Whimsicality

   What?  I don't know if that's a word. 

   Every time I start to write a post I feel this self-imposed responsibility that I should only share great profound thoughts.  I wish I didn't feel that way.  The truth is I'm not always profound. 

   Fact: Things going on here are 90% not profound.   It's certainly dramatic, and it's entertaining sometimes, and other times it's just tiring, but not always profound.  Well, you know what I mean.  Ask any mother you know.  It's the daily drama of who pushed who, who was on the stool first, constantly rounding up and herding children, the question of how many more bites of food one must partake of, and All That Sort of Thing.  You know what I mean. 

   Therefore, a lot of times I feel like there's nothing to report.  Nothing that isn't going on in countless other homes in the States, and there are all kinds of incredible mom's blogs to read if you want to read that.

   So, whimsicality post! 

   I'm learning that sometimes the best way to teach piano is to sit back and tell them that you're not going to help them unless they ask you.  It doesn't sound very nice, but I have one student (of the whole two of them) who suddenly gets serious when I say that.  Student suddenly begins to sit up straight, and count and play TOGETHER with such ease that I feel like kicking myself in my shins.  If I stand hovering and helping and correcting, Student fights me.  If Student feels like it is up to Student to make anything happen, suddenly he wants it to happen.  Stupid me!  Took me five months to figure that out!

   Last night I was out walking and it was warm and mild.  I did not need coat, hat, or scarf, so I left them in my room.  I ran and walked alternately, trying to let out some energy and clear my mind.  I was wound up emotionally, so I needed some fresh air to blow out all the unanswerable questions that were smothering me. 

   It was a lovely night.  It felt like a summer night.  Cool and starry, with a red crescent moon.  It's rather funny, but all the leaves are still on the trees here.  It's the dead of winter, but everything is still green and leafy.  I heard the wind making the trees whisper, and it thrilled me.  The shadows of them slid across the ground and the lamps shone through the trees in every direction.  I love the world at night.  You can believe anything in the night-time. 

   George MacDonald says:  "I have seen this world---only sometimes, just now and then, you know---look as strange as ever I saw Fairyland.  But I confess that I have not yet seen Fairyland at its best.  I am always going to see it so sometime."  That was exactly how I felt.  And as I walked, I thought more and more about my older brother, who knows more about Fairyland even then I do, and I longed to talk with him. 

   I don't have the time or the capabilities to explain what I mean by Fairyland.  In that case, maybe it would have been better if I hadn't brought it up at all.  First of all, by "Fairyland," I don't mean what you're probably imagining right now.  I don't mean Neverland, or some kind of Pixie Hollow thing, or anything else that most adults want their children to "grow out of," by a certain age.  For as long as I can remember, I was drawn to those kinds of stories and movies.  I thought it was because I wanted the object itself.  The truth was they drew me because I wanted something that they reminded me of, but that I didn't even understand.  And when I grew into Lewis and Tolkien and George MacDonald, I always felt that those worlds were, in a way, more real than the humdrum world I saw around me.  I suspected that our world was supposed to be the way it was in these kinds of stories, but it wasn't.  In other words, I desire more than this world and what it has to offer.  

   C.S. Lewis explains it so much better in his autobiography, "Surprised By Joy."  And the more I read of his different books, the more I begin to understand.  So if I say that I still love Fairyland, don't think of me as clinging to childish ways.  The Disney Princess movies only scratch the surface of the true Fairyland. 

   The thing that makes it all so real and so exciting is that I am beginning to see how,"the stories that really matter," are similar to the Great Story that we are all part of in this world.  I mean the Gospel.  I mean God's magnificent Design that makes all of us threads in His tapestry, as some have said before.  True Fantasy does not make the Bible seem boring in comparison.  It reminds me of the Bible's story, and helps me to see it as grander and more thrilling than I saw it before.  True Fantasy does not weaken me or waste my time in this world.  It builds me up and makes me stronger for every task I have to do.  And it keeps my ties to this world loose.  After all, I'm made for a different world.  By God's grace, I am destined to worship Him forever!! 

