tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39272046040170116732024-02-08T07:57:36.482+05:30Change PlacesThough we are faithless, He is faithful.
Though we change, He never will.not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-31690351520824999042013-09-15T02:04:00.006+05:302013-09-17T06:08:54.123+05:30All the love from London!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>This is going to be a long one – bear with me. I’ve been
sitting in a hotel room all day with nothing else to do. ;)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, this time at the airport my bags went through with no
questions asked. They are not too heavy and they are not to many, praise the Lord.
After getting through the checkin last night at Indira Gandhi airport, I was
relieved, but there was also the note of sadness in my heart. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m really leaving India now</i>, I thought.
I walked toward the security checkpoint. I tried not to use too much Hindi - I
know that my Indian friends really appreciate it knowing I made an effort to
learn their country’s language, but even though my Hindi is nowhere near
comprehensive I also know that using it makes me look like a showoff in a place
like an airport where everyone knows English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when I got through to the pat-down, the lady asked me
for my boarding pass, which I’d sent through accidentally with my hand luggage,
and on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">men’s side</i> of the luggage
operation. Oops. I couldn’t get to my bags because they’d passed through
security and I hadn’t, so I had to get help. To expedite the process, I walked
up in front of all the men and spoke directly to the policeman working the
machines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bhaiya,” I spoke loudly
but sweetly, “Meri boarding pass udthar hain. Maf karna, lekin zarurat hain.
Mujke ko dedijiye? Dhanyavad.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Brother,
my boarding pass is over there. So sorry but I need it. Can you please give it
to me? Thank you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><br />
He started looking and I knew it wasn’t out in the open, I’d packed it away. So
I said, “Bhaiya, brown bag me hain. Nahin, nahin, Chhoti chhoti walla me.
Hannji! Dhanyavad!” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Brother, it’s in my
brown bag. No, no, the small one. Yes sir! Thank you!<br />
</i>He looked at me amiably and instructed me to be more careful with my things
and to close my bag properly. He smiled as he took it back to put it with my
other luggage again. <br />
I waited again in the line for the patdown and when I entered the small
curtained room, the lady looked at me and started a conversation – she spoke
only Hindi - “How long have you been in India??”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d heard my exchange with the policeman. I told her about
my time in Delhi and that I was leaving for marriage. “But,” she asked
carefully, “aren’t you going to come back?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her that I had met Andrew here and that we had plans
to return after I get a PhD. “You should really come back. Come back,
okay?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thik hain, di. Hum aungi.”
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay, sister. We will come.<br />
</i>I smiled in my heart as I left the curtained room. India wants me back. <br />
<br />
As I was reaching my terminal, I passed one of the duty-free shops in the
airport. I had kept some money in rupees just in case I needed to make calls on
the payphone again, and I figured I’d better use them before I got out of the
country. I stopped in at a shop called Lotus just to see if they had anything
cheap enough for me to buy. I asked the store clerk, in Hindi again, if he had
anything cheap to show me. We talked a little in Hindi, too, and he was so
delighted that he took me through every item in the shop that was within my
budget, along with figuring out how many of each item I could buy with the
money I had left. He was very kind to me. I found out he’s from Tripura, and
he’s here in Delhi alone working to support his mother and his little sister.
He complimented my Hindi numerous times, gave me a little discount on the
goods, and I wished him all the best as I left the shop. <br />
I feel very accomplished when I can communicate effectively in Hindi, even with
all my grammar and vocabulary deficiencies. I’m going to miss that. <br />
<br />
I was sitting at gate 7b waiting to board the plane to London and Lufthanza was
making an announcement. They made it in English first. Then in Hindi, which I
understood. Then they made the same announcement in German. In high school I
studied German, and I probably knew almost as much of it then as I know of
Hindi now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was really tickled to
understand the same announcement in three different languages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled and looked down at my lap,
pleased with myself, and just then I noticed my name on my British Airways
ticket. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-ceF5ghYQuzwSfhT7u3LvO8PWuT2pnfwfNalqUByosrt1b1E8wyo6LPpD5fnFZXDvwRykHzf5zK5OUqRAEvuBJG9TdwT5YG0DvmP30QrUWLIh2ztSmGIfmoShxxNyEih_ppxlP9Q5sI/s1600/IMG_4222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-ceF5ghYQuzwSfhT7u3LvO8PWuT2pnfwfNalqUByosrt1b1E8wyo6LPpD5fnFZXDvwRykHzf5zK5OUqRAEvuBJG9TdwT5YG0DvmP30QrUWLIh2ztSmGIfmoShxxNyEih_ppxlP9Q5sI/s320/IMG_4222.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It reads:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“Terrall, J.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
World Traveller.”<br />
</b>That’s right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, one last amusing Hindi story. <br />
The night flight from Delhi to London, on which we had two screaming babies and
one lady who laughs hysterically in her sleep (real weird), was mostly fine. I
got some sleep and skipped the terrible food and had an aisle seat next to a
guy with a cane, so that was a little obnoxious. As we were landing, though, I
listened to the overhead announcement from the cabin crew. It was a very
typical “Welcome to London, we hope you enjoy your stay if this is your final
destination, it has been a pleasure serving you today.” Then came the
translated announcement in Hindi. I have always assumed they translated them
fairly directly for both sets of passengers but I was amused to find that in
the Hindi version, there was a lot less cordiality. “You are most welcome in
London,” I caught, and, “we have not stopped yet. Do not get crazy. Stay in
your seats. Wait for others. Please have patience! Don’t push and shove!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, that is a rough paraphrase, but it
was the translated meaning of the message. I chuckled at the appropriateness of
the announcement tailored to fit the situation and the temperament of the
different<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>people groups. Oh,
Indians. Oh, India. Incredible India.<br />
<br />
As it should be, It’s raining in London. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was dealing with a good bit of culture shock just standing
in the customs line at Heathrow. One too many fuzzy sweater+short shorts+patterned
tights+ankle boots combos had me feeling dizzy. Everybody’s copious scarf lays
perfectly around their neck in Europe. The ladies’ hairbuns perch high on their
heads and their fashionable tattoos peek out from beneath their
shirtsleeves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least three
quarters of them have incorporated leather into their outfit in one way or
another. I saw a girl wearing a vest as a shirt under a heavy down jacket and
hotpants above bare legs and winter boots in some kind of bizarre layering
fail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(what season is it, anyway?)
There was another girl in the line with us and – I kid you not – she was wearing
two hats. One right on top of the other. <br />
I was really struck by the strength of the feeling that I did not belong.
Having done a fair amount of traveling, I usually don’t suffer from culture
shock, but coming from saris and salwar suits into the London airport turned
out to be a lot to handle! <br />
<br />
I was proud of myself for taking my 150 pounds of baggage and figuring out the
bus system – instead of taking a $47 one-way cab to my hotel five minutes away,
I sat out at the correct stop (there are about 40 different ones in the Heathrow
parking lot) and got my stuff on the shuttle which took me to my hotel. I
realized once I got here, I don’t think I’ve ever checked into a hotel alone
before aside from the one time I had to crash in the airport hotel in 2010. The
concierge who checked me in seemed to sense my impending weariness and as a
woman in her twenties herself, caught onto the fact that I was alone. She told
me she’d get my bags up to me – yes, those three heavy ones I stashed in the
corner back there by the door because they were broken by the airline and I
didn’t make the effort to put them on a cart before checking in. I thanked her
and went to my room. About five minutes later, there was a knock on the door,
and there was the same sweet lady standing in front of me with my bags! “oh my
goodness! YOU brought them up yourself?” I was blown away – a line had formed
behind me downstairs at check-in, and I knew she must have left them to help me
out. “Oh, not a problem,” she said in a thick cockney accent, “I got one of the
taxi drivers down there to help me with them.”<br />
She asked me if I was going home, so I told her I was coming from Delhi. We
exchanged a few questions; I thanked her warmly and then in terrible form, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">asked</i> if I could tip her. She flatly
refused money and wished me well, leaving me in a beautiful room with a soft
bed, a terrible view, and complete silence. <br />
<br />
I remember now the coming home from Delhi in 2010 – the contrasts are so stark.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting alone on a 60-degree
restaurant patio this evening all to myself, I think of the feeling of sharing
public transportation smaller than an SUV with ten strangers in the 105-degree
heat. Even on the way to this hotel I had the entire bus to myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hot in Delhi and it’s raining in London. But even the
predictability of the places doesn’t prepare me for the leaving, the
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is so much leaving in
this life and so many people to miss in the world. <br />
Regardless, I’m thankful to be missing them because it means I met them and I
loved them. I’m thankful to find kindhearted people, like the payphone operator
in the airport on Wednesday and the security baggage girl there yesterday and
the man in the lotus shop at my terminal and the concierge at this hotel, no
matter where I am. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m thankful
for another day to live and breathe, wherever I may be. <br />
All praise to the One who keeps me living, keeps me serving, keeps me going. I
know that He is Good no matter what I am.</div>
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Love from London,<br />
Julie, gone.</div>
</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-74266319553454757222013-09-12T14:04:00.000+05:302013-09-12T18:45:03.708+05:30Just kidding!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
it was all a joke!<br />
<br />
This morning, Pastor Uncle came and sat down in front of me in order to tell me a story.<br />
"Long ago, I witnessed a flood," he said.<br />
"There was a man who had floated out of his house. He was on top of something that looked like a blanket. The villagers nearby were telling him to leave the blanket and swim to safety.<br />
"This is not a blanket!" He said, "This is a bear!"<br />
"What?!" The villagers were so alarmed. "Leave that bear right now and swim away!"<br />
But in its own fear, the bear was holding on to the man as they both floated in the water. The man, with a shrug, shouted back at his friends,<br />
"I want to leave the bear, but the bear does not want to leave me!"<br />
<br />
Uncle laughed and laughed, and i smiled as i got his point.<br />
I want to leave the bear, but the bear does not want to leave me.<br />
<br />
You see, i went to the airport at midnight last night to fly away from the bear. I brought four bags: two to check and two to carry. That's hardly an unreasonable amount of stuff to have amassed over the period of a year, right? Well, because of different restrictions on the way to Africa, I was going to have to pay over $650 to take the one extra bag which exceeded their limitations.<br />
That's the price of the flight alone.<br />
I simply didn't have it.<br />
After a series of events, we had found a way for me to consolidate my things, send one through international mail and one as the maximum baggage allowance on the flight. But then, the stewardess asked to weigh my hand luggage. My laptop bag was about 4kg over their standard weight for carry-on luggage. Because of that, they refused to let me board the plane.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I want to leave Delhi, but Delhi does not want to leave me.<br />
<br />
I fought with the check-in staff for four long sleepless hours between midnight and 4:15 A.M. After numerous trips to a pay phone in a far corner of the check-in terminal of the airport, and after getting an afterhours message from my travel agent and a voicemail on my fiance's phone, i began to cry. The payphone operator had come to know me a little bit, as I had been back and forth with him several times he had asked in Hindi what was going on. He watched his lap carefully as i held my hand over my mouth and tears streamed down my face, and a few other people started to gather gingerly because my tears made them uncomfortable. The operator undercharged me for the two calls i'd just made and he began turning from person to person, telling my story to everyone around in simple, soothing and empathetic Hindi words. "<i>Why on earth won't they just let her on the flight? Poor thing. For 20 kgs they want 40,000 rupees. What is this? This lady is so good and sweet. She has been in India for one year. Now she can't go home. And she speaks Hindi also so nicely!" </i>Those listening to the story clicked their tongues compassionately and shook their heads. That man was the only person in the entire airport to care about me in any sense of the word, and he touched my heart.<br />
<br />
I left them to find a cab and came back to my home in Delhi. I've had to convince everyone who has seen me so far that they are not dreaming, that I am truly still here.<br />
Another day, another mango shake.<br />
<br />
My Africa plans are done. I'll do my best to get any possible refund from the flights i'm missing and head home ASAP. My visa is also up on the 14th, so some way or the other i have to leave the country by tomorrow.<br />
To tell you the truth, I sort of have a peace about Kilimanjaro. It was a little unsure and a little dangerous, and maybe this hassle is saving me from a much bigger trouble. Who knows? There's no point in being agitated about it anymore, and at the end of the day money is just money.<br />
<br />
Moral of the story, you can plan your way in your mind but the Lord directs your steps.<br />
Second moral of the story, maybe don't fly Qatar.<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi still,<br />
Julie: ready to leave the bear.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-22475845984761386892013-09-11T13:01:00.003+05:302013-09-11T13:48:50.034+05:30My Work Here Is Done.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What do you do on the last day of your year in India?<br />
Trying to accomplish too much in the last 12 hours will make you feel helpless.<br />
Mostly what you can do is remember.<br />
Since last September, i have consciously formed quite a few memories. I'm naturally forgetful. I'm not a person who simply <i>remembers</i> most things - i have to decide to remember them. I carefully encrypted the scene and the feeling of leaving American soil on September 1, 2012. I intentionally stored the sound of the uncle in our nearby shop saying, "Don't keep ya money like this!" as he pointed to my 500 rupee note that i'd laid on the counter as i searched for change. I cherish the feeling of all of the planning and putting on of my Indian engagement party - the day i was surrounded by <i>almost</i> everyone i currently love. I remember my housemate Gloria telling me that i looked fresh on countless Sunday mornings. I filed away the lumbering motion of the elephants i rode through the Nepali jungle on, and the unbelievably vast himalayan mountain range surrounding Mount Everest. I stockpiled the conversations with Linda Fleming and the best teaching methods I learned during my time as an English teacher. I carefully preserved the proper way to put on a sari and a fannek or a mekhla. I treasured up the feeling in my heart when a dear brother told me, "You understand how we live here. You really should come back." I willed myself to record the shadow of my hands on the pavement rushing under them as i held them outside my speeding rickshaw in the sun, waiting for my bridal henna to dry last week.<br />
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<br />
So today i'm taking lots of photos, printing lots of photos, handing out hand-written notes and gilded wedding invitations, drinking one last mango shake, finalizing my packing setup and just smiling softly as i remember.<br />
I'm happy to hear from almost everyone that they feel good about the way i adjusted here, and that they don't think of me as an American - that i've come to fit in. I'm happy to have a new memory to keep - as just yesterday a foreigner friend of mine smiled at me knowingly and said to me, "I feel like you'll be back."<br />
I guess i feel like i will, too.<br />
<br />
There is nothing else to say; my words have all run dry.<br />
There is nothing else to do; my work here -for now- is done.<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie: done.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-66826221856583817512013-09-06T11:51:00.003+05:302013-09-06T13:54:09.945+05:30Birthday and the last week blues.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The sweetest bits of my time in India have been the first three months and the last two weeks.<br />
<br />
<i></i><br />
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My birthday was immensely special. The Babel Language Institute regulars pulled together and gave me such a wonderful surprise birthday party. They invited my friends from throughout this whole year; some of my students from the very first English class that i taught even showed up. All of these people who showed their love by coming really touched my heart. I was made much of - there were surprise elements and special songs and wonderful homemade food, a gorgeous fruit-decorated cake and a huge and festive Happy Birthday sign along with well-wishes on the wall. People wanted to take pictures with me, and i got to give a short speech in which i shared the whole reason i came here: I told them all plainly the Good News in a way i never really would have otherwise had the chance to do. I had a captive audience full of people who love and respect me, and I pray they were affected in some way by the love i so desired to share with them. The whole thing just went well - and what's more, it was well tailored to my preferences and personality. The atmosphere was comfortable and warm and wonderful.<br />
I've never had a better birthday party.<br />
<i></i><br />
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<br />
Afterwards some friends came over to sing in our living room, and after some time my friend Dika started into one song he seemed particularly excited about. When they heard the chords, everyone recognized it - they started laughing and they all sang me a song from an old Bollywood movie. The lyrics of the chorus are: "Pardesi, pardesi, jaana nahin! Mujhe chor kar! Mujhe chor kar." <i>"Foreigner girl, foreigner girl, don't go! Don't leave me - you are leaving me." </i><br />
<br />
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<br />
