes!  Each day as I serve, my conscience dances like a feather on the wind.  I'm aware of this constant delight deep within me that nothing dampens for long, and my voice is loosed to sing because I just can't hold it in.  My Maker is my Father!  He loves me!  He sent His Son to pay for all my sins when I was helpless.  And then He's adopted me, and He counts me as both His daughter and friend!  So here I am serving Him, working tangibly for His kingdom and living for His glory.  And it's only a matter of time before He comes back to take me to live with Him in heaven! 
   And so I sing.  I sing and sing and sing, and my voice rings through this house, which by the way, has great accoustics for the voice.  I'm sure the Auntie who comes each day to help with the housework thinks I'm a little off my rocker.  She caught me this morning as I was doing hand motions in the kitchen to a song I learned this summer.  It had to be the most ridiculous motion in the whole song, and I looked up and she was watching me.  Yeah.  The other day she caught me quoting away as "Yente," from Fiddler on the Roof.  I had no idea anyone was around, and then I feel these big pats on my back.  I turn around, and there's Auntie, laughing.  Uh...oops...
   Oh, by the way, here's a picture I took this morning.  Gotta love fridge magnets!!!   

   Unfortunately, this family is not "into" fantasy that much.  Until I can begin reading "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, " by C.S. Lewis out loud to the kids.  >:D
   Another post later.  Try your best to survive until then...Har dee har har.

~Cadenza

 

Protected

   I had an accident yesterday.  I had been sitting with Bud on their parents' bed listening to him read for school.  He finished the book, and I scrambled up to help him find the next one.
   Now the whole house is tiled with this beautiful, cool white tile.  It feels so good to hot feet!  It had just been mopped, and it takes a while to dry.  I always feel bad because we can't hold up where we are while it's drying...so we make footprints all over the floor.  So it has to be done every day.

   I completely forgot that the floor was wet, and feeling particularly joyus, I jumped off the bed.  My bare feet slid right out from under me, and I fell backwards.  I heard the sound of my head hitting the floor.

   "I have a concussion!"  was the first thought to come to my mind.  I was lying on the floor, and everything was swimming in front of my eyes for a second, then it all righted itself.  I felt too weak to scream, or even move.  All I could do was moan.

   The pain was horrible, but the fear was worse.  I've heard that when you have a concussion, you can't remember things you know well.  So I called to mind my family's faces.  Yes, I could remember their names.  I could see their faces in my mind's eye as I'd skyped with them earlier.  I had been listening to Bud read...he had done well...I was glad...so I jumped... Yes, I remembered what happened.  But did I have a concussion?  Was I seriously hurt?...I waited for darkness to crash over me, but nothing happened.

   Those few seconds were the worst I've experienced in India yet.  I was petrified with fear, and wishing someone would come.  Bud was asking me persistantly if I was all right, but I couldn't answer him.  Of course, the instant my head hit the floor, I heard exclamations and hurrying feet, and a few seconds later, S. had me in her arms and was asking me if I could see straight and I told her I could, and that I hadn't blacked out or lost any memory.  She seemed relieved, and she quickly got some ice and put it under my head.  Ever since the impact, my body had held my head off the ground and my hand was applying pressure to the spot that hurt.  When I moved my hand away, there was blood all over my fingers.  Of course that freaked me out, but S. reassured me that your scalp bleeds a lot when it has been cut.  She felt the place and told me no more was coming out, and that she didn't think I had a concussion. 

   She helped me up and laid me on her bed with a towel under my head.  The instant I moved I became extremely dizzy.  Even though I knew I was standing up, I couldn't even feel that I was.  I felt like I was rolling around in the water. 
   I laid down and rested all afternoon.  For a long while I couldn't sleep.  I stared up at the walls and celing and the fan.  I didn't have a concussion.  I'd fallen and hit my head and I hadn't even blacked out.  I started to cry.  I don't know to what extent angels are responsible for a Christian's physical protection, but God had certainly charged them not to let me be seriously hurt. 
   I cried because I thought of how I'd made a thoughtless decision, and God had protected me.  I remembered how Jesus promised He would always be with us.  Always meant every day of my life.  I remembered how God was gracious.  He hadn't let me die or strike my head against anything sharp.  My pulled-up hair and helped to soften my fall, and it was the ponytail holder that had barely punctured my scalp. 
   God watches each little bird and keeps count of the hairs on our heads.  He knows all things, but He counts each of His children as far more valuable than anything else on earth.  I was reminded of how He not only watches me, He guards me.  He keeps me safe like I keep my little munchkin sister safe when she can't even walk yet.  
   In Hosea 11, God speaks to the nation of Israel reminding them that it was God who chose them when they were just a baby nation and He nurtured and protected them and grew them up just like a father.  Verse three says, "Yet it is I who taught Ephraim to walk, I took them in My arms, yet they did not know that I healed them." 
   Right there is one of the most tender displays of love mentioned in the Bible.  That God would be to a people what a father is to his baby when he or she cannot even walk yet.  That heart filled with love and mercy and jealous to protect his child. 
   I'm in my twenties.  In this culture, I'm basically an adult, and am supposed to be somewhat independant from others.  I forget sometimes how helpless I truly am, and also how tender and present my heavenly Father really is.  Laying there resting, my heart swelled with gratitude toward Him.  He protects me.  And He's always with me, every moment, every day.
   Don't forget it, my friends.

~Cadenza

Giggles in the Dark

   Since we're settled in, we've been doing some cooking these days.  I feel like I am more in my element in the kitchen, and there's always that sense of pride you feel when you've helped with a meal yourself. 