   When I was younger, I thought of Heaven as a city where every thing was gold.  Cold, heavy, yellow gold.  And I thought it was like an eternal worship service, where everything was always serious and quiet and boring.  What kid doesn't?  As I've grown to love Christ more, I trust that I'm beginning to look forward to where I can actually see my Redeemer face to face.  And the more I read of my Bible, the more I see of God's warm love to all of His children.  His mercy, and His promised favor.  And God actually invented fun and laughter and pleasure of every kind.  He filled His fallen world with pleasures that are good.  Heaven couldn't be a place where there was boredom or even all seriousness.  I like what C.S. Lewis writes about it in "The Screwtape Letters:"

   "He [God] is a hedonist at heart.  All those fasts and vigils and stakes and crosses are only a facade.  Or like foam on the sea shore.  Out at sea, out in His sea, there is pleasure, and more pleasure.  He makes no secret of it; at His right hand are 'pleasures for evermore'....He's vulgar, Wormwood.  He has a bourgeois mind.  He has filled His world full of pleasures.  There are things for humans to do all day long without His minding in the least---sleeping, washing, eating, drinking, making love, playing, praying, working.  Everything has to be twisted before it's any use to us.  We fight under cruel disadvantages." 

   Yes, they do!  Thank the Lord, the powers of darkness do fight under cruel disadvantages!  The great thing is they aren't going to win in the end.  I can't wait for that to happen!

   Till next time then! 

~Cadenza

Peppermint Chai Christmas Eve

   I wish that I had all these posts about Christmas and getting ready for Christmas, but I don't.   The "Innernet," as D. and I call it has been touch and go for the last few weeks.  Sometimes even if it reads five bars it takes ten minutes to log in (and stay in!) and I don't usually have that long!  Brownie and Bud are still doing school and they don't want to focus (can you really blame them?) and BuggaBoo has learned how to crawl, and it takes not only two eyes to watch her constantly, but a whole person to keep her where she needs to be and to make sure she doesn't touch, eat, or throw up on anything she's not supposed to.  It's been a bit..um..demanding.  SO!  That's my story.  I'm stickin' to it. 

   Well, enough chit-chat.  Let's get down to business.  We decorated our tree a few weeks ago, and it's lovely.  It even has a strand of dancing/flashing lights on it!!!  Woo-hoo!  For as far back as I can remember, my family has had a strand of dancing lights to put on the tree, or last year, on the garland.  One of the coziest things for me at Christmas time is to just sit and watch them.  They mesmorize me.  Personally I hate how every tree you can buy in the States is pre-lit.  I mean, seriously?  Part of the fun of getting out the tree is watching and helping Dad struggle with untangling and testing the lights.  Then you get to put them on together as a family.  It's a team effort, and it's so rewarding!  Pre-lit trees are the pits.  You plug them in--ding!  All the lights are on, and they're just...on.  No flashing, no dancing, no slow fade.  Entirely without character.  Or personality.

   How in the world did I get onto that tangent?  Haha!  I don't feel strongly about it or anything!  Ahem, right.  Moving on.  I just finished wrapping my little presents for the family.  It's not much, really...if we had big stores and shopping malls nearby I would just love to run out and buy everyone lots of super nice things, but...we don't.  *Sigh*  I know Christmas isn't about presents, but I sure would love to just give crazily and wildly and watch their faces in the morning!  Jesus was right when He said it was more blessed to give than to recieve.

   It's getting so cold!  Jack Frost waited until December 21st to come this year!  But now that he's here, he is definitely here to stay!  I'm dressed in layers, and I'm wearing my hat in the house! 
   I am surrounded by poverty here in India.  So many people around me are cold, and they can't get warm.  I think of the village women here in their mud homes.  They're cold all the time, and their children are cold all the time.  They take cold baths outdoors, since they have no way to heat water.  They can't bundle up, or eat or drink something hot, or snuggle under wool blankets at night.  I can't imagine what it's like for the mothers to put all the clothes on their children and know that they are still cold.  I can't imagine feeling cold and hungry all the time, but that is their life in the wintertime.  It makes me look at all the things I have and think, "I live like a queen.  I have everything I could possibly need and so much more!" 