It is one of the sweetest of all my Indian memories. Maybe, actually, of all my memories anywhere.<br />
I felt so close to each one of those people - I looked at those who worked so hard on my party and sang to me that night and i know their faces. i know their favorite foods. i know their hearts.<br />
i feel so close to each of them.<br />
Of course now, every time I feel close to someone here, there is a twinge of sadness in my heart.<br />
<br />
Yesterday i was joking with a different friend of mine named Krishna. He is in an English class and he had come out to talk to me instead. I acted angry with him, because i've earned the right and the trust to be able to joke with my friends here. His teacher - my friend Nirvan - came out and ushered him back in as i yelled after him to work harder. Nirvan scolded him, stern but smiling. I laughed at the way their personalities interact, because i think they're funny and sweet people. Because i know them.<br />
At that moment i was suddenly sad as i thought inwardly that now, every time I laugh with someone here it makes me feel like i'll never laugh again once I get to America.<br />
Obviously i'm being dramatic.<br />
What can i say? I have the last week blues, the rose-colored glasses, the 20/20 hindsight.<br />
<br />
But today i paid a man 40 cents to pull me and my friend Praise behind his bicycle to a place ten minutes away - it took us twenty because of heavy and dangerously unpredictable traffic. He took us both to a huge street market that exists only once weekly. All of the shops are set up on that day and torn down on that night - Thursday - every week. I took only a small coin purse because the last time we went to Thursday market, my friend's bag was cut from the bottom with a sharp knife, and she never even noticed; neither did I, and i was right next to her the whole time. Right when we got there i bought fifteen cents' worth of some candied root off of an open sales cart. I ate it directly out of a bag made of today's newspaper and Taco Bell hot sauce packaging. I ate it as we browsed and picked up a few small things as i saw them, if i thought they would be useful or a good memorial of my time here. I bought a skirt, three pairs of earrings, and four sets of bangles. I spent under $8. On the way home i gave an extra 35 cents of tip to our electric rickshaw driver, and my friend scolded me for spoiling him.<br />
<br />
And it's not dramatic to say that certainly none of that is going to happen again once I get to America.<br />
<br />
i mix metaphors here, i drop the object of my sentence, i wear harem pants and everybody calls it a 'traditional conservative' style. I gain two pounds and people start asking me if i'm overeating because i'm stressed or because i'm happy - yes, they notice, and they comment. I wait for the vegetables and the cobbler (not food cobbler - he fixes my shoes... yes, that guy) to come to my doorstep. I use a blend of two languages in almost every sentence. There is deep history in architecture and museums and whole neighborhoods within my city, and the amount of public transportation options i have to take me there is simply unbelievable. More than all that, I have abundant opportunities to serve, and on a daily walk i pass at least five or six temples that implore my heart to pray for hope to reign. Being good is hard everywhere, but doing good is easy here.<br />
India has been hard on me.<br />
But these are the things i can take away from India.<br />
<br />
The kids in the slum. The spice market in Old Delhi. My church. The way to wear a sari. The subji-wallas. The chai being made openly on the street. The Punjabi chants coming from Sikh temples. The microphoned warbling during Hindu gatherings in neighborhood homes, sometimes for days at a time. The cloth and sari shops, the tailors, the gorgeous tassels and prints and<i> <b>colors</b></i>. The simultaneous diversity and unity of the great culture clash in the Delhi metropolis. The monkeys hanging from the fences. The Mahatma Gandhi Marg. The way to eat rice with my hands. The old men with full beards tied and turbans on their heads who ride motor scooters. The way to ask for change for a five hundred. The unbelievably long black hair of a million beautiful young women.<br />
These are the things I'll never forget.<br />
<br />
<i>after a number of upcoming parties including a huge birthday bash for my favorite five-year-old and a bridal sh</i><i style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;">ower for me, i'll be headed out. This Sunday I'll be in India. Next Sunday I'll be in Africa. The Sunday after that, I'll be in America. </i></i><br />
<i>Globe-trotting is tough duty, but i guess somebody's gotta do it. </i><br />
<i>I'm feeling incredibly blessed, but even more nostalgic. My heart has grown this year; broken and grown and healed. To you, my Indian friend, reading this sentence: I will miss you more than you know. I promise not to forget you.</i><br />
<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie with the last week blues.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-18734830425398344512013-08-20T11:40:00.000+05:302013-08-20T16:19:36.465+05:30True beauty and the note of gentle sadness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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From August 15-18, I was in a place called Sattal with 47 other young people from Delhi. We had a four-day camp in the monkey-filled jungle mountains; a place where the silence is tangible and the air is medicine to polluted lungs. I met a number of new friends, but in my treasured moments alone I read a book, and I took pictures, and I broke in my new hiking boots on and off of mountain trails. Frogs and mushrooms and seedlings shared with me their reminders about the secret habitat that fosters life, and tiny self-contained ecosystems of moss-fostered plants which thrived upon stone drew my attention from the fog of discontentment to a sharp-edged clarity. There is something completely uncontaminated in the beauty of a place where the clouds roll in around and below you, and beauty is what led me to peace this week.</div>
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<i>“In all probability
everyone is sensitive to beauty, although obviously some are far more so than
others.</i><br />
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<i>Experience shows that
even those who are apparently most prosaic are touched, even to their own
surprise, by certain forms of beauty. The line along which this
half-melancholy, half- magic touch may come varies enormously with different
people.</i><br />
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<i>All poetry and music
and art of every true sort, bears witness to man’s continual falling in love
with beauty, and his desperate attempt to induce beauty to live with him and
enrich his common life.</i><br />
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<i>True beauty always
seems to bear with it a note of gentle sadness, sometimes very poignant…</i><br />
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<i>It is possible that
beauty is a hint of the real, and true, and permanent; so that we feel without
conscious process of thought, ‘This is what life should be. This is what </i>is <i>in
reality.’</i><br />
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<i>It is possible that
beauty is a kind of nostalgia – what Wordsworth would call an ‘intimation of
immortality’.</i><br />
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<i>The appeal of beauty
which is universal, however distorted or debased it may have become, cannot be
lightly dismissed.</i><br />
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWSedjITEd55wQLLk19CYkCNy2BxNFY2lxRRKyIa3anEjKIKlQ8xhvksWeq2chn9M3G49kSI9whPnzDWK_q56GYIrnpG1DhognpRXSP9ZtYVU-HtxjDNizw2wX9SPu9ElRyAA1iYsITs/s1600/IMG_1308_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWSedjITEd55wQLLk19CYkCNy2BxNFY2lxRRKyIa3anEjKIKlQ8xhvksWeq2chn9M3G49kSI9whPnzDWK_q56GYIrnpG1DhognpRXSP9ZtYVU-HtxjDNizw2wX9SPu9ElRyAA1iYsITs/s640/IMG_1308_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i>We can at any rate say
that beauty arouses a hunger and a longing which is never satisfied in this
world.</i><br />
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<i>Both beauty and
goodness exert an effect upon man which cannot be explained in terms of the
world that we know, and to this we may add his search for Truth.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Man reaches out to
grasp more and more truth through science, philosophy, and religion, and yet –
why should he? Why should he not rest content with what he has and what he
knows? Why can he not accept death and evil and disease without worrying about
them? Why does he, in all ages and all countries, reach out to find Something –
something which will harmonize and explain and complete life’s bewildering
phenomena?</i><br />
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<i>Arguing, as we must,
from what we know to what we don’t know, we may fairly say that as food is the
answer to hunger, water the answer to thirst, and a mate to sexual desire, this
universal hunger for Truth is unlikely to be without its answer and
fulfillment...</i><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>however hard to find it may be."<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
J.B. Phillips, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Your
God is Too Small.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
By the way, i found out after returning that in these very hills,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
a girl was recently mauled by a tiger. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Guess we can be glad the biggest living thing i encountered to</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
photograph was a toad, huh?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Love from Delhi,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Julie, singing the note of gentle sadness. </div>
</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-48648363688518587672013-08-02T22:12:00.000+05:302013-08-06T15:54:56.426+05:30if you love them, you will make them chai. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Noteworthy: Yesterday
I visited an English student’s house, and in doing so I crossed the
holy Yamuna River, traveled to another state of India, looked from a rooftop
across a close-knit multi-religious community: a sight complete with goats and
chickens in the jungle and kites and helium balloons floating from the
neighboring terraces, ate dinner in the dark with a very endearing Muslim
family breaking their daily Ramadan fast at sunset, and traveled back along a
dark jungle road in a shared vehicle driven by a man smoking marijuana. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It’s a nice
short story, but a tedious long one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tonight I
poked my head into the bedroom with the TV. “You want chai? I’m thirsty.” I
smiled, knowing that about seventy-five percent of the time, Praise will take highly
caffeinated chai even after seven or eight o’clock, which is a tendency only
she and I share.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, you
know, I have a headache.” She moaned as her hand flew to the crown of her head
and tugged on her hair as it always does when she is getting a migraine. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If you love
me, then you’ll make for me. “ She constructed the idea as if it had been hers
in the first place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I sighed a
little. “I love you,” I said dismissively. “I am making.” I walked out of the
room. (This thing happens in India where we drop the object of every sentence.
It’s unavoidable in that it happens to everyone, no matter how unassailable
their English may be before they get here. Actually, it sort-of makes me feel
like we’re wasting time tacking that object on when we continue in the same
subject – it becomes redundant after awhile if you think…. I mean, yes.
Grammar. whatever. We drop the objects. We drop. Don’t worry about it.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Standing
over the pot in my open-air kitchen, I added cloves to the aromatic tea leaves
and hunks of crystallized sugar in water which was beginning to simmer. All at
once before I had even put them down, it occurred to me. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do</i> love Praisey. I love her like my family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know, India
does not always make me happy. India has taught me lessons the hard way instead
of the kind way. India has displayed character traits deep within me that I
didn’t care to know about myself. India has stretched me until I broke, poured
of my soul until it was empty, come alongside me only to disappear leaving me
bewildered, and tested me, only to find me wanting. I often want to leave. I
often want to yell. I often get the distinct feeling that this country will
never change. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I love
India. I love India like my family, in that tense no-man’s-land between love
and hatred. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
How could I
have asked for more from these past eleven months?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I’m reading
the book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shantaram</i> right now, and I’m
not very far into it, but the green-eyed heroine of the book is a European who
finds herself in Bombay, and says of the experience, “Sometimes you break your
heart in the right way, if you know what I mean… You learn something new or you
feel something completely new, when you break your heart that way. Something
that only you can know or feel in that way. And I knew, after that night, I
would never have that feeling anywhere but India. I knew--I can’t explain it, I
just knew somehow-that I was home…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love that
she said that, because almost all of you know that’s just how I feel; have
always felt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
India is
home, and home means family, and family means gritty everyday life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
India has
broken my heart in the right way. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Familiarity
breeds contempt, they say, and that’s what I needed to remember. Travel is
shiny and culture will make your eyes go wide, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">life,</i> that’s what really does you in. When you get tired of
somewhere and you want to leave, that’s when you know that place. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because life
just isn’t easy anywhere, friends. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
At first, I
thought that at their core, people are people, no matter where you go. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then about six months ago, I
realized: people with different backgrounds are fundamentally different, with
different desires and loves and passions; different morality and preferences
and wives’ tales. They behave differently and they yearn differently. They
believe in different truths, and that makes them deeply and vitally different.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But tonight, coming
full circle, I can finally believe again that laughter, pain, and love link the
worldwide race of humanity, this time in practice rather than by way of
ideology. And having felt the annoyance of my younger brother loudly clanging
on his cart, selling snacks in the street past 11pm; and having felt the
burning frustration toward the better performance of my older sisters, with
better grades and better singing voices and more knowledge of peoples’
inclinations than me; and having felt the endearing irritation of my mother’s
discourse as she falls behind the forward heave of technology and clings to her
boom box, smiling contentedly; and having felt the baffling reverence towards
everything slow – protracted speech, unhurried mindset, measured understanding,
glacial change, calculated planning – of my father; I am beginning to truly
believe we are all related.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because
people may drive you crazy, but no matter who or where they are, when you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see</i> them, you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love </i>them. Look down on the snack-seller from your home and watch
him caring for his craft. Watch the college girls smiling as they walk together
and dancing on their way to their college. See the aunties chatting, or working
to make dinner, or looking at old photographs, or sitting in the sun. Catch a
glimpse of the pastor, praying ceaselessly, and serving with gladness… I am
telling you, if you see them, you will love them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And if you
love them, you will make chai for them, no matter whose idea it was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Love from
Delhi,</div>
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Julie:
chai-wallie.</div>
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not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-24537258933884594842013-07-20T18:18:00.001+05:302013-07-20T18:18:25.670+05:30Waterlogged<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I slept in a little this morning because on Saturdays we don't have meetings with the staff. It was raining, so i made hot chocolate with my breakfast. I chatted with Heather, who had dropped by with Joy, and then I decided to start my day. I walked through the muddy streets and got very close to being sprayed by cars speeding through the residential area more than once. I decided to get my waxing done on my errands. This is sort of a personal detail, but I throw it in for the purpose of letting you know that to get my legs, arms AND underarms done is under $3 here. Lasts for three weeks. I've done the math - it literally costs less to get waxed here than to shave. When everything was finished I grabbed a mango shake for 40 cents and settled into the PMI basement to finish my preparations for the optional English class that I lead at the end of each week. I had found a really cool online service that makes art out of words, and had decided to integrate it into a short lesson on synonyms, adjectives, and the power of words. I made the necessary printouts and plans, but as I was finishing up, I heard a yell. Prabin was repeating something in Hindi about "Water Coming!" I looked over and the steps that come down from the bathroom did indeed have Water Coming out of them. We were being flooded by a staircase fountain. Our basement is situated a good deal below the surface of the road, and the entire area where we are located used to be (or, as seems more probable today, still IS) a river. They have kept the water at bay for building purposes, but in the rain the riverbed (A.K.A. the ground beneath our feet) saturates and FLOWS. We dealt with the flow in the basement and waited to see if the rain would stop. My shoe had broken in the struggle against the river, and I was kind of looking a mess, so when things settled I excused myself for a break.<br />
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<div>
I came away from all the fuss and sloshed my way home through the badly backed up streets to take a shower and change my shoes, and found the power out in our home - I'm just sure you won't know what luxury is until you've taken a cold bucket bath by candlelight. I'm not complaining though; it wasn't much of a problem because the rain had cooled the world to a comfortable, breezy 75 degrees, and the shower was actually really refreshing.<br />
<br />
I went back and everyone was joking that i may have to teach them all to swim before this monsoon is over! We canceled our programs for the evening, and no one showed up for English class, so my day is turning out to be very slow-paced. I think i'm okay with that.<br />
I've had enough on my plate just recently; my last two days have been fairly exciting...<br />
<br />
<div>
"I want to know why people believe in Christianity.<br />
I wonder about Jesus - I heard someone say He rose from the dead.<br />
I know that I can't be good enough.</div>
<div>
I feel like there must be a God."<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