   Today we were fixing a recipe called, "Baingan Curry," for lunch.  It calls for a few eggplants, a few potatoes, chopped peanuts, coconut, fresh curry leaves, mustard seed, garlic, tomatoes, sliced onions, and dhunia powder.  (Don't ask me what that is...:) 
   First you roast the onions, coconut (which you grate until you have enough to give flavor), and the peanuts.  Then you combine the onion, garlic, tomatoes, and the rest of the spices with it.  Then you fry the mixture with the potato and eggplant chunks until they're nice and brown.  Then you serve it over rice or chapattis (that's the Indian version of a tortilla ;D ).

   Here's a pic of the preparation: 

 Those are eggplants over on the right.  I've never liked eggplant before, but I had to admit as I held one in my hand that they were beautiful things.  The rich purple, just the shade of a grape from the Dream Forest, and the green tops with stems like the little caps on Santa's elves.  I wondered how something so pretty could have such a disagreeable taste. 
   Peeling them I caught the smell of them, and I was puzzled.  Why, they actually smelled good!  And yet, somehow, they don't taste good in dishes.  Huh!
  

  
      This is the coconut that S. cracked open and grated to get the coconut--dust?  :) for the recipe. 
I was tickled pink to have coconut halves in the kitchen.  And yes, when everyone left the kitchen for a moment, I caught up both halves and pranced around the kitchen making them sound like hooves, just like King Arthur and Patsy in the delightful, "Monte Python and the Holy Grail." 

   Ahem.  Moving on.  Here is a picture of the finished product.  

   So that was lunch.  After lunch I decided to lie down in the kids' room and join them as they rested.  I think I got to sleep once, but I woke up when Bud, my official younger brother, drove his remote control car straight towards my head as I laid on the pallet in their room. 
   After that I couldn't sleep.  The kids weren't being exactly loud, I just couldn't seem to sleep.  So I laid there and rested and buried myself in my thoughts.
   I was disturbed by sounds and giggles.  I looked up and saw Lulu trying to do a backbend on her bed.  Then Bud tried it.  They fell.  Then they'd giggle and try again.  I closed my eyes and tried to block it out, but I couldn't.  The giggling was getting louder.  Bud managed  to pull himself into a backbend, and now they were using their heads to hold themselves up and using their hands to slap themselves on their tummies. 
   *Gigglegigglegiggle* *Clomp*  *Gigglegiggle* *Slapslapslapslapslap*  *Clomp*  *Gigglegigglegigglegiggle* *Slapslapslapslapslapslapslap* *Clomp* *Gigglegiggle* and so on. 

   I  felt annoyed.  My nice nap was spoiled now, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it.  But in spite of myself, the innocent, contagious giggles made a smile slowly spread across my face.  I watched Bud for a moment, apparantly doing a somersault on the bed, and this thought struck me:  "Oh, to be a child again." 
   The thought surprised me, but on its heels came longing.  Those sweet giggles brought flashbacks of my own childhood before my eyes, like the shadow of the past.  I remembered bedtime antics and those giggle attacks with my sisters. 
   I watched them and realized afresh that to them, this was life.  Naptime somersaults, giggling with brother, timeless playing; this was their reality.  They had no worries, no regrets, no impending fears or big decisions to deal with.  Life was simple.  I could remember when my life was like that.  Not carefree, like some adults would have us believe.  Children have their own troubles, but they sound insignificant to an adult who is used to so much more.  But still--to have that joy, that innocence, that simple pleasure.  I felt envious as I watched them.  I'm not a child anymore, but I'm not exactly an adult yet, and suddenly I felt shut out of both worlds.  I wonder if older people feel that way when life seems to go on without them. 
   I no longer felt upset at my little siblings.  I envied them.  And I want them to have that for as long as possible.  Maturing must happen, but I hope they never lose the open, playful, hopeful heart of a child. 
   I haven't, and I don't intend to. 

   "But Jesus called for them, saying, 'Permit the children to come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  Truly I say to you, whoever does not recieve the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all.' "  ---Luke 18:16-17

~Cadenza

 

Home Away From Home

   Hellooo everyone!  I'm sorry I haven't posted in so long.  I've probably lost some would-be followers with my tardiness. 

   Well!  Down to business!  Today I've been busy moving into my guest house area.  I am so thrilled to have a little place of my own! 
   Check it out!  Before:

   

   I have three---count 'em---THREE whole rooms all to myself!  The first is the view from the outside through the doors.  The next room has a sink and a loong countertop, and those shelves and sink in the third picture is my bathroom.  Hehe..the toilet was right in front of me when I took this picture, but it was impossible to get at an angle where you could see the entire bathroom, and I didn't feel the need to take a picture of the toilet individually.  :) 
   After: 

   Isn't it great?  I'm so proud of my shelves!  

 Soo, that's the low-down on this town!
 Oh, yes.  And here's another picture you need to see: 

   This is my buddy Purr sitting atop my journal alongside a teacup with Chai tea inside it.  Of tigers and tea, you see.  I bought Purr a long time ago "with my own money," as I used to say.  Of all my stuffed animals, Purr is my favorite and has gone with me on many trips. 
   Lulu, my official little sister, loves nothing more than playing with me and Purr with her own animals.  She has one in particular whose name is Tender.  (Known to the world as Flip the Beanie Baby)  When she wants Tender to play with Purr, she says, "Let's play TenderandPurr." 
   I'm a little rusty in my make believe abilities, but Purr is a trooper.  After all these years he has a strong character.  It's never too hard to think of what Purr would say.
   However, I've a sneaking suspicion that Tender is falling in love with Purr, even if Tender doesn't have a very clear idea of what that is.  It makes things Awkward for both Purr and me.  Neither of us know what to do about it.  We'll just have to keep our heads...

   I promise I will be more consistant with my posts.  Till the next time! 

~Cadenza