   I asked S. yesterday how she didn't get depressed with seeing all the need around her.  Obviously, you want to just rush to help everyone...but you can't.  You really can't.  So what do you do? 
   She thought for a moment, and she said, "Well, you cannot help everyone.  But you can't let yourself get cynical and think, 'Well, if I can't help everyone I won't help anyone!' "  She said, "You just look for the people around you and think, 'This person has a need.  What can I do to help meet it?'  And keep an open hand and an open heart.  All this stuff that I have isn't really mine at all.  I'm a steward.  It isn't mine to keep.  What can I give of it to bless someone else?' "
  
   Simple truth. Again, not easy, simple.  There is no easy answer to a question like that.  But I think the idea is to have an attitude of service, and a open heart who is willing to share.  Then I think God will guide us through the circumstances and specifics.  That is what I hope He will do for me--for the rest of my life! 

   This last week before Christmas I've really been missing my family.  I catch myself thinking about them all the time.  I keep wanting to say things to them, and feeling frustrated that a finicky computer is my only way to check up on them.  This is my first Christmas away from my family.  I've always known Christmas to be a time when many people feel torn between loved ones and friends, but this is my first time to really feel that way.  I love you, my family!  I miss you all! 

   I'm craving peppermint.  Each morning I think, "I sure would love a cup of sweet hot peppermint tea!"  But get this:  I wish I had some candy canes. 

*GASP*

   When I was little, every year I ended up getting candy canes right before Christmas.  You know, from Sunday School teachers and random people at church; that kind of thing.  I always felt a little exasperated at that because I didn't really like them that much.  They took so long to eat, too!  And I knew that for the next whole year when I looked into my can of where I kept my stash of candy I would find broken candy cane bits when I was craving chocolate...tragic.  But now I would like some candy canes.   I could grind them up and put them into my chai each morning.  Peppermint sounds wonderful right about now, even if it isn't chocolate. 

   I'm excited about tomorrow.  Not the way the children are.  I don't care what I get for Christmas.  I'm excited to give my little gifts to people.  I hope they like them.  They aren't much, but they're from my heart. 

   Isn't it wonderful?  God gave His very best for us.  His Son.  He didn't hold Him back when He had every right to.  And Jesus volunteered to come to earth---to pay for our wickedness and rebellion against Himself.  Scripture says He did not "count equality with God a thing to be grasped."

   What?

   He was God, and He had a perfect, joyus relationship with His Father, and with the Holy Spirit.  And yet He chose to come to earth as a servant...and as a ransom?  To pay for ungrateful, selfish people like us?  He wanted to bring us into a restored relationship with Himself and with His Father.  He loves us that much.  He gave His life, and then He rose up again and will one day return as King over all.  He promised that anyone who came to Him and asked for mercy because of His atonement could be His child, and that He would save them from His coming anger and judgement of sin.  He has made me His daughter.  How could I do any less than pour out my life for Him, since He held nothing back for me? 

   Seeing poverty here in my face reminded me that Jesus was born into poverty.  He wasn't born in a palace with servants all around.  It was humbling enough for Jesus the Prince of Heaven to come as a helpless, toothless, crying baby.  But He was born into poverty, into shame, into hardship.  He came giving a blessing wherever He went, and people rejected Him and eventually got so enraged against Him that they howled for His blood.  Why did He choose that?  For love.  Love for rebels and unkind, ungrateful people like me and you.  The Prince of Heaven became poor.  That fills me with awe.  And with gratitude.  If Christ loves me like that than why am I afraid of anything in this life? 

   He loves you like that.  If you don't know Him, than please pray to Him and ask Him to forgive you because of His sacrifice.  He will if you ask Him!! 

   Sooo.  Hope this post hasn't been too cliche.  That's what's on my heart.  Here's a song I'd like to share with you.  "Peppermint Winter," by Owl City. 

           Merry Christmas to you all! :D

~Cadenza 

Winter

  It seems to me that Winter has been given a smear by the general public.  I can't give you real proof of that idea; it just seems that way to me.  In the poems and songs, usually Spring and Summer are extolled.

  "The flowers that bloom in the spring--tra-la!
    Bring promise of merry sunshine!
    As we merrily dance and we sing--tra-la!
    We welcome the hope that they bring--tra-la!
    Of a summer of roses and wine,
    Oh, a summer of roses of wine..."