This girl from Mongolia who looks like the spitting image of a real-life Mulan sat across from me on a couch, and she said all of those things to me.<br />
She had asked on Wednesday if I had time to sit with her and talk about God. Of course I told her I had time and that she should come the next day and we could discuss it.<br />
I asked her about her home in Mongolia and what religion her family and friends generally follow. I got to know more about her priorities and her customs and that was really precious to me. At the end of the first day she asked if we could meet every day an hour before English class for the rest of the month. We've spent two days so far going through the story of the problem and the promise.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
As we talk, I can see that she struggles with the supernatural aspects of faith. She wants a god she can see. She told me she loves the idea of a God that could really forgive people even when they keep hurting him - that it's wonderful how God loved Adam and Eve enough to cover their naked shame and promise them a way back to Him. She has no problem with a creation story or a consequence for wrongdoing, but a Jesus kind-of makes her tilt her head and take a breath. Her background is buddhist, so this doesn't much surprise me. </div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I've spent a lot of time and energy thinking and praying about our exchanges. I don't often get such blatant opportunities to share, and in depth, and one on one, and with someone who is actively interested. This girl is seeking truth hard, and I am asking God for her soul. </div>
<div>
I'll ask that you do the same. </div>
<div>
I find this whole situation to be making a deep impression on my heart and consciousness. Somehow I'm burdened - I am moved for her, and I feel like she's an important part of my Indian story. I hope you'll pray with me and for me as we continue to talk into the end of this month. </div>
<div>
And pray for continued refreshment from rain for me and safety from rain for my friends!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Love from Delhi,</div>
<div>
Julie, swimming in blessings and standing in rain.</div>
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not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-62821740617547199012013-07-04T23:27:00.002+05:302013-07-04T23:33:32.208+05:30Ceaseless Giving. Global Bonds.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">People take advantage of other people.</span></div>
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they work the system, they get their money's worth, they live on somebody else's dime. </div>
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I'm just thankful that in a world filled with people out for themselves, <i>Christ was not like that. </i></div>
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Isn't it amazing that he was human, and while humans are people who take anything we can from other people in order that we can have a better life, He was a human who made sure the best life was assured for us by giving everything He could to us. from take to give; from striving for better to resting in best. He really does fit our needs like a jigsaw puzzle, doesn't he? He really does fill our voids. Astounded today by the beauty of his unending giving. How does he keep on doing it?</div>
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Tonight was our international night in PMI, and not only was the diversity incredibly beautiful, it was so much fun. We had friends from Bangladesh, Kenya, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Madagascar, China, Turkmenistan, Belize, Laos, Nepal, the Philippines, and of course, India and America. We played games from other countries and sang everyone's national anthem and ate each others' food. i did a little jig and a dueling banjo performance - my banjo was carefully crafted from paper plates and toilet paper tubes, so you know that was a priceless two minutes of everyone's life. I placed second in the limbo competition, and what the very tall Ethiopian first prize winner lacked in back flexibility he made up for in BONELESS LEGS. We all were amazed; we laughed and laughed with delight. We danced around moving bamboo sticks and laughed even more when every one of us got tangled up in them, tripping over the traditional moves from the Philippines. Life is beautiful; the world is beautiful; the people of the world are beautiful. Salad from Laos is spicy. Cakes from China are chalky. Corn nuts from the Philippines are crunchy. And we all ate them together.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdl55TrxvOxH4obAIadBVCkRsNjNiacG8rhN3Ugvm04IMTGZ0_dSa4UAAsaLjndKJ9QDxZZf5_qThMGgowIkHY0C5fk8eDR-VbgB8brZmpGC3KGYqxvGIoBfCX-agacDske0tKGVaWg4/s1600/blogIMG_0591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdl55TrxvOxH4obAIadBVCkRsNjNiacG8rhN3Ugvm04IMTGZ0_dSa4UAAsaLjndKJ9QDxZZf5_qThMGgowIkHY0C5fk8eDR-VbgB8brZmpGC3KGYqxvGIoBfCX-agacDske0tKGVaWg4/s640/blogIMG_0591.jpg" width="379" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-uAXcRrqV6uIUtM2SSa84tjjyzhrWx5aO5k7bobFM175StZ4YpywZuiFHdV0rIbaDPLpVKOOAWzqWCgyPTAm9HgxLBvVe_Msu0u0P1qkEMd5Fc76BdtG6n2oewY3oscfyGnDvGzNagk/s1184/blogIMG_0646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="583" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-uAXcRrqV6uIUtM2SSa84tjjyzhrWx5aO5k7bobFM175StZ4YpywZuiFHdV0rIbaDPLpVKOOAWzqWCgyPTAm9HgxLBvVe_Msu0u0P1qkEMd5Fc76BdtG6n2oewY3oscfyGnDvGzNagk/s640/blogIMG_0646.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ceaseless giving.</div>
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Global bonds.</div>
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<i>Happy Independence Day! </i>I started this blog last night, feeling like i was writing two different paragraphs in two different directions with no transition piece, but also sensing that these two ideas would be something i would wish i'd written down. I labored through the two concepts separately today, ruminating on the contrast of God with the world by way of Christ and the contrast of the world with itself by way of countries. </div>
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The contrast of the world with itself is sensational; exquisite. His contrast with us is both meritorious and necessary.</div>
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(Even photographically speaking, contrast, which is just basic <i>difference,</i> is vital; did you know that? Without contrast you have flat colors and depthless perspective.)</div>
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Since it's Thursday, we had song practice for the Sunday service. We have a mission Sunday this week, so we were working with especially globally-focused material.</div>
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i was particularly moved by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-YHePdtMFY" target="_blank">this song.</a> </div>
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Somehow, this one's better heard than read, but here are the lyrics:</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>Love unfailing</b></i>, overtaking my heart<br />You take me in<br /><i><b>Finding peace again</b></i><br />Fear is lost in all You are<br /><i><b>And I would give the world to tell Your story</b></i><br />'Cause I know that You've called me<br />I know that You've called me<br />I've lost myself for good within Your promise<br />and I won't hide it;<br /><i><b>I won't hide it</b></i><br />Jesus, I believe in You<br /><b><i>And I would go </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>to the ends of the earth<br />To the ends of the earth </i></b><br /><i>For You alone are the Son of God</i><br />And all the world will see<br />That You are God<br />You are God.</span></div>
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I didn't even realize until i was singing it on my walk home that it coupled the two themes i'd been working with separately all day! </div>
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we don't hide His Promise to ceaselessly cover our sins. we can't keep it in our heads, in our homes, or in our countries. we have to go, and we have to talk about it.</div>
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Truth takes the fear out of difference. Truth gives us the opportunity understand people, to go to them where they are.</div>
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we learn to love each other in our differences because of how He Loved us.</div>
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He Loves endlessly, and He Loves the whole world, and that's why i love it, too.</div>
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<b> Ceaseless Giving. Global Bonds. </b></div>
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He covers our shame and joins our hands. </div>
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<i>how deep is my desire to be just like that.</i></div>
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Love from Delhi,</div>
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Julie, giving more ceaselessly; bonding more globally.</div>
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not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-17120889085557088142013-06-26T23:04:00.002+05:302013-06-26T23:09:27.818+05:30Chinatown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some friends of mine wanted to go out to eat last night, and they had a certain place they were wanting to go so i joined them. We took an auto out a little ways away and got down at a paved walking bridge which we used to cross the road. As soon as we got to the top, a wave of gentle nostalgia washed over me as the buddhist prayer flags flapped evocatively to my left and to my right. Suddenly I was remembering grand stupas and precious young monks in Kathmandu. My time in Nepal was a high point in my last year (really, in my last twenty years), so memories summoned by the prayer flags were fond. We kept walking down dirty alleys populated with increasingly Nepali- and Tibetan-featured inhabitants and suddenly we passed a monastery with bells and a huge prayer wheel. It looked different than what i was used to. Delhi had tinted and shaped their customs, and i could recognize it after only a few previous visits to their ideal places of worship. I wondered how they felt about it. I wondered if their refuge felt like home in the middle of a hostile and foreign city, or if it felt like hell was bearing in on them, infiltrating even into their most sacred places. I wondered what it must be like to be in this city coercively instead of by choice.<br />
We sat down in a restaurant with distinctly Chinese-y music playing; far eastern curtains and other decor adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling.<br />
<br />
I can't tell you how it felt to be an American imagining Nepal in Tibet in India.<br />
<br />
Let me be honest with you. China is probably the last place i'd voluntarily go. I'm not curious about it, I don't love the customs, I've never been into the food. But as far as the China that's fallen in my lap lately, I've enjoyed its company. And the closer I get to China, whether it's the Nepal-Tibet border or the Tibetan refugee camp in the middle of Delhi, the more i can see its intricate beauty. Passing the shop windows with gorgeous painted ceramic vases - the style simply astonishing for its sophisticated smallness, and the small market stalls with vendors who lacked the characteristic intense aggressiveness of Indians, was almost soothing. It was culture within culture. It was layered experience. It was rich and deep, which are words i often use to describe these Eastern cultures; they're words i feel the absence of when i am in America. I appreciate some things about the East so much when i compare them to what i know and grew up around.<br />
<br />
God opens up your eyes and your heart when you don't expect Him to, and i like that about Him.<br />
<br />
Ironically enough, the next morning i found myself fraternizing with a volunteer team who came here to serve from.....<br />
just guess.<br />
<br />
Yes, <i>Hong Kong. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I joined the class they have offered for the week they are staying, and so i'm spending two hours of my day speaking <i>Mandarin.</i> It's a tonal language, which has always scared the crap out of me. But today in the first two hours of learning, the mystery was debunked as i found out that there are only four tones in Mandarin and that they have more to do with relative pitch than perfect pitch. as long as you move in the right direction, you're speaking the right language. here are the tones:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ou0yQCGVtju5fhzE1z9bJyEVF0JxQtjhcc58UqarRerSdo3ucwjN8Jiq0R5plkMiKku_RX25k01lInkzMOAW3HK8W2-3wWIZLYyYaQH2onAOigCX6MhewTi3sj71vFjE-DlklAKozOU/s1600/tones.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ou0yQCGVtju5fhzE1z9bJyEVF0JxQtjhcc58UqarRerSdo3ucwjN8Jiq0R5plkMiKku_RX25k01lInkzMOAW3HK8W2-3wWIZLYyYaQH2onAOigCX6MhewTi3sj71vFjE-DlklAKozOU/s400/tones.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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That's cool, right? That's not just me, right? I may have been out of a classroom for far too long, but i was eating it up! I really enjoyed learning the little bit of Mandarin that we got to today, right down to the alphabet song. What a treat, to have the opportunity to learn something like this, practically gift-wrapped and right at my fingertips. I'm super thankful!</div>
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Maybe i'd like the Far East more than i thought i would.</div>
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Zài-jiàn!</div>
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Love from Chinatown,</div>
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Julie</div>
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not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-37204103544871258692013-06-22T23:20:00.000+05:302013-06-22T23:29:57.910+05:30Logic, Tranquility, and Balance.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I like the way that my understanding of Love and Truth eventually answers every question i've come across so far. I like the way that it seems Love is the father of logic. I like the way that it seems that Truth is the author of tranquility. In my understanding, we're given both a guide and a lover; both a just and tranquil master; both a means and an end. I like that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last week at our Chat Over Coffee event there was a couple talking to me. They are young and newly married, and are both law students. We talked about the differences in our lives - everything from wedding culture to rent prices in America vs. India. We talked about our past and current lives, and each of our three future goals. And then suddenly, they asked me <i>what i thought of God</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Well, I think a lot of things about God!", i said, and laughed a little awkwardly. </span>I told then that i thought God made everything, that God loves everyone, and that God sent His Son Jesus to take care of our sin so that we could be together with Him. I talked about God in marriage and God in heaven and God on earth, and i paused for a breath and <i>they were still listening,</i> so i went on. Finally i looked at them and asked, "What do you think of God?" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The husband told me he had just recently begun to doubt God's existence because he's been doing so many good things, and working so hard, and praying so fervently, but still he got rejected for the job he's been applying for. He sees no results from God. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i listened intently and thought about it, and he stopped. and he asked me, "What do you think about that?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was able to talk about <i>what i think we deserve. </i>I was able to talk about <i>filthy rags. </i>I was able to talk about <i>gaining the world and losing your soul. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was able to talk about how the things God gives us are better than any of the things we could wish that he gave. That worldly security and wonderful things are nothing without joy, satisfaction, and fulfillment - and THOSE are the things which God promises us in unlimited supply. I told them that in my opinion, joy and satisfaction are worth so much more than anything else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a beautiful opportunity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> It was amazing that after spending an hour building trust with some new friends, they'll want to hear what you have to say about the purpose of our lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was really good for my heart to be able to say it all out loud and to materialize and find tangibly how passionately i believe it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>And i do. </i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the next morning i awoke to a cool humid world being washed with spitting, sprinkling rain and shaken by constant distant thunder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last week 6 out of 7 days were rainy. We just had a four day break in which we exceeded 100 degrees more than a few times, but next week rain is predicted every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm gonna go ahead and call it monsoon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm loving the sweet cleansing water and the cooler temperatures, but monsoon is costing some of my friends far more than a little dry heat would demand of me. Flooding in the north and northeast parts of India is catastrophic in its scope, and even close to home the water is threatening to change lives for the worse. Continue to pray for our friends in Nandlal, particularly the family of our dear Nitin, whose houses stand perilously close to large drains which threaten at any moment during monsoon to belch forth water and sweep away all they have built for themselves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes i wonder if it's more valuable to be thankful for little things or to be able to view situations in an informed way, from more than one perspective. Biblically, there's a call to rejoice in the mundane - continuously, and in each day the Lord has made. But i know there must be a call to global recognition and an others-focused mindset as well. If there's a balance there, i've yet to find it. It's certainly hard to both rejoice and empathize without being trite and insincere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Either way, i pray i never become so self-absorbed as to forget what my eyes have been opened here to see: that there are lives going on all around me, and all around the world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's to striking the balance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>::Speaking of balance, it takes a considerable amount to wear a sari really successfully, which I did for the first time at the CHEP closing evening of our summer program. I just thought i would share some photos of the triumph:</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObPuNHVh30spCJzbBeop8cUEl_g69RpSgOTLCU3ZcJR9AxyZnT-cZT51N6ktWJVEOO5-4keJ1DW7-4zdyad1WBr63wUL_8fX32il4sA0KeMgbKawakT_vUsofU1e4smbN8veqhe8j14w/s1600/sari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObPuNHVh30spCJzbBeop8cUEl_g69RpSgOTLCU3ZcJR9AxyZnT-cZT51N6ktWJVEOO5-4keJ1DW7-4zdyad1WBr63wUL_8fX32il4sA0KeMgbKawakT_vUsofU1e4smbN8veqhe8j14w/s640/sari.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Again, to balance; and to the Master of logic and tranquility. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie... with a little more balance than she had before.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-79591943007434725972013-06-07T23:20:00.000+05:302013-06-07T23:20:28.970+05:30Shanti.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I walked into my English class in CHEP at the slum this morning and began to teach about family. I have struggled with the consistency of my students, and with only five today there weren't quite enough to effectively complete the competition i'd prepared for them. So, i stopped teaching to talk frankly with them.<br />
<br />
