chords float in the wind
fill my soul
the notes drown empty spaces
soak like nothing else

a dry, withering, empty, cracked ground
needs water, a replenishing, a pouring
to sprout shoots, seedlings,
full with the promise of fruit,
replete with the hope and desire of a deeper root,
held in the hollow of a gentle, powerful hand

***

Written for the Five Minute Friday writing prompt at the gypsymama.com… today’s word prompt is “tender”. Instructions: write for 5 minutes flat, no editing.

I call out spelling words for a test, review vocabulary flashcards, help with geometry problems, and go to the library, all part of my slow, nice, relaxing day yesterday. I wish I remembered to write down things like this daily, because at the end of the day when the sink is overflowing with dirty dishes and the laundry isn’t folded and the house is as far from perfect as it could ever be, and I’ll never be Martha Stewart (and I confess, I’m not trying to be), I’d like to smile as I remember what we did and realize there will be days like this and my goal is not perfection, but love…. and I try to remember this when I’m tempted to listen to voices that tempt me to believe that I don’t matter or I’m a failure, and remind myself of the voice that matters, the one that says “well done, good and faithful servant and look in the direction that builds up, not down, and what is important in life.

So each night I hug the youngest who is getting bigger and remind myself that those who are as tall as me or taller need the hugs too… and the tallest one won’t let anyone pray for him at bedtime anymore…. I know his heart hurts and he is growing and needs love as much as anyone does at any age, and it makes my heart hurt, too, so I still pray for him but alone and silently, because when does a mother ever stop praying for her own kids?

Unnumbered thoughts and questions race through my mind each day, from the immediate situation to the longer-term future to the known and the unknowns. And only God knows the answers to any of these questions, as I walk through life day after day.

And on earth here, trapped in time and space, God reminds me that he can divide the smallest unit of matter and space into pieces I can’t see, he can get closer to me than a millimeter and inhabit my very soul, my heart, he can get into each invisible internal cell. And that is not all, even from far away, there is no place I can hide from him, whether in the bottom of the sea or in an airplane or under the bed.

That’s why a millimeter matters.

And I want the kids to know this, this kind of closeness, this kind of knowing God— I long for them to know Him, not the things about him or to be perfect, because no one can ever know it all or be it all, but we can know him the best we can, finding him as the source of love and all that is good. Because when the world rejects, people’s words hurt, when relationships falter, when money is gone, jobs are lost, when health fails… what falls, the pieces, what is left, is what matters, is what he picks up and holds and kisses and says, “It will be Ok.”

And that is just the message I needed to hear from him today. It brought me to tears, this message I needed to be reminded of again.

I know what can get smaller than a millimeter, kids, and why you need to know, if you should ask. 

***

Sharing with sweet Emily at Imperfect Prose:

He became ill quickly.

He had no appetite. He threw up a couple of times.

And when he complained of dizziness and severe chest pain when breathing, I knew something was wrong.

It was Saturday, just over a week ago, Jan. 14, when he woke up with a very high fever. Usually a dose of ibuprofen will help, but in this case it didn’t help much– he stayed in bed, for hours. Since we are visiting India, I have to keep all illness possibilities in my mind (malaria, typhoid, other viruses, etc.). It seems this is not the typical cold or virus.

In the afternoon, when my nearly 11-year-old son tells me he has severe chest pain when breathing, and the room looks like it is upside down, I thought I had better call a doctor. It was around 4pm, and fortunately I got an appointment for 7pm. We had just seen a doctor the day before for my other son, who was given antibiotics for a mild infection — so we had a clinic already in mind, with a doctor we had just met. It was fortunate– not that we needed the doctor but that we already had a place to go for another child who was much more ill. God prepared the way to the hospital the day before.

By the time we arrived at the clinic, I whispered to my husband that I knew Joshua needed to be hospitalized. I didn’t know the diagnosis, but I knew he was quite sick. Vomiting had become worse; he couldn’t even hold down water. He was becoming more ill while simply sitting at the doctor’s office. He was getting dehydrated. He was slouching in the chair, leaning on the left side since the right side hurt so much. He didn’t want to stand, but lie down.

And the blood tests confirmed it. The doctor was surprised at the results. “When did he first become ill?” he asked me, for the third time.