   (I did NOT make that up, in case you were wondering!!)  Anyway, you know what I mean.  Spring is always a good time in the stories, and Summer is usually even better.  Now Autumn is generally thought pretty good.  Sometimes you come across "a golden autumn," in the stories.  Everyone loves pictures of the trees when they turn their magnificent colors.  Autumn is my favorite season of all.  Living where I do, I have never really seen an Autumn in its full glory, but every year I love it when it comes.  The crisp coolness that comes in the air seems to make everything inside me jump to life again.  The leaves as they begin to turn their own special colors thrills me, and ohhh, the smell of a wood in Autumn--!  Have you ever taken the time to notice that particular smell of the leaves, combined with the chilly air at Autumn?  I love everything about Autumn.  The cooler air, the falling leaves, the smells, the acorns, the appearance of jackets and winter clothes again...I love it all.  To me it seems like rebirth and a time of rejuvination.  The whole earth seems to be getting excited and busy and happy, and it fires through my veins until I just have to become part of it all, or I'll burst! 

   So, that's spring, summer, autumn, and now winter.  Of course everyone loves Christmas, but after December, it seems that people are immediately tired of cold weather.  Most everyone I talk to is so "tired of this dreary weather," or it "depresses them."

   Now I'm not trying to be irate or anything here.  To each his own.  Some people just don't like cold weather.  I understand that.  I don't like hot weather that much.  I just find it interesting that people love Christmas and its season and then immediately want the warmth of spring again.

   Further note, I know what it's like to get sick of Winter.  I remember my senior year of high school after Christmas, I could hardly bear to look out the window.  I was so stressed, so worried about everything, and so hopelessly busy that when I looked out at the wet brown grass, the naked branches of trees, and the steely gray sky, all I felt was fear.  I couldn't stand it.  It reflected what I felt inside instead of helping me feel better.

   But may I just offer you a new perspective of Winter?

   Winter is the frosty air, and the keen winds that nip your cheeks and nose when you step outside.  I love that, as long as I'm bundled up well enough.  I love the sting of the wind in my face, because of the way it makes my blood dance in my veins.  I'm alive, and I know it.  I feel alive, to the very core of my being.  I love to run in that wind.  It makes me feel adventurous, like some wild thing.  I want to run with the wind, to feel that I am a part of the wind instead of fighting against it.  Sometimes I feel if I could only run fast enough, the wind would bear me up and sweep me far away.
  
   Let's look around, shall we?  The gray sky.  The vast gray sky with no boundaries.  It's a sky under which anything could happen.  Look at the black branches of the trees sillhouetted against it.  For a moment, just forget all prejudices you have against that, and just look at the beauty of it.  The sharp angles, the clear-cut angles, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope.  Watch them waving in the whistling wind.  Do you feel the excitement?  Even the trees seem restless.  It's as if everything is inviting you into some great adventure. 

   Have you ever been walking through the woods on a winter day?  Have you ever taken time to notice the wildness of everything?  The outdoor world is still not tamed, and I'm glad it isn't.  Winter reminds you of that.  You see the bare bones of nature, and they are strong and unafraid.  Now, imagine that instead of being frightened of that, you go out into it as a friend, wanting to be a part of it all.  Appreciate the hardness of nature in Winter as well as its gracious invitation in Springtime.  Nature cannot really teach you any specific lessons, but being out in it is refreshing to the mind and the soul.  I love the beauty of Winter, even without the lovely snow, because I love the feeling of adventure and excitement.

   Have you been outside on a Winter's night anytime recently?  I envy people who live up North who can see the Aurora Borealis from their own backyards.  One day I want to see those lights myself.  But go outside as dusk is falling.  I'm always amazed at how such angular, bony branches can cast such long, soft shadows at dusk.  Dusk is my favorite part of the day.  When the sun and moon are in the sky together, and light and darkness mingle together.  Dusk is about harmony, and I love that part of the day most.  Everything is peaceful at Dusk, and I love the colors of a sunset.  In Winter, the twilight hour is cold, but still gracious and soft, in its own way.  And when the sun sets and the stars come out--!  I can never feast my eyes enough on the frosty stars that shine out so clearly in the Winter.  I love to see stars peeping through the bare branches of trees.  Do you take the time to notice the stars?  Never be in such a hurry that you don't have time to notice the stars at night. 