"My goodness, where is everyone today?" I asked. "We need more people!" Since all the students live in the same vicinity, they know what's going on in each others' lives. I decided to single one out. "Where is Nitin?"<br />
<i>--"He won't coming today ma'am."</i><br />
I sighed inwardly. "REA-lly? And why not?"<br />
<i>--"Well, because his house is fall down." </i><br />
Suddenly, my sigh turned to panic. I prayed that his family was not hurt. Incredulous, I asked if everything was going to be alright. The kids seemed to exhibit a good deal of pity but very little concern over the situation.<br />
<br />
Today i realized the sacrifice and focus that is needed to value an education in the type of life that these kids lead. What is a second language in the type of life where it's commonplace for your house to fall in on your head at any moment?<br />
Their constant struggle breaks my heart. Their unbreakable spirit is simply inspirational.<br />
<br />
After our Bible study tonight, I found out that Heather had been invited to go to a Sikh gurudwara, or temple, with a lady she's been getting to know named Nitu. She has been inviting Nitu to church, so she wanted to give Nitu good reason to trust her and reciprocate so she decided to go and make chapatis (flatbread) with the women as a part of the 40-day observance of a deceased Sikh Guru. I participated in the same holiday three years ago in a different gurudwara and made the flatbread which was served in a meal to the homeless later on that day. Heather told me i was welcome to come, and i took her up on it because i remember being very intrigued by the followers of the religion before. Today was somewhat different since we were going to meet a specific friend - we went not as tourists, but as the invited. It was evident that the ladies working together to make the chapati were very close - they come every night for forty days to make food to serve together. India has made them family just like India does.<br />
Nitu seems to be a very devoted Sikh, as she is at the gurudwara every night and brings her son. One thing i found interesting was the way Nitu responded when I asked whether Sikhism had any similarities with Hinduism - she was offended and denied any relation between the two. I find this interesting because of the fact that Sikhism was born out of Hinduism according to all I've heard and studied, and also because of the way that Nitu related Sikhism to Christianity very freely while we were there. There are more disparities i feel strongly around Sikhs, too; one of them is how the congregation seems to value peace and sacredness so highly while they are born and bred antagonistic fighters from the warrior caste. One of the five sacred items which they must keep with them at all times is a dagger to exemplify this very fact.<br />
It's hard for me not to like them when they serve one transcendent Being - do all in the name of the One Unknown God, and value beauty in relationship and character. They place great stress on ethics, morality, and values. They feed the poor. To me, they feel like the evolutionary step in the journey of a Hindu to find the peace in Truth.<br />
When I am with them, i always have a very imminent sense of "<i>almost". </i><br />
it breaks my heart and gives me hope at the same time.<br />
pray, pray for peace to the warriors,<br />
and tranquility to them who battle endlessly with poverty.<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie.<br />
peace be with them, and peace be with you.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-91679438521683740282013-06-03T19:13:00.001+05:302013-06-03T19:15:32.849+05:30Slow Day Off<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today has been a beautiful day off. I got up and talked to Andrew since we haven't had much of a chance to communicate lately, and I started my Kilimanjaro workouts (oh yeah, i'm confirmed as climbing mount kilimanjaro in September, by the way), and i got caught up on so much rest that i've been needing. I stayed inside all day today to try and beat the heat, although i think i've now realized that you don't really beat the heat in Delhi - IT beats YOU into a bloody submissive pulp. At least i now know my place in the Indian feudal system where heat is king.<br />
<br />
It was so good to have the GBC team here. As i mentioned, the busyness with them and service opportunities were wonderful, and it was amazing to have some family among them!<br />
During a recent car ride, I heard a friend of mine say he was proud of his country. I can appreciate this sentiment, but I have never been able to identify with that kind of emotion as connected to a country which is at best a politically enclosed entity. I don't and can't love everything about America, nor do i or can i love everything about India. I find pockets of beauty and comfort in both places. That being said, though, Helena and Becca were such a sweet taste of home in my life. The team left late last night after eight solid days of nonstop ministry. They are brave ones, and they are resilient - none of them even really got sick. They were such a fresh change of pace.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXF6PRZR9hnv2Z7-8WIYL18iDfB5-F1kTZQZJHtLtvDtjbO31LUHWvyTg1pXNbXNuJ4OUTbpx32dsfIeIMXzl1SS6nUZmUwtTNsGO3O-5sGC7tQZf4CIlR_UnEw5YIREzhE3bDodMtZo/s1600/IMG_8368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXF6PRZR9hnv2Z7-8WIYL18iDfB5-F1kTZQZJHtLtvDtjbO31LUHWvyTg1pXNbXNuJ4OUTbpx32dsfIeIMXzl1SS6nUZmUwtTNsGO3O-5sGC7tQZf4CIlR_UnEw5YIREzhE3bDodMtZo/s640/IMG_8368.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfamiTj-Yus00G0xpy7Tb7ju0noAv5XLVSEruhkFQaMEWxT28jZYpLPu9EkJ6n1gZhUqGW4DC4eIKq-oTFTu9bziEp2n_dGO4u5CFCm4409N2GO7WGVBzj6ob_h_iWkoApBxjMRmSWSg/s1600/IMG_9201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfamiTj-Yus00G0xpy7Tb7ju0noAv5XLVSEruhkFQaMEWxT28jZYpLPu9EkJ6n1gZhUqGW4DC4eIKq-oTFTu9bziEp2n_dGO4u5CFCm4409N2GO7WGVBzj6ob_h_iWkoApBxjMRmSWSg/s640/IMG_9201.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W5DCXiELDK1mRxuTBZb0G9k30zQacIca-3H42GbIDxn-5dqUs2FCrE_vhizMgCkE5lMnKRpASuGSFOcmWxppiZ3nvE5fqLasyLA7cxivenr6Z0zPFANn5J_ZMz3g5svPurHCRo4kFpc/s1600/IMG_9722small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W5DCXiELDK1mRxuTBZb0G9k30zQacIca-3H42GbIDxn-5dqUs2FCrE_vhizMgCkE5lMnKRpASuGSFOcmWxppiZ3nvE5fqLasyLA7cxivenr6Z0zPFANn5J_ZMz3g5svPurHCRo4kFpc/s640/IMG_9722small.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuGck2Mw3KcUixXDsODOgfcHhceJRJrAWL4DZ98IzukHSa06jHdpv11Hs8ZRfoWiQF5DPcZXbvCdoQP0YtK2PE-yZirxtAoNoixRd1YDvTLKuByx097_tEv2NhuN-sXV_BvSyl9DwUT8/s1600/IMG_9724small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuGck2Mw3KcUixXDsODOgfcHhceJRJrAWL4DZ98IzukHSa06jHdpv11Hs8ZRfoWiQF5DPcZXbvCdoQP0YtK2PE-yZirxtAoNoixRd1YDvTLKuByx097_tEv2NhuN-sXV_BvSyl9DwUT8/s640/IMG_9724small.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sweet kids at the Civil Linds medical camp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have fewer things to write about these days, i think because fewer things in Delhi excite or surprise me. It's just a sign of being very at home here - a phenomenon which i'm very thankful for. Of course it's sad to feel right at home when suddenly your plane ticket has been purchased and you have three months left before more major life changes. It's a strange place, this in-between, but i'm trying to live all of my time out here before i try to shift mentally. (Engagement makes that next to impossible) :)<br />
<br />
I want to keep you updated, though, as life is going on here regardless of whether i tell you about it or not!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgMa6ZeYiqFcz8pAA11DH39aP3Y_DbbnGH6nskxREP0TdCbASXM2DPQ2knivjpS4SMvRKsJSHPsIzdl5kvcGqmkFeFbJZ9ReOa6LywyfIcGm6BdQGfUjT3cnQESV92V7fHyznpDNFCZU/s1600/babellogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgMa6ZeYiqFcz8pAA11DH39aP3Y_DbbnGH6nskxREP0TdCbASXM2DPQ2knivjpS4SMvRKsJSHPsIzdl5kvcGqmkFeFbJZ9ReOa6LywyfIcGm6BdQGfUjT3cnQESV92V7fHyznpDNFCZU/s320/babellogo.png" width="298" /></a></div>
For the next three months, I am the assistant coordinator of Babel, the new Language Institute of PMI. I'm working with a friend of ours here named Nirvan to make a self-sustaining language center which will house qualified teachers of a host of different languages and will eventually help to fund some of PMI's ministry. It's an exciting start, and tomorrow is the first day of our 3-month trial run. It will be great to see how we can build relationships through this institute and how it blossoms - if it's given time and patience, i believe it will really take off.<br />
<br />
Exam results are back, and it seems all of our sophomores and all of our juniors in CHEP have passed! We are so proud of them - and I want to thank specifically those of you who have prayed for their studies and well-being. We love them so much.<br />
<br />
We have a singles retreat coming up at church this month as well! I'm excited to travel to Sattal and enjoy getting to know some of my friends here better. And not only that, i think i will finally get my first chance to ride on a train! It's a fair distance from here and we should be going by sleeper train, which i'm more excited about than i think i should be ;)<br />
<br />
It's so nice to have days like this just to stay in and be here. I have been learning recently about intentionality in prayer, and i enjoyed using my down time to cultivate that. Prayer is one of the most valuable things i've learned to return to in India. I know it must seem a strange thing for me to say, but i have really struggled with prayer as a discipline and as a legitimate practice, so it's beautiful to be talking to God again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkp0lXUqENpC_-D0uaYcqk9PFDJZkLvGtWd2H020B9AXcvb727rfsq-9Jh6L1La4tHAoYw2qxKXSOPznDXapAYyh2jAycd-w_12Mkwb1fUp2CXcEqSqnhbyoy3hOAC2kGgga32mpnGNE/s1600/IMG_8813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkp0lXUqENpC_-D0uaYcqk9PFDJZkLvGtWd2H020B9AXcvb727rfsq-9Jh6L1La4tHAoYw2qxKXSOPznDXapAYyh2jAycd-w_12Mkwb1fUp2CXcEqSqnhbyoy3hOAC2kGgga32mpnGNE/s640/IMG_8813.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
I'm thankful for his sustenance and his closeness even through my faithlessness and my struggles to be like Him. I'm so glad He knows my heart even when I'm tired or when i fail or when i act selfishly.<br />
I'm thankful for the pockets of beauty he does place in my life for me to find - the reminders of His presence and His unending love.<br />
<br />
I pray you find the evidences of Him around you today, too.<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie, relaxed.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-7294634649812136582013-05-31T00:05:00.001+05:302013-05-31T00:05:15.601+05:30Wedding wares with Sasuma and Nanand<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've decided that i love being busy. i've even developed a friendly relationship with exhaustion. When you're busy and exhausted, your breaks mean more. food tastes better. you sleep sound and sweet.<br />
From the middle of May, I've been here, there and everywhere almost every single day. My mornings have been kids camp at CHEP. My afternoons were in Burari for some time. My evenings are filled with programs. On the 25th, a team of volunteers came from the States and among them are my future Mother-in-law (Sasuma) and sister-in-law (Nanand)! We've had fun being together, climbing on (and off!) of camels, seeing the Taj Mahal and most importantly, (becca,) shopping.<br />
While they've been here, i've finished most of my wedding purchases! They have enough space in their suitcases to take all my stuff back to the states for me, which is such a wonderful blessing. Things are shaping up for decor, and it's a great feeling to get details behind me with wedding planning.<br />
I've been realizing how wonderful it is to get these types of experiences even in the wedding planning process. Like, every part of it is an adventure. I was looking for some moroccan lighting options, and i found out that there are some shops in Chandni Chowk, which is the oldest part of Delhi - the location of the first flag raised in independence in 1947 and also of countless enormous temples. I don't know the area, and furthermore it's fairly dangerous, so Praise and i needed some Delhi-bred backup. With that in mind, we took four of our CHEP guys and descended into the bowels of old Delhi, and not only are there unbelievable crowds there, there are baby monkeys climbing and tripping on the tangled mess of power lines overhead. Delhi is like that - a strange collision of the urban sector with a jungle that hasn't been allowed to evolve, but rather seems to have had an unbelievable amount of technology and infrastructure dropped in where it doesn't belong. Honestly, I don't know how 17 million people are expected to keep up. <br />
Walking beneath the monkeys and into an uncountable number of lantern shops, I suddenly stopped and realized... I'm not buying my wedding decor on Amazon. I am scouring the markets of India for authentic, exotic, beautiful and cheap wares <i>which can be reused after the big day</i>. Yes, like bridesmaid's dresses.<br />
Not only that, I went back to Nehru place and the imported fabric market, but this time alone. I knew the ins and outs of the business from the wedding dress fiasco, and i worked the system to get 50 meters, which is 22 pounds, of gorgeous white fabric DIRT cheap. I carried it back across Delhi all alone, extremely proud of my independence and my Hindi, which has really been pretty good lately.<br />
<br />
Everyday busyness keeps me going in Delhi, but I've enjoyed the busyness brought by the team as well - The kids' camps and medical camps they are facilitating are tiring but wonderful opportunities to serve, and I love serving alongside them.<br />
<br />
I started this blog post as i "supervised" the English camp as taught by the team, and ended it after moving, packing, or consolidating everything i now own with one hours' notice and welcoming a family friend to move into our home! Life here is full. Full in every way.<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi!<br />
Julie, Exhausted :)</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-37110431388335635282013-05-15T00:57:00.000+05:302013-05-15T00:57:55.751+05:30Summer has Come<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So many good and wonderful and funny things happen to me, but somehow i'm always at a loss for words. I want to take some time to catch you up on my goings on, so forgive me if it's disjointed.<br />
<br />
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May 9 - To ease you into my last month, I should let you know that recently I have engaged in several cathartic mosquito wars. Some days when I
have had it with the bites on my legs and the way I can’t sleep because of
their dive-bombing into my ears, I march into the bathroom where they swarm
over the water I store in my buckets, shut the door behind me, and just begin
the massacre. I know they must dread the coming day when my wrath is unleashed,
when the escape is blocked and I take up my weapons of choice – just between
you and me, I am pretty dang good with the back of a hairbrush.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But all of the mosquito frustrations and dengue scares pale
in comparison to what happened this morning. I had just gotten out of the
bucket bath and I had my clothes off to the side. When I went to grab my
leggings, I froze. <br />
climbing the wall by my sink was a giant cockroach. <br />
Now, I feel a little spoiled that this is my first cockroach, having lived in
Delhi eight months already and two months previously. I feel like I should be a
seasoned roach warrior by now. But
it is my first, and therefore I am not seasoned. I shivered, and I gaped, and I
made a noise that can be categorized probably with either the screams or the
babbling insane murmurs.<br />
I quickly got dressed and hopped
on one foot out to Leah to inform her of the code: red, and she asked for a fly swatter
so I skidded in to Praisey’s room and asked for one. Praisey laughed,
unconcerned, and picked up a kitchen utensil that she used to make mr. Roach
what she called “half-dead” and send him back into the drain where he came
from. I thanked her, kicked her
out, clamped the drain cover down as hard as possible and dumped an entire 12
liter bucket of water down after the wretched thing as I whimpered, never
ceasing to imagine it wrestling the cover off of the hole and crawling back out
having doubled in size. I have a
24 liter bucket I could have used, but I didn’t want to overreact or anything.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think you’ll hear me complaining about the
mosquitoes anymore. </div>
<br />
May 10 - Our dear Linda came in a flash of freshness and went in a flash of glory. While here she did not stop serving, giving, or loving the people God put on her heart. Her service never turns off - she is constantly processing and trying to think of ways to improve the areas that have been placed under her care. Ever since she left we have felt her absence sharply, but we constantly see the lingering effects of her efforts. We are all certainly more time conscious because of her two months of consistent encouragement, and we are all a little closer to performing at a level of excellence instead of expecting mediocrity to get us by.<br />
We are thankful for Linda - every person here became quite attached to her in different ways. Her farewell at her last Saturday evening focal point was a wonderful hit, a laughter-filled party celebrating her strengths and her quirks. She's one of us - she's a part of our team; she made us better, and she looks great in a sari. What more could we ask for in a teammate?<br />
<br />
May 11 - In the way of CBC news, we have some wonderful things to share!!<br />
Last Sunday I was voted in as an official member. I've never been an individual member of a chrch before because of my constant moving and changing, so this was actually a pretty big deal for me. To have found the kind of fellowship that helps me to understand God's plan for His people is so beautiful to me. The four reasons I decided to join the chrch were: for <b>fellowship</b> & <b>accountability</b> from the members, <b>availability</b> to the members, and a commitment to a personal <b>investment</b> in the health of the body. CBC has taught me so much about being there for the people in your Family, and I want to share one example. Recently I've asked for prayer continuously concerning Andrew's job situation. He has been searching for months with nothing to show for it. Yesterday I was able to share the news that he finally got not one, but two of the jobs he's been applying so diligently for! I shared it in the morning at a staff meeting and in the evening in our small group, and in both situations people were so invested in and pleased by the news that they broke into delighted applause! It amazed me to see that kind of support. I'm thankful to be called one of their number.<br />
But my new membership is not the most exciting thing to happen in our midst recently! Just this last Sunday, we had a b*tism service immediately following the message in which our 78-year-old pstor dunked ten new believers in a glorious kiddie pool at the front of our resource center.<br />
Can you believe it -- ten new children of God, two of them from our Nandlal CHEP program, together proclaiming the Son's death until He comes. It was an event for His glory and just another reason I feel privileged to be among this congregation.<br />
<br />
May 14 - While i've been here, i've mostly been helping hither and thither, flitting around and substituting for whatever English teacher can't make it, photographing, designing logos and brochures, singing, (baking, watching children).... And that has kept me somewhat busy. I haven't been able to to much work in the slums, and I can see why. Things are established there, and as my Hindi is so limited I'm often more of a distraction than a help. But for the summer, I have the opportunity to go to the slum and work on English with some of the sweetest low income children you've ever met.<br />
I feel very strongly about working with youth. Arming them with the Truth - giving them the choice - is the only hope for the future of their families. I firmly believe that whole areas could be turned upside down; whole slums raised out of poverty and elevated out of abusive and addictive lifestyles through the influence of just a few dedicated and brave children with hearts to give the gift of Hope back to their communities, willing to demonstrate the Most Excellent Way through a relentless lifestyle and courageous love.<br />