Again, I told him, “just today.” Just today. In one day. He was fine yesterday, no signs of anything amiss.

We are all surprised at the blood test results.

His white blood cell count was nearly 3 times the normal amount, over 31,000. (The normal range is 4,000- 11,000). The neutrophils were high, at 91.4% (normal is 45-70%). The lymphocytes were low at 6.4% (normal is 20-45%).

His C-reactive protein number was astronomically high, 44.5 mg/L (normal is up to 6 mg/L in adults).

The doctor asked us to get a chest x-ray. I knew my child was getting dehydrated, we all could see the numbers, and the doctor already said he’d need an IV with antibiotics, so I asked if we could get the IV first. But the doctor insisted we get the chest x-ray first.

More time, more dehydration, I’m thinking to myself. To get the x-ray, we’d need to leave the clinic and go outside. Our relative had taken his van to purchase something, and we couldn’t reach him by phone. So we had to call an auto rickshaw to take us there.

The "auto rickshaw" is an open-air, three-wheeled Indian taxi. It can seat about three people.

We put Josh in the middle, him leaning on the left side, and covered our faces and mouths because of the air pollution, and the driver took us to the clinic. The bumpy ride felt like an eternity, but in reality was less than 10 minutes, maybe even five minutes, I’m not sure, as time seemed warped that night. Am I really in an auto rickshaw in south India at this moment with a very sick boy? It felt like a bad movie.

I walk in the x-ray clinic. A man is by the front desk on the phone. He continues speaking for quite some time, and I don’t understand his language. Finally, he gets off the phone, and I tell him in English we are here for an x-ray. But we can’t communicate. I don’t speak his language and he doesn’t speak English. When my husband comes in after paying for the taxi, the man explains in their native language that no x-ray technician is on duty that night because of the festival (it’s the first day of the Harvest Festival in south India), and we’ll have to go somewhere else for the x-ray. He tells us another clinic is just down the street.

Really? I am frustrated as I sit back down while my husband goes outside to herald another auto rickshaw. Didn’t the clinic check before they sent us  here? They said they’d call! I can’t believe it. I feel as if valuable time is being wasted. I am getting worked up, my blood pressure is rising, I am mumbling (rather loudly) about the situation… and my son, leaning on my shoulder, weakly tells me to stop. I stop. I realize — this is not what he needs. My child needs me, and doesn’t need me to be upset at a situation that is beyond our control. I pray silently for speed, for clarity, for a clear diagnosis, etc., while he leans his head on my shoulder.

The taxi is summoned, so out we go again, in another bumpy auto rickshaw ride, a few minutes down the street, to another clinic.

I walk in and head to the front desk. Few people speak English in Vijayawada in places of business, I discover, and I can’t speak Telugu, the language they speak. When my husband walks in, he communicates to them why we are there. In a few minutes we are called back for the x-ray.

When finished, I ask the x-ray technician as he steps out in the hall how long will it take to get the image processed? He says 30 minutes. At least he understands some English– he can’t speak much English, but he understands me. I ask him if he can process it faster, that the child is very ill and is waiting to go to the hospital. He seems to understand and nods his head.

And in fact, the wait is less than 30 minutes, it is about 15-20 minutes. While we are waiting, our relative arrives with his van. We pay the bill — and then open the envelope with the x-ray image.

We see the x-ray picture and read the diagnosis.

Pneumonia of the right lung.

Wow. Pneumonia. We head back to the original clinic in the van, and sit in the waiting room. In a few minutes they call us back to see the doctor. We show him the x-ray and diagnosis. He tells us that Josh must be admitted to the hospital, for at least 3-4 days, even  up to a week.

They draw some more blood for further testing. They do a penicillin test dose to ensure he is not allergic to penicillin. He is not. An IV needle is inserted in his wrist.

They ask us to pick out a hospital room. We march upstairs to the 3rd floor of the clinic and look at a room. It is clean and white and spotless. There are two beds, one for the patient, one for the parent. Some empty shelves are at the front of the room, by the door. A Western style bathroom is attached. The room has an A/C unit and  a ceiling fan.

We take the room, #302.