   Where I live, we don't get a lot of snow in the winter time, but when we do, I am always spellbound when I watch it fall.  I love to admire the shadows on the snow, or the moonlight reflected on it.  I don't get to see that very often, so it's extra special when I do get to see it.  Or seeing the woods behind my house transformed when the snow falls.  But of course, there are songs about enjoying the world when there is snow on the ground. 

   If I had some kind of condition and the doctor told me I would have only one Christmas left, do you know what I'd want to do?  After our church's Christmas Cantata which always falls on the second Sunday of December, I would have our family pack up and rent a cabin somewhere further up north.  Perhaps in Colorado.  Just somewhere remote and really comfy and spacious and--country.  I would want an old-fashioned Christmas, with cutting down a tree from the woods nearby.  Some days we'd go skiing, some nights we'd go on real sleigh rides, and every day we'd play in the snow and explore the woods and take long walks, and go sledding, and go ice-skate together on a huge frozen pond.  Some nights we'd drive far away and go carolling all around.  Maybe we'd even drive to a big city and admire the lights and decorations and go shopping.  We'd all cook delicious food and tons of desserts together and we'd all help with the work.  Every night we'd sing Christmas carols around the fire and tell funny stories until our stomaches hurt.  And we would all be merry and childlike and content.  And Christmas morning we'd maybe have some gifts for eachother.  That would be nice, but Christmas isn't about presents.  That's what I would love to do if I knew I had one Christmas left on earth. 

   Okay, that's not where I expected this post to go, but I hoped you enjoyed it.  Till next time, then!

~Cadenza 





 

The Hard Truth

   Okay, people.  I can't believe I've been here for nearly three months and only have 9 posts to show for it.  I am officially kissing my expectations for every post to be pristine goodbye.  I simply don't have time to fuss for weeks over a post.  Posts must be short and plentiful, and then when I get more time, I can make 'em look professional.  As it is, there's lots I want to say, and I never make time to say it because I'm so overwhelmed by my ideas of what each post should look like.  So.  Now you know. 

   I always thought that once I was a mother I would be this cheery, fun-loving, amazing woman who filled her house with sunshine and laughter.  I just knew I would be THAT woman who could always keep her sense of humor, even when things were going haywire.  In my vanity, I pictured myself as this girlish, pretty young wife with two or three kids around her, dancing and singing in the kitchen and laughing at everything those young innocents said.  And I thought that surely other ladies who got a glimpse into my life would wonder how I could be so happy and sunshiny all the time.

   Rude awakening.

   Yesterday I slumped.  Badly.  I mean, I was a positive grouch.  I couldn't figure out why I felt so nasty, but every little thing was irritating me.  I wanted to go verbal with my complainings, but I didn't, since it isn't my house and the kids aren't my kids.  So I just got very quiet.  I didn't laugh, I didn't talk, I just kept my mouth tight shut.
  
   I tried to figure out what made me feel so contrary.  I'd been up late the night before, but I'm a night-owl; that doesn't bother me.  The water that had arrived at my door had been hot.  It wasn't that time of month.  The kids were just being kids, nothing they were doing was particularly wrong.  I just felt tired of everything, upset at everyone, and I was eating and eating anything I could lay my hands on.  Was I missing my family?  I had to be honest and admit "No, not at the moment."  What was making me feel so angry and resentful?  It wasn't like a Sneaky Hate Spiral, when something goes wrong at the beginning of the day and lots of little annoyances pile up until you go hysterically crazy mad.  (If you are curious about Sneaky Hate Spirals, click on this link and read the story:  http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.in/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html  ) 

   Eventually I had to come to grips with it.  The hard truth is I am not the nice, joyful person I thought I was.  Considering my circumstances, the only fitting diagnosis was my pride, and my sin nature.  I was being so disagreeable and cross for no reason at all.  My pride must've felt that the world wasn't treating me nicely enough.  Yeah.  When what I deserve is so much worse than I can even imagine.

   I tend to be so caught up in my different circumstances here that I don't feel grouchy.  I'm tickled to be serving when I feel that I can choose to serve, and where there is no guilt or rebukes lurking around the corners.  It's great to be around such amazing kids on a day to day basis, especially since I'm old enough now to understand their behavior through both their eyes and an adult's eyes.  It's fun and challenging to cook from scratch, and I love playing with Bugga Boo.  I love having my own little house to sit and just think in...I love walking to it under the night sky (and Orion, that hangs over the chapel) and setting up my computer with its speakers to play music, and lighting the little scented candle that sits in the corner.  I love eating snacks and poring over "The Two Towers," late into the night, or journaling on the bed until I can't hold my eyes open.  At home I'd been bored and restless.  Here every day I'm working hard and serving with my whole heart, and everyone appreciates and affirms me and seems to enjoy my quirks.  No one tells me to stop singing or gives me a rebuke when I laugh out loud over something funny.  Yet with all this, I was being spiteful and arrogant.  Why?