I am so happy that I get to go be with them and teach them some English! For a whole month I'll get to know them and be in their lives and talk to them about True Love, which is the theme of the summer program this year.<br />
My pastor Larry Murray gave me a very encouraging talking-to at the beginning of the fundraising portion of this adventure. He told me how our home Family had been praying for youth to be raised up from among us to reach the new generation in China and India, and how I was the first answer to that prayer. I feel like I can begin to fulfill that role as i serve in a capacity that excites me and truly helps others.<br />
It's not going to be a piece of peach cake: today while i was in transit, i was sweating so profusely i couldn't remember the last time i was so soaked in public - well, until i remembered Delhi 2010. Somehow, though, it made me excited to feel the same feeling, to remember that whirlwind summer and all the sweat i lost and all the people i came to love.<br />
<br />
here's hoping this summer will replicate some of the productivity and fulfillment 2010 held, but that it's different in enough beautiful ways to teach me lessons i have not yet learned.<br />
<br />
Sing like never before, oh my soul.<br />
Worship His Holy Name.<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Sweatsoaked Julie :)<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-22943398135460844212013-04-19T14:09:00.002+05:302013-04-19T14:09:13.956+05:30Custom Made.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday, i went in for my first wedding dress fitting. The wedding dress is custom made, not only to my measurements but to my specifications. I didn't try any dresses on. I didn't pick a designer. I am the designer. I'll feel really good about that if it turns out well, and really silly if it falls off of me when i'm walking down the aisle. Anyway, I've had to fight with the people who are making it, but i'm starting to get excited about how it's going to turn out. As i said, yesterday, i was scheduled for my first fitting.<br />
I traveled the 45 minutes to south Delhi and walked into the shop. The owner stuttered. He asked in Hindi for some fabric samples as he snapped his fingers.<br />
He looked at me, pulled out the photos from which we're building my dress, and spoke very slowly.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Actually, this fabric, you see, it's.... not available, in India."</blockquote>
I flashed him a half smile. He said they had similar fabrics which would drape in the same way, and they could replace it. I nodded. Sounded fine to me. Now, you won't believe it til you see it, (Andrew), but my dress should be made out of a knitted cotton jersey. The man wanted to replace the knitted cotton jersey with chiffon and silk. CHIFFON AND SILK! Sorry to all the women in the whole world for abandoning the prototype, but i hate silk. So i told him, actually i don't like any of these fabrics, and i picked this dress entirely because of the fabric. He sensed me getting to the give-me-my-money-back punchline, and intercepted me. He cut me off with,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Well. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
....Here, is what I can do."</blockquote>
So he sent me with Kasim, an exemplary Indian as far as customer service goes, about 10 minutes away by auto-rickshaw to Nehru Place. Nehru place is an enormous import market filled with two things: electronics and fabric. I donned my headcovering and my sunglasses and scanned the ground as we walked together, and i smiled. How much more customized do you get, honestly, than scouring the vast Indian fabric market to pick out the exact cloth you'd like your wedding dress to be cut from? We went from place to place looking for a lycra-based fabric. We would walk into a shop...<br />
<i>Kasim:</i> "Show this lady whatever she wants to see. She needs lycra-based fabric. It's for a gown."<br />
<i>Vendor (with disinterest):</i> "Printed ya plain?" (ya means or in Hindi)<br />
<i>Kasim: </i>"Plain. White."<br />
<i>Vendor (in horror, and with the ends of each word screeching to a high-pitched halt):</i> "PLAIN? WHITE?"<br />
Just think, in the land of patterned bright colors and gold and cequins and glitter - NEVER TOO MUCH GLITTER - i had requested a bolt of simple white fabric. The eyebrows of Nehru Place never got such a workout.<br />
After searching the imported shops for one good drape, the perfect opaque cotton lycra - <i>'and not a dirty roll, bhaiya, And measure it in weight for us, bhaiya - because we're very smart and we know that lycra is a light fabric'</i>, finally we found it.<br />
And we bought it for $14.81.<br />
<br />
It was one of those moments where i had a momentary lapse back into tourist mode. I let my heart thrill inside my quiet disinterested facade, and nodded once - it would do.<br />
To be honest, i was tickled. India had surprised me with adventure where i thought i would find disappointment. I'm happy to take an attitude adjustment from my Father and let him daily renew my love for these people i've become so familiar with.<br />
The "first fitting" has been moved to Sunday evening. Wish me luck!<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie in white.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-26405440896599678942013-04-07T11:36:00.000+05:302013-04-09T11:16:55.333+05:30Career Counseling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Last night, something special happened.<br />
<br />
Within PMI are different community outreaches led by different members of the staff. Praisey currently leads the Child Health and Education Program which we shorten to CHEP. She oversees the kids from grades 6-12 in their tutorship programs. This year for the first time, CHEP has a graduating class. Six years ago, CHEP opened up and began taking in sixth graders for after-school study help. About seven of the original students have remained with PMI from that time til now, and they are currently finishing the twelfth grade and filling out forms for college and trade school application.<br />
They come from the slum nearby, and they are the first generation in their families to be educated through high school. It's not only that their parents couldn't get an education, either - they just don't see a need for it in an enclosed community replete with traditionalism, alcoholism, and cyclical poverty. And let me tell you something I've learned: it's really difficult to value education if your parents don't.<br />
Last night, we provided a Career Counseling event in which the students from 10th, 11th, and 12th grades sat with college-educated people who care about their well-being and know about the education system in Delhi. I got to speak to them all about perseverance and the way to choose your career path. We plan to have follow-up counseling events for the graduating class.<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
All outreach is invaluable. Everyone's hard work counts.<br />
But these students touch a place deep in my heart. They represent the whole of PMI's working years - they represent hundreds of hours devoted, and there they stand - healthy and smart and confident and strong - blooming as a result of all the people who care about them worldwide.<br />
Their well-being and their commitment to pour back into their communities is the single reason I want to be involved here. This is what will change the game. <i>These people.</i> They can go where I cannot. They can help people I'll never have the opportunity to meet.<br />
<br />
More than all of this, so many of these students have chosen Truth over lies as a direct result of PMI and CBC efforts. They meet weekly to discuss the Good Book with our good friend Raj, and they ask hard questions and they <i>stand up to persecution daily. </i>They aren't perfect, but they have hard lives and they do an excellent job handling them. They have chosen the most excellent way. They have put in hard work to improve their lives and the lives around them. They have thought for themselves and understood which Truth would set them free.<br />
No, i couldn't be prouder of them.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Keep praying for them to be healthy and strong, and for them to have a deep desire not only to improve themselves, but to give back to their community. Oh, how they give me hope for India.<br />
<br />
Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie with hope for the future.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-76739945679044828022013-03-31T16:43:00.001+05:302013-03-31T16:43:31.468+05:30the story.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
so, i guess i was thinking, and i remembered that basically to get a story, we need all these different events to come together. When they all fall in the right order, we group them and label them:<br />
<i>this is a story. </i><br />
we have backstory. we have an issue. we have selfish attempted solutions. these lead to the climax. after that, you get the resolution.<br />
i didn't look all that up on google to get the proper storying element terminology. sorry. but you get what i'm saying.<br />
<br />
see, what i'm trying to tell you is that after struggling through some normal situational issues of life, and after feeling cranky, and after a multicultural Easter service, I decided to sit down and watch a movie.<br />
I was trying to recharge, but all of a sudden, in the middle of a freaking child's movie (Tangled. I was watching tangled all alone and I was crying), i got very serious. i paused it and i looked at the screen after everyone has deserted the heroine and i stuck my bottom lip out for her.<br />
<br />
I just wanted to tell you that I think Jesus is the only one who finishes the story.<br />
Without Him we are stuck, i think, in a cyclical attempted-solution/climax phase. We are so selfish. I am so selfish. He is the only One who resolves our problems with His solutions. Everyone else is using everyone else. It is very hard to keep giving. You want to take good things for yourself. You want to protect yourself.<br />
<br />
I just want to say today that I'm glad for the day when the one man who deserved all the good things in life took my punishment instead of taking anything for himself, and instead of protecting himself. I just wanted to tell you that I'm very happy we finally have a resolution to be the balm on all of this raw selfishness. Today we celebrate the end of the story - the truth of the Deity of the person who took our sins and did away with our tormenter, and set us free to grasp the goodness of selflessness, if only we will choose it.<br />
<br />
<i>so thankful today that happy endings are true. </i></div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-71805099090832784862013-03-27T20:22:00.000+05:302013-03-28T13:30:57.116+05:30Holiiiiii!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up this morning and wondered what the streets would look like. It
was 8 AM. The neighborhoods are generally not up and moving until around 11. I
went to the veranda and searched the streets.<br />
I saw children, and I saw their
colors. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holi is an old festival which has no been widely adopted
throughout India. Often when there’s a really fun festival, all the religions
will begin to celebrate it for their own [made up] reasons. This one seems to
have abandoned any religion’s claim to it, though it does have its roots in
Hindu mythology, and unites the whole of India in uninhibited celebration to
ring in the coming of spring. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Modern day in Delhi, it’s basically a neighborhood-wide
water balloon fight plus food fight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...This has got to be redeemable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We try very hard to separate ourselves from questionable behavior – to stay about reproach and
demonstrate the difference that faith makes in our lives. I know this is the way
to have a witness among the desperate hopelessness in the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I look at the life of J.C., I see him acting
counterculturally and causing a disturbance, but I also see Him<i> being a Jew.</i> I see Him living
His life among people, demonstrating great love and empathy for them, and
<i>redeeming</i> His culture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I worry sometimes about the Chrstn community creating a
subculture that excludes people who do not fit our criteria. As I understand
it, we should be in the culture, though we should not be of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a normal day in Delhi, people mistrust each other. People tell
white lies to get better prices. People glare at each other. On holi, as I tried
to sneakily replenish my water balloon bucket I looked at the street to meet
the eyes of a kid I’d been secretly hitting from our balcony. He’d caught me. I
grinned and raised my eyebrows. He smiled with happiness behind his eyes and
grabbed for a water balloon to chuck at me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enmity was replaced with amiability.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again I say – this has got to be redeemable!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why not celebrate the resurrection of our Savior with the
bursting of balloons and the explosions
of color? Why not come together corporately and rejoice over His sacrifice and
triumph with uninhibited exuberance, as well as with folded hands and crossed
feet?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because of all of this I chose today to participate: to
redeem this festival, at least in our household. </div>
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I think I may always use holi
to celebrate the Holy One – </div>
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With dancing and with the greatest uncontainable joy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">me throwing like a girl... But my aim was pretty good! i even hit a guy on a motorcycle!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Love from Delhi,</div>
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Julie: enjoying holi; becoming holy.</div>
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not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-73985432111544199262013-03-26T18:58:00.000+05:302013-03-28T11:09:37.517+05:30Lost in Translation (and the jungles of Chhatisgarh)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ok. Without internet in our home, and with the ridiculous amounts of traveling i've been doing, I haven't found the time to sit down and chronicle the happenings.<br />
In Nepal after my last post, we went to the Indian border to the jungles of Chitwan to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200622761798698&set=t.1449480065&type=3&theater" target="_blank">ride the elephants, </a>and then we went to the Tibetan border to go <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwsEYZ8Zhfo&feature=youtube_gdata_player" target="_blank">bungee jumping</a>. Nepal was the best vacation I may ever take, the most fun i may ever have in two weeks together. There is so much good ministry going on there, just at the very beginning point. Laying the groundwork is hard labor for the workers there, and it takes a lot of patience. But we all sure had a great time together.<br />
The first weekend I came back, we decided to take a weekend trip out to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200622844320761&set=t.1449480065&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Jaipur</a>, which is a tourist-laden city about 275 kilometers to the southwest of Delhi. We hired a car and saw just tons of historical forts and palaces. There was a peacock who visited our hotel garden in the morning as we ate breakfast.<br />
But Nepal and Jaipur were easy.<br />
<br />
My third trip of the month of March was <i>not</i> so easy; and really, the struggles and triumphs are what you want to hear about, right?<br />
<br />
On Wednesday afternoon, I got a text message from a friend named Laura. She had shared with our fellowship about some work she and her family have been doing with a people group called the Kamar tribe all the way down in a place called Chhatisgarh, which South of Delhi, close to central India. She asked if i could join her the next morning (yep, that's how the timeframe generally works over here) on a trip to go and visit the villages. We ended up leaving early Friday, and stayed down there for four full days.<br />
<br />
Many <i>(manymanymanymanymany)</i> things happened, but I'm sure you don't want to hear more than four stories.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>STORY NUMBER ONE: <b>SHANTIBAI & GRANDMA TODDY</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
The school where we stayed each night is in a town called Gariaband - this was our home post from which we traveled all manner of directions all four days of our visit.<br />
<div>
I remember during my college days driving from Ohio down to Texas, and hating the stretch of road that goes through the heart of Oklahoma. I was so close to home - just one state removed from my own - and every ten minutes there's another tiny town on the highway. You have to slow down and wait at a red light and watch for children crossing the road. You have to go from seventy miles an hour to thirty-five. Every ten minutes. I always just wanted to be on my way.<br />
The road to Gariaband from the airport was just like the way through Oklahoma, but instead of red lights, there were a series of strategically placed road bumps, and instead of roadway fishing tackle shops, there were small Hindu shrines. As we were on our way, an army of chunni-clad girls on bicycles came toward us from the direction of a village - highway under their tires, with jungle on one side and field on the other.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
The further away you get from Gariaband, the less Hindi helps you - everyone speaks their tribal languages, and a little bit of Chhatisghari. This means i was really less and less useful as a speaking figure and better off just hiding my pasty face behind my camera. </div>
<div>
That's what i would have preferred, anyway. </div>
<div>
Laura, totally disregarding my utter uselessness, asked me to share the Good News starting off at the very first house we visited. We were in a village named Amjhar, at the house of a woman named Shantibai. Her daughter is very much interested in the Good News, and she has also heard it and listened to it, without making any clear decisions yet. But she has a beautiful, soft heart. I loved it when we would talk to her, because of how you could see in her eyes and the angle of the tilt of her head that she was listening; that she was <i>thinking.</i> We came back to see her again a few days later, and there was a village grandma, drunk beyond belief, who was following us around. I got to take some photos of both of them to show to you. </div>
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<br />
The evening darkened as we left Amjhar that first day,<br />
and the children were burning the trash in the fields.<br />
I looked out of the back of the car at the place we were leaving:<br />
a place where dogs materialize out of your dusty wake,<br />
where the donkeys disappear into the houses and the cows are set in stone over the temples.<br />
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<br />
<i>STORY NUMBER TWO: <b>FROM THE MOUNTAINS TO THE RICE</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
We picked up our Brother, the young but hopeful Anoj. He accompanied us to one of the most remote Kamar villages called Kulhadighat. There were mosquitoes buzzing fiercely around my eyes as we sat under the straw covering on the patio, but i sat quietly and watched in amazement as men gathered from all over the very rural mountain village to hear what Anoj had to say in their own language. He gave them his testimony, and he was pure and simple. Elderly ladies - they must have been eighty and older - would come in from the fields with giant bags balanced on their heads, and walk through the gathering into their home, but Anoj continued to share with the men seated on the side of the house.<br />