Things are done differently here. We carry our own medical records and test results from place to place. We pick out our own hospital room. But they have processed all test results quickly and despite language barriers, we all understand numbers and pictures.

Josh is moved to the room and his IV medications are begun.

The doctor said 3-4 days, up to a week stay. We process this information.

It is Saturday night. On Monday morning, we are supposed to fly to Bangalore, a city several hundred miles away. Late Tuesday night, we are supposed to fly from Bangalore to Frankfurt, Germany, and then from Frankfurt, to Chicago, and be home by Wednesday.

The doctor says he does not think we can do any of this, that Joshua is sick and must get well before traveling. He continues to tell us of his plans for the next week– that he will be out of town at a conference for a couple of days.

We know we have to take one day at a time. We know we may need to reschedule our flight home. We know that Josh is sick and must get well. So much uncertainty on Saturday night.

I head back to my mother-in-law’s home, while my husband stays with my son at the hospital (the nurses on call do not speak English, only the doctor speaks some English). My other two kids are already in bed- it’s 11Pm. I open the computer and post a message on my personal Facebook page, asking people for prayer. The internet connection is sketchy– it knocks me out every 10 minutes and each time, I have to reconnect; occasionally, I have to reboot the computer, but I’m thankful for this– that I can instantly communicate a message from 8,000 miles away.

That night, I am reminded of Psalm 91, a scripture passage that a friend of mine shared with me just before I left. I found so much comfort in that passage before leaving for this trip, and that night, I am reminded particularly of this:

¹ He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
² I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”

³ Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
⁴ He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
⁵ You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
⁶ nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
⁷ A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.

I had prayed through that entire Psalm before leaving, and tonight these verses give me comfort. And I sleep.

On Sunday morning, Joshua’s fever is gone.

He is feeling much better.

I stay with him for a few hours in the afternoon. We take a nap, and watch some TV. The TV has a zillion channels. A cartoon in English called “Chotta Bheem” provides some amusement and laughs. It feels good to laugh. 

His appetite is resuming, he is able to sit up and walk, and his chest pain is greatly reduced.

He eats one “idli” (a steamed rice cake) for breakfast, two pancakes for lunch, and two chapatis (wheat flatbread), vegetables and yogurt for dinner.

And when the doctor said it could be up to a week– it becomes only two days.

The doctor agrees to discharge Joshua on Monday morning, so we can catch our flight, provided he keeps the heparin lock on his wrist and we go to a hospital once we are in Bangalore to continue his IV antibiotics and get injections through the IV needle. All of which we agree to do. (And accomplish. We take him to the clinic in Bangalore twice on Monday and three times on Tuesday before we fly home).

What if I had not taken him to the clinic on Saturday night? What if I had kept him home to keep an eye on him? For the usual types of viruses and illnesses, which is what I usually deal with in my kids, this would have been fine, an acceptable approach–wait and see. I shudder to think what would have happened had we waited– an ambulance in the middle of the night? He had become sick so quickly, the lung pain so severe, so fast, the illness could have progressed much further through the night. Would we still be in India now? How would Joshua be? All I can say is, “God, thank you.”

Because it is like this, God is too good, so good. We could still be in India, Josh could still be sick, we don’t know where we would be… but now, all unknowns and illnesses are transformed into a certain plan and a turnaround so quick, as fast as the uncertainty had begun. And God, He is like this, holding our hands in the midst of uncertainty, and putting our feet on a steady place while we look at numbers on papers that surprise and fevers and needles and IV’s, and try to choose the place of rest and peace.

Late Tuesday night, the heparin lock is removed, and Joshua is given antibiotic tablets to carry on the plane and back to the U.S.

He recovers in one day. Not seven.

We continue on with our travel plans.

We fly home. As scheduled. On time.

We arrive safely.

And here we are.

At home.

And we have much to be thankful for: God’s grace and goodness, His healing, His protection and prayers of many friends. I sent a call out for prayer on my personal facebook page- and it was answered by many people– and I was shocked on Sunday to see the response– over 40 people had said they’d pray– it brought tears to my eyes, choked me. They prayed, God healed, quickly, and let us come home on time, and no sicknesses on the travel home.