   It's my sin.  My pride.  I thought I was this amazing person, but when a few little circumstances prick me, my little bubble is burst and my pride goes hot.  How dare those children keep chattering after I told them to settle down?  How dare they criticize this food that I've worked an hour to prepare from scratch?  They're just kids---they've never cooked, they don't know how hard it can be.  To them it's perfectly fair to be upset that I didn't remember that they don't like peas and carrots.  Why does it matter to me?  Why do I get my feelings hurt over something as ridiculous as that?  It's my sin.

   Thank God above that there is forgiveness for my sins.  Because really, me in my sins is just like an annoying, immature child to my Heavenly Father.  Suddenly I felt sad that I was wishing the kids were getting spanked for each little thing.  What if God punished me--as His child--for every single bitter thought or selfish deed I did each day?  Of course, God doesn't work like that.  He sent His Son to bear my punishment.  And now His wrath towards sinners has been absorbed by Christ as He hung on the cross and said, "It is finished."  Jesus is alive today, and He gives grace and mercy when I don't deserve it.  What hope would I have if He treated me as I deserved each day?  I thanked Him for that in my heart. 

   This morning, some people may say that I woke up on the right side of the bed, but I know better.  God gives grace and mercy, and I was a more grateful person today when I started serving with my whole heart, and counting my blessings instead of focusing on myself. 

   Another short post coming later...thanks for reading! 

~Cadenza
 

Little Happy Things

   Heyyy!  Whew!  The above post took a whole month!  I'm so sorry, y'all!  Thanks for the faithful ones that hung in there!

   So I guess what I'll do is just give you some little things that have been happening.  Here something new or exciting or sweet or funny happens every day.  I can't record all of them because I only brought one journal with me...:) 

   Well...I would like to show you a picture of Bugga-Boo, who has been mentioned before as "my munchkin baby sister."  I seem to be spending a lot of time with her these days.  The older kids spend nearly every spare moment they can find out playing with their friends on campus.  S. has been cleaning in the new house that they'll be moving into before too long...(LORD WILLING.)...which means that I spend most of my afternoons holding down the fort with Bugga-Boo.  Here she is!! 

     Isn't she just adorable??  These days she squeals instead of babbles, and it is evident now that she's got a fine little temper of her own...but it just reminds me how we're all born in sin, right?  One of her cuter quirks is that when anyone carries her, she just hangs loose.  She doesn't cling or put her arms or legs around you at all.  She just hangs there, and she's perfectly calm, like a Rag-Doll cat.  Haha!
  
   Sometimes when I'm cooking I have to watch Bugga Boo at the same time.  So I put her in her bouncy seat and put on some music and give her a toy, and usually she's as good as gold.  Of course  I turn around and talk to her every few minutes, and the instant we make eye-contact, her whole face lights up in her big, toothless smile.  It's precious!
  
   Right...where I was going with that was that one of my favorite things to put on when I'm cooking is "The Lord of the Rings" Musical. 

   Yes.  There is a musical of "The Lord of the Rings."  Apparantly it premiered in London in 2007, but it didn't get very much attention.  My big brother discovered it some time ago, and he showed me a Youtube lyric video of one of the songs last December.

   I want to rant about why I love it so much, but I think it'll be better to show you one of the songs instead.  If you don't care for it, it'll save your time, but if it gives you chillbumps, you should check it out. This one is called, "The Road Goes On."   

   The first two singers are Frodo and Sam, the next two are Merry and Pippin as they're walking through the Shire.  Then you hear the Elves singing in their own tongue--the language that J.R.R. Tolkien actually invented.  The last people singing are the Rangers from the North. 

   I hope you enjoyed it!  I shall post again soon!