After about an hour he had finished sharing and we had walked them through the prayer of the sinner.<br />
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<br />
We drove away out of the mountains and down through the fields - trees scattered throughout the growing and picking of wheat, corn, and rice.<br />
i stared, my eyes hungrily taking in the lanscape, the dynamic green of the rice paddies so pure and transfixing it must be the color of envy.<br />
I hesitate to include a picture because it can't possibly contain the wonder which the in-person scene inspired. I am telling you, i have <i>never</i> seen this color before in my life.<br />
As i continued to look, and to feel the nature-cleansed breeze on my face, I changed my tune. My eyes warned me of the color of envy, but my heart told me it was the color of life. I wanted to live inside the color of those rice paddies, the color of peace, the color of cool contentment, and then surely everyone who saw the color in which i clothed myself would be envious.<br />
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<br />
<i>STORY NUMBER THREE: <b>BEEF STEAK NUGGETS & YOUR FIRSTBORN SON</b></i><br />
<br />
On Palm Sunday, on our way to a place called Kanthidadar, we stopped at a house we found along the road - a house completely surrounded by idyllic Indian jungle and chopped firewood. We sat and shared with them, and as the translation was being done, i glanced around at the details of their dwelling. The women had triangle tattoos on their arms, which represent the Kamar tribe's tally of good deeds done. What a cultural rift -- the more tattoos you have, the better person you must be!<br />
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Above the beautiful tattooed mother was a thatched roof lined with waterproof packaging found by the men in town. The most prominent package sticking out on one side was a bag which had contained '<i><b>Beef Steak Nuggets.' </b></i> How ironic, i thought, that a people who characterize their religion by preserving the lives of cows would be completely oblivious that the proclamation of the freedom to have <i>cows as food </i>was a constant shelter over their heads.<br />
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Finally we made it to Kanthidadar, where we heard that the people love a spectacle, and will sit and listen. Sure enough, there was quite a crowd of children and grandmothers. After I was done sharing about the Father who sent His one and only Son as the answer to sin, and after being translated into Chhatisgarhi, I asked Mr. Mahindra, the translator, to wrap it up. He continued the conversation and then asked simply in Chhatisgarhi, "So then, can I pray for you all?"<br />
The grandmother sitting next to me became very defensive. Her eyes were watery and her hands were in front of her face. "No, no, absolutely not!" she kept saying. She didn't want what we had shared. Our friend asked her then in her mother tongue, Kamari, what was troubling her.<br />
She had misunderstood. "I have only one son," she said. He explained we only wanted to pray, and she agreed to let us. A drunk man began yelling angrily at our driver. We seemed to be in slight danger. We had to leave before we could help them understand...<br />
<i>She thought we wanted her son for our sins. </i><br />
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As we left that town, i was shaking my head, saddened at the communication issues. My thoughts were interrupted by the children playing holi - in the villages during the week before the big holiday, the kids will block the roads with ropes and ask the driver for money in order for them to get through, which is used for poojas - hindu prayers for blessing. We don't participate in this holiday, and so we refuse to pay these kids their pooja money. On the road home there was a boy blocking our way, and he was not about to let the rope down. Mr. Gideon, a burly big-haired South Indian minister with the temperament of Winnie the Pooh's sweet-hearted Piglet was sitting in our passenger seat. All of a sudden, he opened the door and stepped out toward the blockade, his arms swinging at his sides.<br />
I'll never forget that boy's face as his eyes grew wide and he instinctively dropped the rope -- i think he must've peed a little as he did it. Poor thing- he couldn't have known he was in about as much danger as if a kitten was walking toward him. I'll never forget how we laughed and laughed.<br />
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<i>STORY NUMBER FOUR: <b>NEHRU, DASMATH, & THE WITCH DOCTOR</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
The village called Hathbai is the place with the highest concentration of Kamar believers. Working there is a 'Shepherd' named Nehru. He lives in the village with his family on a plot of land bought by Laura and her husband. They work the rice paddies there and have a new field of banana trees, too. We found out upon our arrival - to everyone's surprise - that Nehru's wife Dasmath (Duss-mutt) had just had a baby. As in, ten days ago. And she'd birthed it without going to the hospital, and almost completely alone. We got to hold the precious little girl and encourage their family, and see the property. When we left their house we had about a kilometer to walk to get back to the road, and that long after sunset.<br />
<br />
<i> </i> I was just thinking, <i>of course. </i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Of course this woman had a baby all alone in her hot twelve-foot-by-twenty-four-foot one-room concrete home. Of course I am tromping through the impossibly dark and muddy jungle of rural India with a flashlight behind an Indian man I met only yesterday. Of course this way is a shortcut. And of course now we are lost. Of course there a lonely lovely firefly floating in our path. Of course there are jungle snakes nearby, out at night chasing that running rat. </blockquote>
I couldn't believe how soothing it felt that night to pour cold water over my feet at the end of that walk. I wish you all could feel the goodness of washing your feet after they have carried you through the thick muddy jungle and the long dusty day.<br />
<br />
Between the time we arrived in Gariaband and the end of that third day, i had the opportunity to share the Good News from my heart eleven times.<br />
<br />
The next morning, i sat on a woven cot under an enormous shade tree on Nehru and Dasmath's vast property and got a taste of the slow and simple life. The family brought us a plate full of fruits picked from their trees - they looked like shrunken tangerines. They called them Tendoo, and taught me how to eat them. You have to get the whole thing in your mouth and then spit out the seeds, which i did very ungracefully indeed. I watched the huge swarms of fat dragonflies, took some photos of their banana trees and rice paddies and the river behind their home, and then it was time to go. Our last stop before heading back to Gariaband the last time was there in Hathbai. There was one uncle who had been bothering the fellowship gatherings there because it was hurting his business. He was the local witch doctor, and instead of coming to him for incantations, people were beginning to go to the church to pray. Laura was aware of his disgruntled, disruptive (and usually drunken) behavior, and had decided to offer a small gesture of peace:<br />
she brought him a box of medicine.<br />
What a stroke of ingenuity. I couldn't believe it. Give medicine to the witch doctor! What a beautiful first step toward replacing complicated trickery with simple Truth. I was touched by her thoughtfulness, and i hope that he was too.<br />
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After everything, we piled in the car and headed back toward the airport. I covered my hair with my scarf and my eyes with my sunglasses, and rolled down the large window to open up the top half of the side door of our rented van. I hung my elbow out the window and put my face in the air rushing by at ninety-five kilometers per hour, my view of the gnarled trees and brightly colored rice paddies unobstructed. As you probably know, rice paddies are filled about a foot high with standing water. As the Indian trade wind breezes over the plots, it undergoes a delicious freshening and cooling effect. This cooler air is an amazing contrast to the already very hot season in the South. I felt the refreshing wind whipping across my face, and after four days of din; after four days of discussion; after four days of third-world miscommunication; after four days of chatter in Chhatisgarh, i had a safe place to think, to process, to begin to form intentional memories and understand the truth of all that i had witnessed in such a short period of time.<br />
I had found a place to wonder at ethnic differences, and to take a deep breath, and to praise my Father;<br />
all inside the empty roar of the unseasonably cool wind.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
(and these are for free:)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGn2ku3xwc4dtQ8t6gqYzd0KilgFn3imEByrxqzx_ioU3XJB7rgRLNm57zD6JWfDN7F-Qb9KUOK5y-k7NMU8nBdkmOMp5-WfmqRA1kBEtzXl2GBOqH7B4yxPoM-ATJphshEeG0-7gi0g/s1600/IMG_4978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGn2ku3xwc4dtQ8t6gqYzd0KilgFn3imEByrxqzx_ioU3XJB7rgRLNm57zD6JWfDN7F-Qb9KUOK5y-k7NMU8nBdkmOMp5-WfmqRA1kBEtzXl2GBOqH7B4yxPoM-ATJphshEeG0-7gi0g/s400/IMG_4978.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i guess you must know you're in poverty when the cows are skinny.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Shepherd' Nehru's Mother.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palm trees on Palm Sunday.</td></tr>
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Love from Delhi - finally Delhi again,<br />
Julie, clothed in the color of life.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-33521120532791788582013-03-07T21:30:00.000+05:302013-03-09T16:03:24.991+05:30 Everest through a tinted window.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Contrary to my first impression
when i arrived, there are some major differences between Kathmandu and Delhi.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kathmandu is a little calmer -
the lifestyle is more laid back and the people are more smiley. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">smiley Nepali girlie and me :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It seems
developed but has more of a rural feel than Delhi. It's bright, and surrounded
by Himalayan foothills. People wear characteristic Nepali hats. In some
ways, it reminds me of my time in Peru more than my time in Delhi. The other
big difference is that the standard of living is, well, more of a standard. I
have yet to see a slum like the ones that pepper the residential areas where i
live. I imagine this helps to eliminate some possible resentment among
neighbors, but i have no proof of that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have really enjoyed it here so
far. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We are here in the Tibetan area
of Kathmandu, where many families from Tibet live as refugees. Consequently,
there's a lot of Buddhism that goes on which is mixed with the prevalent
Hinduism which characterizes the nation and binds the culture closely with
Indian culture.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My second day here, Leah took me
around the city and we saw a place called Pashupati. It is a hugely famous
Hindu temple, and it's the official cremation site of Nepal. It's a temple
sprawled out on top of a hill reaching over a river - not beautiful or stately
as temples often are, but instead with pieces of 'holy' architecture sprinkled
out over the area depicting the gods, overrun with monkeys and painted,
performing priests. The cremation site is located on the 'holy' river. This
river is used for washing, bathing, swimming, and many other superstitious
purposes. It is filled with the ashes of dead Hindus, the trash of tourists,
and the filth of the urban sector of the city. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was here that i saw a person
burning for the first time in my life. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYH3fLTDd2qbCJEJ5G7_WBiRKrSKWcy6pnpkBIQUpjvHYIwxkm8hqFBzrYuPIR2P906H0FiKxvzZAjmYKJy2snFX6apZf-R2dZZD56_bu12Z1GoE0PginMP0bDO8Z_FliN-pUiq-6RTsI/s1600/blogIMG_3171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYH3fLTDd2qbCJEJ5G7_WBiRKrSKWcy6pnpkBIQUpjvHYIwxkm8hqFBzrYuPIR2P906H0FiKxvzZAjmYKJy2snFX6apZf-R2dZZD56_bu12Z1GoE0PginMP0bDO8Z_FliN-pUiq-6RTsI/s400/blogIMG_3171.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-_70C2w0HjuR0_rkp648LGKiBL_S0xyg7YEapL3rmZQ0Fk48BEuppraoqSWN5_Wn87pmv547Q8hWU7lVa6Ov0v3SRsP0oyo1US1-mgQSamHcUu5e9QxjAWrzUjU7ByXuG2qXHGM-Lzpg/s1600/blogIMG_3180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-_70C2w0HjuR0_rkp648LGKiBL_S0xyg7YEapL3rmZQ0Fk48BEuppraoqSWN5_Wn87pmv547Q8hWU7lVa6Ov0v3SRsP0oyo1US1-mgQSamHcUu5e9QxjAWrzUjU7ByXuG2qXHGM-Lzpg/s400/blogIMG_3180.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">An elderly man had died. There
was a procession of his family members wailing, accompanying his body to the
cremation site. His feet were sticking out of his white wrapping. A worker
spread dry straw and oil over the body and lit the fire. There was a group gathered
on the landing above to watch the cremation. I looked to my left and saw a
tourist girl, peering down on the conservatively covered weeping family, push
the straps of her tank top off her shoulders in order to get a proper tan as
she watched their beloved elder burn. I was overcome with the insensitivity and
the hopelessness. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-Bg2yndxVSQ62rnxBKDTVM9YU6XXHWXpduw7wVXobs6tuqP-NdDQKzZcmEBgfla5J0JtRF77b1-tUdjScKK_lULqZD1Oh6ZROHmaI4DDKZo9V6_lU8bdck_cY7PIlaue1PG6C2vg3EU/s1600/blogIMG_3212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-Bg2yndxVSQ62rnxBKDTVM9YU6XXHWXpduw7wVXobs6tuqP-NdDQKzZcmEBgfla5J0JtRF77b1-tUdjScKK_lULqZD1Oh6ZROHmaI4DDKZo9V6_lU8bdck_cY7PIlaue1PG6C2vg3EU/s400/blogIMG_3212.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRKW27M7tfg3bkj5edsf5XvwxWuoLpYZZJAFLRdvVn1d5-xMc7CK5zm6zAXRfaxiAb8TWB2oLCvP7EL6KwRPtHNFhcHdxpCCGB679Xj86TGkRHcHJgO2ywoo0zxs-yE8TTWcLt9UynPk/s1600/blogIMG_3229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRKW27M7tfg3bkj5edsf5XvwxWuoLpYZZJAFLRdvVn1d5-xMc7CK5zm6zAXRfaxiAb8TWB2oLCvP7EL6KwRPtHNFhcHdxpCCGB679Xj86TGkRHcHJgO2ywoo0zxs-yE8TTWcLt9UynPk/s320/blogIMG_3229.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbxMbJzBTQcUD6TMczb8vNEO4b3IZq_t6UOHJxc4lM22iAuFHaways1SpYSLmSA79p8tTBpfhCDKPkVcwTmlUP5N2B1cTwwkEMVoN5FoybdNkcppSYaGxLlnjd0zgpvExp3qc6LjmA4c/s1600/blogIMG_3235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Later on that day we walked to
the Kathmandu Stupa. A stupa is not a temple, exactly, but it is a place of
meditation and worship. Its name is derived from a word for 'mound', and that's
exactly what it looks like. It's a place that contains Buddhist relics and is
covered with the flags which are printouts of the Buddhist mantras - the idea
is that the wind will carry the karma in the mantras and spread them over the
populated area. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are dedicated men and women repeating mantras over and
over, counting their progress with strings of beads. There are observers coming
to spin large and small Tibetan prayer wheels in order to lift their petitions
to the greater deities - around and around, over and over, to rack up
good karma. There are followers prostrating themselves as a means of good
deeds. Old monks stroll around the tall white stupa. <em><span style="background-color: white;">Om mani
padme hum, </span></em>they
say. They flip a bead. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbxMbJzBTQcUD6TMczb8vNEO4b3IZq_t6UOHJxc4lM22iAuFHaways1SpYSLmSA79p8tTBpfhCDKPkVcwTmlUP5N2B1cTwwkEMVoN5FoybdNkcppSYaGxLlnjd0zgpvExp3qc6LjmA4c/s1600/blogIMG_3235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbxMbJzBTQcUD6TMczb8vNEO4b3IZq_t6UOHJxc4lM22iAuFHaways1SpYSLmSA79p8tTBpfhCDKPkVcwTmlUP5N2B1cTwwkEMVoN5FoybdNkcppSYaGxLlnjd0zgpvExp3qc6LjmA4c/s320/blogIMG_3235.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><span style="background-color: white;">Om mani padme hum. </span></em><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRKW27M7tfg3bkj5edsf5XvwxWuoLpYZZJAFLRdvVn1d5-xMc7CK5zm6zAXRfaxiAb8TWB2oLCvP7EL6KwRPtHNFhcHdxpCCGB679Xj86TGkRHcHJgO2ywoo0zxs-yE8TTWcLt9UynPk/s1600/blogIMG_3229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRKW27M7tfg3bkj5edsf5XvwxWuoLpYZZJAFLRdvVn1d5-xMc7CK5zm6zAXRfaxiAb8TWB2oLCvP7EL6KwRPtHNFhcHdxpCCGB679Xj86TGkRHcHJgO2ywoo0zxs-yE8TTWcLt9UynPk/s1600/blogIMG_3229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbxMbJzBTQcUD6TMczb8vNEO4b3IZq_t6UOHJxc4lM22iAuFHaways1SpYSLmSA79p8tTBpfhCDKPkVcwTmlUP5N2B1cTwwkEMVoN5FoybdNkcppSYaGxLlnjd0zgpvExp3qc6LjmA4c/s1600/blogIMG_3235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Buddhism doesn't feel as dark as
Hinduism when you're </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">surrounded by it, but i think that's what makes it so
insidious. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It feels good. It feels like a more educated religion to subscribe
to; but it's rooted in Hinduism, and it's obviously overpoweringly works-based.
It's founded on a ruse that makes it look nice, like it will result in people
being helpful toward other people, like there are simple steps to follow in a
messy life, like enlightenment will enable the paradox of the most minimalistic
and glamorous characteristics existing in the same human being. You may find
that 100 prostrations and endless mantras and the equal exchange of karma -
good for good and bad for bad - are easier than faith.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> But in the end all
you're doing is spinning your wheels.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNucprTbM7ODoFL-yL9c2P7TRNPJynl4Gl0TPj3FgRIZf-Ik8uFMx-X4FQtctz154dwzX6icw2-nfkMpEGEpQ28po__ON5sqjiPuMdroZX87ZCl82nTFEp3Ezp-mnbEYMFG75AESpil1Q/s1600/blogIMG_3220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNucprTbM7ODoFL-yL9c2P7TRNPJynl4Gl0TPj3FgRIZf-Ik8uFMx-X4FQtctz154dwzX6icw2-nfkMpEGEpQ28po__ON5sqjiPuMdroZX87ZCl82nTFEp3Ezp-mnbEYMFG75AESpil1Q/s320/blogIMG_3220.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Monday i took a domestic
flight to see the highest point on earth. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBQ4saUj6xea-egS6wNwHO81pzinh3oiGUd01Zqkue2orR8vEU1IZMtR_NCi-QytMRoztIKuzxiUcdv8g0wc3mpmRDAHp8WAhyN_ITGIVRuvab4gGv8-G74U-UvFgGuh_PGoxy7mJIJ4/s1600/blogIMG_3242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBQ4saUj6xea-egS6wNwHO81pzinh3oiGUd01Zqkue2orR8vEU1IZMtR_NCi-QytMRoztIKuzxiUcdv8g0wc3mpmRDAHp8WAhyN_ITGIVRuvab4gGv8-G74U-UvFgGuh_PGoxy7mJIJ4/s400/blogIMG_3242.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTy7m5eDhyOyKEay9ndCo0RDHOZ62vgRza_IXYFKwBrb4ZWKMyCQGhABAoTqFMKb6H_55KR3iAiMQRfbi6mXcd_NbEd7F3Z7B0Fox4wI_fIkfq1VOeiqn8xpbPW7gIhPgpcGHM_bypCEw/s1600/blogIMG_3246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTy7m5eDhyOyKEay9ndCo0RDHOZ62vgRza_IXYFKwBrb4ZWKMyCQGhABAoTqFMKb6H_55KR3iAiMQRfbi6mXcd_NbEd7F3Z7B0Fox4wI_fIkfq1VOeiqn8xpbPW7gIhPgpcGHM_bypCEw/s400/blogIMG_3246.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">i struggle to put into words my
experience seeing Everest. it was unlike anything i've ever seen. it was too
big to grasp. it was over too soon. Well, in one way it was over too soon. In
the other way, it was foggy and we were delayed over two hours in the tiny
airport. There was a collection of about sixty Chinese tourists there among the
crowd, and they just could not get a good grasp of what was going on through
the language barrier. They hadn't all come together in one group, but they
moved as one mass. Any time an announcement would come through the loudspeaker,
regardless of what it was, they would all stand up and swarm one of the two
departure gates, clogging every process completely and needlessly. i
laughed the first time at 6:45 am when the flight attendant came on and
announced that their flight had been delayed until 7:30, and they all got up to
go board! Every single one of them! It kept getting more obscure, and even
funnier, after they stopped discriminating against gates or airlines mentioned
in the announcement and got up to board anyway. It was good entertainment for
my wait. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When we finally boarded after
being shuttled to the plane twice and further delayed, it was smooth sailing.