In a foreign country, in a hospital where a mother cannot communicate to the staff about her child (the staff did not speak English), I appreciated each and every prayer and comment that came my way, and asked God to heal my child, and He answered. With so many illnesses, possibilities, we are thankful for this happy ending. We know that we still have to follow up here in the U.S. with another blood test and another x-ray, but for now, all is well.

Joshua, on Sunday night a week ago, in the hospital room in India, eating his dinner of chapatis, vegetables and yogurt. (Shhh, PLEASE don't tell him I posted this pic, he'll be really mad at me!)

***

Continuing with a list of thankfulness, #592 – #612 :

592. Joshua getting better, after 2 days of hospitalization with pneumonia in India. Quick medical care, quick diagnosis, all by God’s grace– he turns around quickly.

593. His quick recovery meant we could fly home on time, no flight changes needed.

594. A safe, healthy, unventful flight home.

595. God’s protection while in India. Nobody else got severely ill, although my youngest did  need antibiotics for an infection (probably strep). Nobody got severe diarrhea, which is one thing visitors do often get when visiting India. We were extra, extra careful– didn’t drink tap water (drank only bottled water) and were careful about what we ate.

596. A wonderful visit with family and friends in India the past 3 weeks.

597. Safety on roads while traveling there. If you’ve been there or other parts of Asia, you know what I mean! (See my previous post, Driving in India)

598. The kids were able to see their cousins and relatives… some of whom they’ve never seen before. It was our first trip in 10 years, when my eldest were only 4 and 1, so for all practical purposes this felt like their first trip. They are all old enough now to remember this trip.

599. We came back with about one thousand photos (digital photography means more pics!) We’ll have to sort through them and make some sort of an album. My daughter, especially, had great fun taking pictures. We have pictures of family, places, and interesting pieces of daily life.

600. Thankful for so many things– that we have a wish list for the next visit. We want to see this, or go there, or visit that, all for “next time”. It’s nice to leave a place thinking that you’ll come back again. After 10 years, I had forgotten so much. I don’t think it’ll be another 10 years before the next time.

601. We were blessed to enjoy 80 degree weather, sunshine, and lush tropical views. When we got back to the U.S., the high for the day only reached 6 degrees Fahrenheit. Brrrr.

602. Easier getting over jetlag than 10 years ago. I’m still not there yet (going to bed at 6 or 7 pm and waking up at 4am) but last time was worse and took longer to recover! Now, I remember why– I had a one year old and a four year old! This time, my kids are older and we are all on a similar sleep pattern!

603. Thankful for kind friends who watched the house, neighbors who picked up the newspaper, and a boy across the street that we paid to shovel snow when necessary. Turns out it was unseasonably warm while we were gone and it only snowed maybe once that required shoveling. But it got cold after we returned, as if the cold weather was waiting just for us. It snowed 4 inches just two days after we reached!

604. Thankful that the kids adjusted easily there. I guess kids can adapt quite easily. Even for my youngest with extensive food allergies, he stayed pretty healthy (except for the antibiotics needed), and we were able to accommodate his special dietary needs. We can’t travel much because of his food needs, unless we stay with family, or have access to a kitchen and a grocery store.

605. Learning– how much I’ve learned on this trip. So much has changed in just ten years. There’s so much to learn and understand of this culture.

606. Coming home and sleeping in my own bed.

607. Hot water! They had hot water, but not everywhere and not always available, and it isn’t always so hot in some places, and you have heat up the water tank each morning. And in one city, the water shuts off for some time each day.

608. Eating a sandwich and a bowl of cereal after coming home. The types of things I get sick of usually– that’s exactly what I wanted after returning. Funny, isn’t it!

609. Stopping for a burger and fries on the way home. The kids wanted Culvers (a burger restaurant in this part of the country that is famous for its butter burgers and custard). Oh, did it taste good. Not that we didn’t enjoy the food there– we did, but some things taste like “home” and are comfort food. I guess in this case, a burger did it. We have a whole menu in our heads, with items like quiche, bacon, tacos, muffins, and more.