~Cadenza


  





  

Hospitality and Brownies

   Hello, everyone.  I'm so sorry I haven't posted in so long.  This story took a lot of effort to write out, so I'll try to make it up to y'all later with some other smaller posts.   

   Some weeks ago, S. asked me to go with her as she led her ladies' Bible study in the village, and I accepted. 
   As we drove, S. began to tell me about the living conditions in the village.  The houses are often made of dirt, and when the heavy rains come here, sometimes they fall in on top of them.  The water that they use is pumped by hand, and from the underground streams that branch off from the Ganges river...and so on. 
   I listen to her as she describes all this, and I think about my comfortable home in the States.  I think of my cushy lifestyle, and of how easy it is to "be a Christian," in my part of the world.  Shame and uneasiness began to creep over me like a dark cloud.  But I kept a cheerful face and resolved to play it by ear and simply do my best.  I don't speak any Hindi yet, so I'd let S. do all the talking.
   We come to a little house and women and children gather around S.  She begins to talk merrily with them, and when she introduces me, they all smile.
   We all sit down, and she begins a song.  They all join in and they clap their hands in a lively rhythm.  I don't know the song, but I clap along enthusiastically.  I hear everyone singing, as we'd say in the States, "with gusto."  May I just say right here that any Christian who refuses to let his voice be heard because he or she "doesn't have a good voice," would do well to visit another country and see how eager everyone in the tiny churches are to praise the Lord together, whether or not they "can sing."  It does a heart good to hear wholehearted, unpretentious singing! 
   S. begins to teach, and absolute silence falls.  I watch the faces of the women and children.  Their eyes are riveted on her face.  Some of them are actually leaning forward a little, intent on catching every word.  The children are crowded round the door, and they too are absolutely spellbound.  I look at the pictures that S. holds up, and I watch her guestures with her hands.  I listen to the tone of her voice, and I find I can follow along a little.  What strikes me most is S's face.  She is radiant.  Her eyes glow from their very deepest depths, and I can hear love and joy and delight spilling out in every word she utters.  She is placing a spiritual feast before a group of starving sisters.  This is what she does.  She left her comfy life in the States so that she could be like Christ, serving the "least of these." 
   I look deep into her eyes, and I feel passion stirring up my soul.  I want to serve like that.  I want to live a life that is useful to Christ.  I want to help others in my life, just like her.  I want that kind of joy, and as I look at the faces of these needy hurting hearts, I say in my heart, "Oh, Lord, please make me useful to You!  Let me live a life that helps others, so that I can further Your kingdom!"
   After the study, a certain lady invites us to her home, and S. and I go.  Like many other ladies, she askes S. if I am her sister.  Apparantly they think we look alike.  S. laughs and explains that I am her friend from her country.  This lady looks at me and her eyes are positively glowing.  She lays her hand on my shoulder and she says that she feels she loves me already and that she is so, so glad that I am here. 
   I'm grateful, but I feel like an imposter.
   She has us come into her house, and S. begins to show me around.  I step into the doorway of a mud house.  Inside it's as black as night.  I stand inside and know that I'll never forget this for as long as I live.  It's a house built of mud.  There are no windows.  S. shows me a circle of burnt wood, and she explains that that is where she cooks her meals.  I feel my stomache tighten inside me. 
   Beyond is a slightly larger room, where she sleeps with all of her children, and that's all there is to the house.  She then takes us outside, where she has a wooden bench next to a table, and there's a colored canopy spread over it.  On the table is a tiny sewing machine, and S. explains to me that that is how she earns the money she and her children live on.  She tells us to be seated, and so we sit.  She wants to serve us some food, which is the height of hospitality in India, I'm told. 
   A surge of emotion wells up inside me as she leaves to bring it to us.  This is hospitality at its peak.  This woman has so little, and yet she earnestly wants to share and make us her guests.  She brings us out some roasted corn, and two little glass bottles of Mountain Dew.  Wait, she's bought us Mountain Dew??
   "Oh Lord, protect my stomache, please."  I hear S. say with a grin.  I pray the same thing.  All these flies are buzzing around us, and I'm trying my best not to flinch too obviously like a spoiled Westerner. 
   S. digs right in, and I follow her example.  I have never seen true hospitality until today.  I have never seen it so self-sacrificing and so happily given.  I look this lady's shining eyes and I feel such shame and disgust at myself that it's working its way into a sick feeling inside me.  I'm trying to keep it down so that I don't begin weeping right now in front of her. 
   After we finish eating and drinking, S. visits with her, and after a farewell, we drive back home. 