The flight was wonderful. The Himalayas were magnificent throughout the hour we
spent in the air. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZjPcaY8xVh9Zxr777BbDg_Gchyphenhyphen0Ilyoi7wUYdv8LXOjPxI8QxgBAGM0Ch40idxyNpb224XFBXxFjLIdrLc1kE6eSy324Ny60ZUE_pyB22p3kb9KZBmX5s6Y6tuAcPcSpQS9FqCnSlvc/s1600/blogIMG_3371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZjPcaY8xVh9Zxr777BbDg_Gchyphenhyphen0Ilyoi7wUYdv8LXOjPxI8QxgBAGM0Ch40idxyNpb224XFBXxFjLIdrLc1kE6eSy324Ny60ZUE_pyB22p3kb9KZBmX5s6Y6tuAcPcSpQS9FqCnSlvc/s400/blogIMG_3371.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They let each of the passengers come up to stand in the
cockpit and take in the 180 degree view out the front windows, and that is
where the copilot first pointed out Mt. Everest to me. I can't explain to you
the depth or the breadth of the mountain range from that angle. What a great
picture of the great and far-reaching nature of True Love. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_312vNF9PKQyK0_04dW0igJePVqgDwyXyfjwP6f9l9re43m0OZL01prilWU3EAbCkjvfTFoxblPdg6NclLGu_Gl0wdZLb4TiDqN8xtwSW44b_BoYJCUuI0JEzZbTnMW4jS7-esV_u7EY/s1600/blogIMG_3280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_312vNF9PKQyK0_04dW0igJePVqgDwyXyfjwP6f9l9re43m0OZL01prilWU3EAbCkjvfTFoxblPdg6NclLGu_Gl0wdZLb4TiDqN8xtwSW44b_BoYJCUuI0JEzZbTnMW4jS7-esV_u7EY/s400/blogIMG_3280.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhioNBOt9G83NV9V9WnSQ8HM1DTyTKyjYcOMwBXj_Kh2UVo3DDbkvXbRxERNcerienob7sNJW5ZDCZPT_h6buzUBOn-a1k4DROjmr4TNOLyGyMhyphenhyphenLv9vSnl_cHJ9nKPARI0VVmYbPQM8nk/s1600/blogIMG_3299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhioNBOt9G83NV9V9WnSQ8HM1DTyTKyjYcOMwBXj_Kh2UVo3DDbkvXbRxERNcerienob7sNJW5ZDCZPT_h6buzUBOn-a1k4DROjmr4TNOLyGyMhyphenhyphenLv9vSnl_cHJ9nKPARI0VVmYbPQM8nk/s400/blogIMG_3299.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tmV04QsCmmzB54SSDlzJdk7dTLw0m2A8KfI6LgBW69w1LbG-fhxkIglLF2oAEA0UIHecJD7d9lRhFNu-y9Pk1tfELFthtbVXjmQDYxAa8Dclwa81ryTwbaije_IGGwu7-mdjES69fyo/s1600/blogIMG_33492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tmV04QsCmmzB54SSDlzJdk7dTLw0m2A8KfI6LgBW69w1LbG-fhxkIglLF2oAEA0UIHecJD7d9lRhFNu-y9Pk1tfELFthtbVXjmQDYxAa8Dclwa81ryTwbaije_IGGwu7-mdjES69fyo/s400/blogIMG_33492.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkynKWbGSjK_KlwN3lHjAzvZX4ViBsvEWUmiufg2jdhVWlfq9-H9_Tvrk1KF8_lxBzL33HdFxsZI4Zz7ZHz_rsIc0Cxz0CB6Bxxqe2VsMy3Gpo_61AgRPlNfQt-0bZEI_8DX38D42wWg/s1600/blogIMG_3351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkynKWbGSjK_KlwN3lHjAzvZX4ViBsvEWUmiufg2jdhVWlfq9-H9_Tvrk1KF8_lxBzL33HdFxsZI4Zz7ZHz_rsIc0Cxz0CB6Bxxqe2VsMy3Gpo_61AgRPlNfQt-0bZEI_8DX38D42wWg/s400/blogIMG_3351.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIcrqRI_R2Umqw_N_bqZkf0ZoxS5qKkDELCmzIhpCQXfHXEF7gNQIY5JrAQepwHRmsSDGs09azaP8Df3ghQo93JjSYO8ZXcUhazTsqz9d92vTs9m_gMuLtUgm384Qc_zChlL2JMFP1Mw/s1600/blogIMG_33162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIcrqRI_R2Umqw_N_bqZkf0ZoxS5qKkDELCmzIhpCQXfHXEF7gNQIY5JrAQepwHRmsSDGs09azaP8Df3ghQo93JjSYO8ZXcUhazTsqz9d92vTs9m_gMuLtUgm384Qc_zChlL2JMFP1Mw/s400/blogIMG_33162.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I went back to my seat and
marveled at one of the most famous places on earth through a propeller and a
darkly tinted window. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2UALWsip9vbGSGDYjP-M3MW6RSv0vKxvg86TwV5ySUtyGMcKsyEv4LYUTE16Qvj82ef7nN0do4BN2GMXede_22e3QjekhZ2lsKpj2mpfFG2JbEzQKb6YwY_bW-ZX-z8duw3UYmq-g1qs/s1600/blogIMG_3345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2UALWsip9vbGSGDYjP-M3MW6RSv0vKxvg86TwV5ySUtyGMcKsyEv4LYUTE16Qvj82ef7nN0do4BN2GMXede_22e3QjekhZ2lsKpj2mpfFG2JbEzQKb6YwY_bW-ZX-z8duw3UYmq-g1qs/s400/blogIMG_3345.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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long walk to Kopan Monastery, a Buddhist refuge in the mountains. On our way we
met a few different families who invited us in for tea, or who appreciated our
desire to take photos of their elderly mothers. Two families were especially
sweet and welcoming, and we got to stop and share Truth with them - in their
own tongue, thanks to Leah. After some time we got all the way up to the
monastery. The architecture is beautiful, and the grounds are meticulously
kept. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hadn't realized that Buddhism arose out of Hinduism, but i see much of
the symbolism that has carried over in their monuments and shrines. I was with
Leah and another friend named Joanna, and we prayed as we walked through this
place. We went to the highest spot in the monastery, a grassy circle reachable
by winding stone stairs looking out over the whole monastery and almost the
whole city of Kathmandu. We sat there and asked our Father to invade. It was a
very beautiful place to be. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RdLSCrBDLrR97lPbSz9R04tLndPFNSy2a_fmX2UCpxqOyHfaHXe_Eyqndd-v_zPKSLFmbjrN3IJ8zTBagGeF3pvRmLQ3PDM7P9_RTlq3t5O02xUyQPf7coK9SrnMCqyufl_vFFGf8uw/s1600/blogIMG_3476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RdLSCrBDLrR97lPbSz9R04tLndPFNSy2a_fmX2UCpxqOyHfaHXe_Eyqndd-v_zPKSLFmbjrN3IJ8zTBagGeF3pvRmLQ3PDM7P9_RTlq3t5O02xUyQPf7coK9SrnMCqyufl_vFFGf8uw/s320/blogIMG_3476.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was going to be a Buddhist
service going on in their equivalent of a chapel while we were there, so we
watched as the young monks filed in and waited for the Pooja to start. As they
removed their shoes and came inside, i noticed many of them pausing to peer out
of the windows lining the sides of the chapel. Some of them even leaned out,
quiet but longing, seeing something out there, tilting their torsos forward and
a bare foot up in the air. I couldn't help but feel they were seeking for
something outside of that place. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">i couldn't help but hope they
never stop looking out those windows until they find it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz-4nssVRwvCVWkfNC2lmS_hjQBG4VnUpPhcVWPJteEXJBtq4oSGqXyuZTQZ4FDa4AMmD6VGNSBtp73vYb4460bFDiTIexakiotDGO0yjZN5Pl7b330hFwWrOFlGIXi7Cqi-trQU0JAk/s1600/blogIMG_3418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz-4nssVRwvCVWkfNC2lmS_hjQBG4VnUpPhcVWPJteEXJBtq4oSGqXyuZTQZ4FDa4AMmD6VGNSBtp73vYb4460bFDiTIexakiotDGO0yjZN5Pl7b330hFwWrOFlGIXi7Cqi-trQU0JAk/s400/blogIMG_3418.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjel_i7gboQhTE6hx-jLznhcTcKs1G3ZAb_Y8C8Hj7wZr0C9bExQECYIf7A17e9xiAPDtyYQ2H3MIDzLYtW420kRUQygcWjRHXIqPAtBLpf_6_NiX_xcfTyAKMaaKbbkO4tGpxLMWTGhD8/s1600/blogIMG_3584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjel_i7gboQhTE6hx-jLznhcTcKs1G3ZAb_Y8C8Hj7wZr0C9bExQECYIf7A17e9xiAPDtyYQ2H3MIDzLYtW420kRUQygcWjRHXIqPAtBLpf_6_NiX_xcfTyAKMaaKbbkO4tGpxLMWTGhD8/s320/blogIMG_3584.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As we walked back i saw more of
the Buddhist mantra flags flying. I was struck by their emptiness and the
hollow lies they depict as they fly, many old - dirty and shredded, in the
wind. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How often does the way we make to
find our freedom turn on us? How often do we find ourselves enslaved and
imprisoned by the parts of our lives that have become tradition?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi06TOsxjsfqbU6FsQuZ1P4YUijJnsVIvGidCs08-ajnRmcCPRaeXB8FQLnxukClQcU6WXNhfOrPgUleWyqzKnwFMEbwsbVLQYaAPO4_d9b8WCa_PRqt_xHMw4jmpS0o-xHUPD5BvpFzo/s1600/blogIMG_3556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi06TOsxjsfqbU6FsQuZ1P4YUijJnsVIvGidCs08-ajnRmcCPRaeXB8FQLnxukClQcU6WXNhfOrPgUleWyqzKnwFMEbwsbVLQYaAPO4_d9b8WCa_PRqt_xHMw4jmpS0o-xHUPD5BvpFzo/s400/blogIMG_3556.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe sometimes we just need to
get above our situation to see the absurdities we use to line the Truth woven
through imagery into the fabric of our being. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe sometimes we need to go see
Mount Everest </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and look down at the temples. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This first week in Nepal has been
such a sweet eye-opening and adventure-heavy time. I'll be back at the end of
next week with another recap!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Love from Kathmandu,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Non-traditional Julie.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<!--EndFragment--></div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-81377364242586218532013-02-28T23:34:00.000+05:302013-03-01T09:21:37.666+05:30Kathmandu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I made it to Nepal!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I was riding in the car to the
airport, I felt a certain calm. I realized that though I hated packing as
usual, I hadn't taken the time to have a real good freakout about the things I
must be forgetting. I take that to mean that I must finally be a seasoned
traveler. I didn't worry about the traffic. I wasn't concerned that my ticket
wouldn't print. I walked calmly around the departure gates as I was directed
here and there to fill out immigration forms, as I was told I could not carry
on my baggage, and as the terminals are ridiculously far apart. But the Delhi
airport is really nice, and it's filled with plants. So i smiled as i watched
the silhouette of a worker dusting off the leaves of the live palm trees, and
as two young boys bursting with energy ran as fast as they possibly could in
order to beat the belt going the opposite direction on the moving
sidewalk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I sat down at my terminal among a
party of French people. I wondered were all the Nepalis were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I moved down the line to my seat
on the plane. I had a window seat, and the large man in the aisle seat was
already comfortably seated and buckled in -- and he refused to move for me. I
squeezed past him and tried not to be too obviously disgusted when he stared
pointedly and selfishly at the backside of an attendant who was bending over to
help someone. (Who designs their outfits, anyway?) The man bought a snack, and he
chewed it loudly. He wasn't really bothering me, I was just thinking how I
didn't have a great seatmate; but mostly I was reading Donald Miller, so I was
certainly enjoying myself. All of a sudden, I noticed out the opposite window
that the light was taking on colors, and I looked up to see if there was a
sunset to be had out my window. But what I saw...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love Delhi, but in Delhi everything
is brown. The leaves on the trees and the full moon at night and the streets
and the cows have a sort of film over them, as though you're seeing them
filtered through brown air. The brown air feels like home, but it also can get
a little stifling. And after all that brown, it was amazing to see what i saw
when i looked up from my book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We were crossing into the
Himalayas.<i> THE HIMALAYAS, PEOPLE. Who gets to just see this stuff? Wow.</i> We were
above some enormous foothills covered in dense forests, and far beyond them
across the empty soft purple mist were floating pure, clean, white and blue and
purple peaks. Even seeing all this through windowpanes covered in grease and
condensation couldn't diminish its amazing beauty. All that majesty after all
that brown just somehow felt like a miracle. And it was even more mind-boggling
to understand the great hulking size of these mountains:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When you're flying, you look down
on the world. And you see the cute little monopoly houses and you begin to
believe the world is round instead of just a place where you put your own feet,
since you can begin to see the curvature of the thick blue band of horizon. Up
there is where you understand the zoning plans of cities and see the real
shapes of the rivers, and where you look down and realize that clouds are
things with a height and a top, and not a video you watch in the sky. Well, in
that airplane I looked down on everything else, but I looked across to the
Himalayas. I was in among the mountain range. How glorious. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I mean... </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The human soul is bad. But our
Father has created things that He deemed <i>good</i>, and it is not difficult to see why he did. I'm so thankful
for this mandatory time of rest. I almost feel guilty leaving some of my
friends who I know are working so hard - it seems unfair that I get such a
beautiful break. But, I wasn't allowed by law to stay any longer, and it just
so happens that Nepal is really cool. I'm hoping to make the most of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, and after all of my seatmate's bad qualities, he did help me out by taking my bags out of the overhead before i could even think about squeezing out of our row, and even before he got his own. I guess that makes him a decent seatmate after all.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">The team working here is really
neat and they seem very well-bonded. Leah, the girl I'm staying with, is
extremely well-grounded and self-motivated. She knows what she wants and she
knows what she's gonna do. It will be such a blessing to be around her these
couple of weeks. When we reached her flat after dinner, I was standing on her terrace meeting her d</span>almatian<span style="font-family: inherit;"> named Asha (Hope) and I when i looked out at the view from the place i was standing, i froze in it. It was the most beautiful display of stars I have seen in a very, very long time. It felt like just another beautiful gift of nature. It felt like it soothed me and spoke to my soul. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Other than that, my experience with Kathmandu so far is that it's a lot like Delhi.
The streetside shops are nearly identical. The people look extremely similar.
The roads and traffic are pretty much just alike, too. I like the familiarity
and the newness at the same time. It feels homey but still like a break from
any monotony that had set in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm certainly thankful for this
time. Lift me up that I might be an encouragement here, a help in any way i
might be useful, and that I would make the most of the time I have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's so nice to feel so content.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Love from Kathmandu,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Julie, happy in the Himalayas!</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-28762585102491414302013-02-28T12:16:00.000+05:302013-02-28T12:16:02.842+05:30The Light is Beautiful in the Morning.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the afternoon, i don't perceive the beauty of Delhi.<br />
<br />
there seems a subtle discontentment, and it settles over everything like the dust when the women are sweeping the streets.<br />
there are things to be done, people to see, errands to look after, and often those things will take longer than you anticipate they will. There are construction workers using noisy tools. You can love Delhi in the afternoon, but not for its beauty.<br />
Tuesday morning I woke up and went across the road to take some photos of a sweet small family, Kham and Kagui with their 5 month old daughter Athaliah. I walked past the small slum I always pass on my way to PMI, and I looked through their alley to my left to find the small concrete area transformed as it was struck by the morning sunshine, echoing with brightness, reverberating a pure white glow.<br />
I wished it was always morning all day long.<br />
but then i loved the five o'clock light. Walking around Burari during house visits, I remembered the way it framed the faces of the children, clarifying each golden silhouette in a crisp halo around them. I wished it was always morning, until it was five o'clock.<br />
But then there was a crisis, and I walked the streets of our neighborhood in the stillness of the midnight. There was something eerie about the swarming streets I know when they were deserted. There was something peaceful and also terrifying about the streetlamps lighting my open way - no cars or motorcycles honking behind me, no people or tailors to sidestep, no children to smile at, no staring men, no shops to check for a packet of full cream with which to make my chai.<br />
the sleeping world is beautiful and strange.<br />
It should always be morning until it is five o'clock, and five o'clock until it is midnight, and midnight until it is morning again.<br />
This morning, i woke up and packed, made plans and made chai.<br />
This five o'clock i'll be in the asian air, somewhere among the Himalayas.<br />
This midnight i'll be sleeping soundly among friends in Nepal, anticipating elephant rides and the sight of the peak of Mt. Everest.<br />
<br />
This is the day that our Father has made. I will rejoice and be glad in all of it -<br />
but the Light is most beautiful in the morning.<br />
<br />
(I don't know if I'll have much internet access these next two weeks. I'll talk to you all again March 14th!)<br />
Love leaving Delhi,<br />
Julie the light lover!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-74648140280565062442013-02-19T23:35:00.002+05:302013-02-19T23:41:15.255+05:30Burari Today.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
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Heads up: this post is heavy on the details, but they're details I just don't want to forget. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today was a
Tuesday, and on Tuesdays, I go to burari.</div>
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When I go to burari, I don’t bring my
camera. But today I wish I had.</div>
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Today we got
into the auto to go what is usually around 45 minutes into the neighboring
district. I pulled out the book I’m currently reading to pass the time. I
noticed as I was reading that people seemed unusually loud. “Why is everyone so
angry and chatty today?” I wondered. An old woman boarded our auto. She
chattered at Rajesh. All of a sudden, our auto stalled in the middle of the
road. Two of the four guys up front got out and pushed, and the driver revved
the engine and gave it gas until it seemed to pick up again. A couple of people
had gotten out thinking they’d need to find another way to get to Burari. They
hopped back in. I put my finger in
my book and tried to catch some of the Hindi going on. “Just be sure you don’t
stop the engine again, or it won’t start!” I imagined them saying. “Why do I
always pick the broken auto?” I imagined them thinking. I counted us. Twelve.
Twelve people traveling together in a three-wheeled vehicle smaller than my
mom’s minivan. I shook my head and opened my book. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
We got out
of the auto before we usually do because we were going to do a house visit
today – all of the students’ parents were going to meet us at one central
house, because they all live quite close together. I looked up from my carefully chosen steps in the developing
area to see two of my bolder students coming toward us, ready to take us to
their neighborhood. They were very excited to see me. The area is difficult to
navigate after rain, as the roads are simply not roads yet. I love the whole
district, though, because instead of crumbling, everything is being built up.
Instead of having become drab and dirty, every house has just been painted in
almost offensively bright pastels, and it’s impossible not to be a little happy
when you see them in such large quantities, color after color; in between, of
course, the moments you look down to step over the boulders or look over to
smile at innocently curious wide-eyed children. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When we got
to Reena’s house, I was invited inside and courteously handed a glass of soda.
The one-room area was the largest of all the students’ residences, so they had
chosen it for us to meet in. Soon mothers began to filter in. “This is
OmPrakash’s mummy”, they would tell me, “And this is the mummy of Sandeep, and
Sangeeta.” They didn’t have to tell me; the family resemblance was uncanny in
almost every one of them. I smiled as they interacted – It was like being in
class with the students I know. RimJhim’s mother said something sweet and
quiet, and then OmPrakash’s mother nodded and addded something, and Reena’s mom
burst out with some brash retort and everyone chuckled heartily and put their
hands on each others’ knees. I
could hardly believe the similarities, as RimJhim is sweet and thoughtful,
OmPrakash is a follower but a speaker, and Reena is bold and loud and funny. I chatted with the students as Rajesh
talked more with the parents. Everyone wanted me to know what a happy day this
was, because I had come to see them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Students who
didn’t fit in the room stood in the doorway, light filtering in over their
cheeks and their hair, and I smiled and leaned in to hear what was being said
by the moms. They enjoyed testing the amount of Hindi I could understand and
respond to, and nearly giggled in delight if I offered up a badly pronounced
phrase or two. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All of a
sudden, I was being invited to more homes. First we moved to RimJhim’s house.
RimJhim is probably no older than I am, but she is married to an older man and
has a five year old daughter. They live together with her parents and many
siblings. Her mother kept telling me how much RimJhim’s English has improved,
with tones of deep thankfulness – almost reverence – in her voice. I hugged her
daughter KumKum, drank more soda and ate a biscuit or two, and then it was time
to move on to the next house. Her mother followed me out the door, and looked
at me through her round plastic glasses with great expressive pools of goodwill
and appreciation for eyes. She took both of my hands in hers, shook them once
and then brought them to her face and kissed them. I squeezed her hands back
and then wrapped my arms around her small frame and hugged her twice before the
curious eyes of the surrounding neighbors. I thanked her as graciously as I
could manage for inviting me into her home. I squeezed her hands once again and then waved at her and at
RimJhim as I walked off to follow the students to the next house. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
No other
homes were quite as meaningful as that one. Anjali’s family must have commented
ten or twelve times about how fair my skin is, and Babita’s family had an
adorable baby boy they let me hold whose name was Yesh, and Sangeeta’s mother
and sister wept in front of me as I begged them not to be angry with me because
I came to their home after I had already spent time elsewhere; they thought I
was neglecting them because I didn’t think they were as worthy of my time. One
family had a very sick mother, and Ashish’s family thought they were the most
deserving of my visit, as his father is the Hindu priest for the whole
surrounding area. Ashish and his
father are extremely similar in looks and in expression. I felt a deep need to
pray for his family intentionally the longer we stayed in his home. They are
very proud of their son – and they should be, because he is helpful and bright.
Who knows, maybe he’ll be a light of Truth to their family. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
After all
the families in the area were visited, all of the students decided to walk me
and Rajesh out to the main road to catch an auto home. “Julie ma’am, today is most happy day
for me. Our families so happy to see you; you – here, in our place!” I
assured them many times that I was also extremely happy to have met their families
and to be able to be a part of their lives. "Will you come to-<i>MORR</i>-ow, ma'am?" They know I only come on Tuesdays and Thursdays. "Ma'am, you come to-morr-ow?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
We strolled together in a place
unlike any I have seen – developing into a very urban area but on the forefront
of a line of an agricultural industry. We walked away from the housing
developments on a narrow concrete path elevated above rich deep green fields on
either side, and I watched children driving stubborn goats, wondered at
sari-clad women harvesting plants together, and saw a spontaneous plot of
jungle planted to cultivate naril, or coconuts. One woman had the largest bag
of plants I have ever seen balanced on her head and was managing her sari
magnificently as she stepped her way carefully but effortlessly through the
fields, just surrounded by the most beautiful vibrant green. I sighed deeply
multiple times, taking in the clean air filtered by the seemingly endless
fields.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
We finally
made it to the road, and I hugged each dear girl student close and thanked them
warmly for having me, and I shook each boy student’s hand with appreciation.
Everyone in the auto was half-smiling at me with one eyebrow up, partially
amused at the spectacle being made by the foreigner, mostly waiting impatiently
to get where they were going. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
They didn’t
know what an amazing and tiring afternoon I had just had. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Life here is
worth it. People are worth it. But friends, every one of those students needs
the Truth to touch their lives. Many of them are thinking, seeking, wondering. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pray for
RimJhim. Pray for Ashish. Pray for me as I go to them, offering the only thing
I have to give – the best thing I’ve ever had; the best news I’ve ever heard. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Love from Delhi,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Julie: humble English teacher and proud news-bearer.</div>
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not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-20109527908162614902013-02-18T22:02:00.001+05:302013-02-18T22:16:09.139+05:30Just people. Just a girl.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>"Don't keep your money like this."</i><br />
<br />
Already my trip is becoming a collection of memories, of moments frozen in time. Seemingly meaningless exchanges trump monumental ones in my consciousness, and I'm left with a few anecdotes and instructions to embody India.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>"Kya hua?"</i><br />
<br />
Because the way you picture India is riding two people on a moped through the colorful streets under mogul arches and past bangle salesmen, and it measures up strangely to hiding in a cold house away from the policemen beating protesters at India gate; to scrutinizing and unsmiling masses, to the lying grins of salesmen, to beggars hoping to prove to you they are worse off than is true, to crouching middle aged men peddling their gods on the roadside.<br />
<br />
<i>"Too much!"</i><br />
<br />
Painted sores. Painted gods. Painted smiles.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My heart breaks, and longs to be moved instead of numbed. Will I be challenged or broken? </div>
<div>
At the end of last year I assessed my situation, longing to be radiant instead of frightened; wondering, 'Am I strong enough? Am I strong at all?'<br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>"You're not feeling cold, or what?"</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I sit today on my day off, hopeful to soon begin the biography of a 78-year old man I admire, editing his first book before he agrees for me to begin on his second. I sit with valentines taped around my mirror from the precious students in Burari who are creative, attentive, and apt to learn. I sit in a house I share with a great family, but also now with Linda Fleming, an English teacher from Arizona who has come to spend 10 weeks here teaching in PMI. In the four days she's been here, she has already encouraged me beyond what I can express. Her enthusiasm is catching, and her energy is inspiring instead of condemning. We have spent a lot of time together, and I hope we continue to do so. </div>
<div>
I spent part of my day off today with a cup of coffee, doing one of the only things that I found helps me to reconnect with the humanity of humans: quietly watching them. If I am traveling with them, walking alongside them, bargaining with them - then they are in my way. they're smelly. they're selfish. they're unpredictable. they're lazy. they're scary.</div>
<div>
but if i just watch them, they're people again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm thankful for the warmth returning to Delhi. I'm thankful for my students in Burari. I'm thankful for Linda Fleming.<br />
And I'm thankful that people are <i>just people.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDslydQYq9R3BS2ObZ2tVXQB9a-8v0sdENkATHRSRMwRlWHxPU1YBHrIKQ_3hCKbeA-_UJvCuXPx1vn0MHxtLOXEEaF94oCJKT0k3PVe7veu8Ckm7Zz5wWP-_qyofrJgmaCcFMrJAkN84/s1600/IMG_6993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDslydQYq9R3BS2ObZ2tVXQB9a-8v0sdENkATHRSRMwRlWHxPU1YBHrIKQ_3hCKbeA-_UJvCuXPx1vn0MHxtLOXEEaF94oCJKT0k3PVe7veu8Ckm7Zz5wWP-_qyofrJgmaCcFMrJAkN84/s400/IMG_6993.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div>
Love from Delhi,</div>
<div>
Just a girl.</div>
</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3927204604017011673.post-68261922810032439682013-02-06T22:30:00.004+05:302013-02-06T22:44:35.349+05:30More of the East.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday was a special day!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
The day began late the night before, when Campy and I surprised Praisey with a tiny birthday party. I got to do some shopping during the afternoon and get some birthday candles and fun balloons. She <i>Loved </i>the fun balloons. We gave some gifts and celebrated our dear friend. We really appreciate her.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-sH2BSMFyuYSPyfhMBHzj6szaLvU7WfKTVSzsPnV-_GngwRAwwITpWWAcFrEZJi7s3E2nnqnP2fnaZJVzlWFs9rTuG2JWomaIOYie8Gtb3XvlyVRqMjoQX7WWE_I1iFJmSju78yJL8o/s1600/surprise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-sH2BSMFyuYSPyfhMBHzj6szaLvU7WfKTVSzsPnV-_GngwRAwwITpWWAcFrEZJi7s3E2nnqnP2fnaZJVzlWFs9rTuG2JWomaIOYie8Gtb3XvlyVRqMjoQX7WWE_I1iFJmSju78yJL8o/s320/surprise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
The next day was more celebrations of Praisey's abundance of life, but the evening was dedicated to Heena's bridal beauty! Amos and Heena's wedding is next Monday, the 11th.<br />
First on the agenda was a time with the women in Amos' family. Traditionally before a wedding in India, there is a time of Mehndi and Haldi. Mehndi is the old Indian word for "henna" which is the skin-staining mixture of spices used on brides, usually in beautiful floral designs covering their hands and forearms. Haldi is also basically a spice mixture which consists mainly of Turmeric. It's made into a paste and smeared on the skin - it's supposed to promote that bridal glow. (google tells me its application can reduce pigmentation, so it's basically ancient fairness cream!)<br />
Since our evening began a little late (and we weren't surprised), we didn't have any time for mehndi; but the haldi party was on. The ladies joyously gifted Heena with her bridal presents and sang as they mixed the haldi and began spreading it on her face, arms, and legs - basically any skin that was exposed. They were laughing and dancing. I moved to sit on the couch so i could get a better angle for photography. I had the camera up to my face so i didn't even see the lady coming up from beside me - she creamed me with the stuff!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EMpAIdQjht8EK6OVWQJpWpW3-KcGG9zBvDIA4KrhS2Sif0z0l2c73DYe3fFEj7skdrRgGvHb43SXGp5_Rf17nAneRVZT0mOFaGHptWa1Xr7mDhQuaoTkEVLHKhKo6BJTR1jeBa8uyHU/s1600/1haldi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EMpAIdQjht8EK6OVWQJpWpW3-KcGG9zBvDIA4KrhS2Sif0z0l2c73DYe3fFEj7skdrRgGvHb43SXGp5_Rf17nAneRVZT0mOFaGHptWa1Xr7mDhQuaoTkEVLHKhKo6BJTR1jeBa8uyHU/s320/1haldi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIfYlbH5kQW4TXT0P-hnNw1owNFGcgKIm6j1OhNkD8i130YOpqyHyextH7-qWPZ2KfEmYImMfMuS4m0xYPLRdWTbHACdZWjANCzBXLeC-Kxyls4sYcxRFhNqAbG1XZnA6wxlo10Gga7c/s1600/3haldi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIfYlbH5kQW4TXT0P-hnNw1owNFGcgKIm6j1OhNkD8i130YOpqyHyextH7-qWPZ2KfEmYImMfMuS4m0xYPLRdWTbHACdZWjANCzBXLeC-Kxyls4sYcxRFhNqAbG1XZnA6wxlo10Gga7c/s320/3haldi.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">as if i had any pigmentation to lose...</td></tr>
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After washing ourselves of yellow spread, we migrated over to Heather's house for a good old American style bridal shower. Auntie and Elizabeth spent some time sharing with us about marriage, particularly about being a wife, which was really special and insightful. We gifted Heena with her bridal jewelry, gown, and makeup, and then had some good food and a fun game :)<br />
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I think you should know that my team won the toilet paper bridal gown game - we had some seriously fashionable five-minute disposable designer styling.<br />
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We're happy for Heena, and we're praying her wedding goes smoothly. There's a lot to be done and not much time, but when all is said and done, she'll be married and we'll be glad. I have a feeling she's going to be really, really beautiful.<br />
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Guess what else!<br />
Today, I got an email from a friend named Leah in Kathmandu, Nepal. Now, I don't have to leave India for two months at a time, but I do have to leave. She said I was welcome to stay with her during my break from India and be a part of what they're doing there. She even said we could take a trip to the jungle and ride elephants together, and that I can book a plane to see Mt. Everest while I'm there.<br />
All of that is <i>unquestionably</i> happening if I have anything to say about it. I am SO excited. I booked my ticket today right after I saw her email! I leave on February 28 and I'll be gone for two weeks. I can't wait to see a little more of the East.<br />
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I am so pleased with these truths: my shallow but strong roots here allow me to be involved in the lives of the beautiful women who I celebrated with yesterday - I'm so glad to be able to be rejoicing with those who rejoice. I'm also pleased with the contacts I've been able to make which allow me to travel and find new mercies, beauties and friends in new places. Praisey's birthday, Heena's bridal shower, and Leah's Nepal are making me happy today.<br />
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Here's to more good years, beautiful brides and MORE OF THE EAST!<br />
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Love from Delhi,<br />
Julie, ever more Easterly.</div>
not jules.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08970431131620111992noreply@blogger.com2