   The house is quiet, and even though I'm not tired, all I can do is lie down.  I'm overwhelmed by what I have just seen, and yet I can put no words to my emotions.  I have to sort myself out. 
   I think about this afternoon.  The hungry hearts, the mud house, the stark poverty, the lifestyle of toil and hardship.  Then I see her eyes, shining with joy and love.  I think of her words to S: "Didi, I need nothing!  I have everything in Christ!" 
   I close my eyes and feel a struggle forming within me.  What I have just seen is the polar opposite of the only lifestyle I have ever known.  Of course I've read about things like this.  Of course I've heard about them from missionaries that come to our church.  I've even seen the movie, "Slumdog Millionaire," a powerful movie about a boy who was born in the slums of India.  But actually seeing this kind of poverty with my own eyes has almost unmade me. 
   At least that's how I feel now.  Unmade. 
   Nothing can ever be the same again.  What I have just seen demands a response from me.  But what kind of response?  I have no idea. 
   I'm smote inside with guilt at the pampered life I've led.  But God gave me those things, so they weren't sin for me to have.  I probe deeper into my heart.  I'm aware of a frantic fear that I'm trying to control, but what is it? 
   What I find myself praying is, "Oh, Lord!  What do you want me to do?  What ever can I do?  Just tell me...what must I do?" 
   Then I understand.  I realize that I must never forget what I have seen, but I don't know how to live my life in the right response of it.  What does He want me to do?  I'm suddenly aware of how He owns my life and how He can demand anything of me.  I'm afraid because I want to obey, but what will He ask of me? 
   You know how Scripture pops into your mind when you're praying sometimes?  As soon as I asked Him, "What do you want me to do?" I suddenly remembered Micah 6:8  "He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" 
   At last, I think I'm beginning to see.  Wherever you are, whatever you have, you can serve the Lord.  The point is do what you can to serve Him, and live only for His glory.  Whether He calls me to a pampered life in the States or not; I can use what He gives me.  Everything is for His glory.  Whatever I do, I can do for Him.  I'm not going to miss His will for my life if I truly want to live for His glory.  He won't let me out of His will.  There's no way that I can live for Christ and find myself in a cage living a wasted life.  That's not what He wants for me.  And He isn't reproaching me now for the life I've lived...I think He's giving me a new perspective.  I still don't know what He wants me to do with my life, or in what areas He wants me to serve; I still feel kind of like I'm spinning in mid-air after all that I've seen today, but I feel certain now that He'll show me what He wants me to do. 

   I tried to explain some of this to S.  I'm not sure how much she could make out from my confused words, but pretty soon we begin talking about household matters, and I'm reminded that I offered to help her make some brownies for the company that's coming over tomorrow night.  I re-offer and head into the kitchen.  She shows me a recipe, and I take over. 
   A curious enthusiasm awakes in me.  I'm so glad to have something tangible to do with my hands!  I've felt so awfully helpless all afternoon, and now I can do something to serve!
   And then with this new perspective, the world around me falls into recognizable order.  I'm no longer spinning; I know where I am, what I'm doing, and why.  Joy and thankfulness bubble up inside me as I realize that perhaps as I was crying out to God: "What do you want me to do?"  His answer to me was (with a smile,): "Go and make those brownies!"
   God is pleased with everything that is done for His glory, even if it's things we think are mundane or unimportant, like mopping the floor, cleaning up trash, or changing a baby's diaper.  When done with a joyful attitude of service, we can perform the smallest chore for God's greater glory.  Of course, to say that God's answer to me was to make a pan of brownies is a bit of an oversimplification.  There is no easy answer to that, but He doesn't answer that kind of question all at once.  What His answer seemed to be was more of was, "Just start serving, and I'll show you where to go."
   If ever brownies were made for the glory of God, those brownies I made that night were.  They were chewy and irresistable, and D. and I and a few of the kids made sure none of the batter went to waste.  I even put in my special multicolored sprinkles that I'd brought from home.  But equally sweet was the new fresh perspective God gave me that day.  Through hospitality and brownies. 

~Cadenza  












 

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