610. Thankful for friends praying for us while we were gone!

611. While in India, I fell in love with the Bournville “fine dark chocolate RICH COCOA” chocolate bar. I kid you not, I have not eaten a whole chocolate bar of this size in years. I only ate one. I had to bring a few bars home. It is DIVINE, I’m telling you. I had expected to lose some weight on this trip (I usually do while in India), but I actually gained a little this time. Oops. I don’t think the chocolate bar is completely to blame, though; they put “ghee” (refined butter) on nearly everything. And they eat a lot of rice and carbohydrates. I also brought home a bag of butterscotch candies with some sort of filling I thought were the best butterscotch I’ve had. This is unusual because I’m not someone who typically goes after sweets, candies, and desserts. I like salty stuff. So this is worth mentioning!

612. Thankful for a ride home from the airport. We were too sleepy to drive. We were home by 4pm, and we all crashed by 6 or 7 pm that night.

***

There is a banana farm just beyond the gate, across the street. Beautiful driveway, isn't it! The designs are drawn and colored by hand.

Back in the midwest, the view is a plain snowy landscape; roads, lawns, roofs are covered in white dust. It looks barren compared to the green banana trees.

In the bigger cities I stayed in, the view was of buildings and streets, but it was vivid, alive, and noisy, certainly not quiet and devoid of people. On the contrary, it is anything but quiet in the city, even in the village. If it isn’t a truck honking or people talking on a city street, it is a rooster heralding the dawn right outside the window.

I can see why people who come to a U.S. suburb can feel lonely and isolated if they are used to what I’ve described. Unless they are staying in the hubbub of a large city, they might feel unsure of what to do, where to go, stuck indoors. If it is in the winter, even we who live here do not see our neighbors much– and for those used to seeing neighbors daily, then it could feel like they’ve been thrown onto some alien planet. Unless, of course, they are truly seeking a solitary time, they might not like it. It is different here.

I feel it too, occasionally. There are times I want to see neighbors mulling about, too, and in winter, we hardly see anyone except when we’re all out to shovel our driveways. But then, other times, yes, I need some time alone.

It’s Saturday morning here, Sat. night there, and I can imagine the traffic is beginning to die down a bit as the shops are closing and people are heading home. Last week was a festival weekend, and perhaps more people were out. Any night, however, is busy and crowded by American suburban standards.

On the plane headed to Frankfurt, I sat next to a woman headed to Athens, Greece for a 3 week tour of the country with her brother and his wife. Her husband had recently passed away and she was emotional, in tears. Her brother found her a seat next to himself, and then a man from Sudan was sitting next to me. He was heading back to Sudan to visit his family. On the way back to the U.S. from Frankfurt, I sat next to a young woman who had just graduated from college. She had been in Germany for a month, visiting her brother who plays in an orchestra there. She had applied for a Fulbright scholarship to study in Sweden, and told me all about it. So fascinating; I sincerely hope she gets to go! Three interesting stories, on just two airplanes.

And so many stories in the faces I saw in India– only a fraction of the one billion faces who live there. I saw poverty and I saw wealth and everything in between. I saw people living by the roadside in shacks, and people living in expensive, security-protected, high-rise condominiums.

A security-protected, expensive condominium colony in Hyderabad, India

India is still a country of contrasts. On city streets with buses, trucks, motorcycles, scooters, minivans and all makes and models of cars, all traffic will still slow down because of a cow on the side of the road. When driving between Vijayawada and Hyderabad (a journey that took about 7 hours), we passed by several herds of water buffalo and had to slow down for the herd to move to the side of the road.

Billboards in cities small and large advertise jewelry and clothing. In one city I visited, the number of jewelry shops was staggering. In general, Indian women dress up for weddings and events– and dressing up includes fancy outfits or saris made of silk, and jewelry of gold and precious jewels. The billboards don’t advertise small rocks or chains, either– the pictures are of some of the most extravagant necklaces and earrings I have ever seen. I am left to wonder how many people actually wear jewelry that large and extravagant…? Is it perhaps to strike a chord of want or longing? Most of us could never afford or dream of owning such jewelry- and would have little use for it, not attending state dinners or Hollywood galas. Is such advertising meant just for a small number of middle and upper class? If I were there, and living in a shack, would it taunt me every day that I could never afford those kinds of things? Remind me daily of my karma? How would I respond?

While in India, I saw servants coming in daily to sweep, mop, do laundry, wash dishes, chop vegetables, cook, etc.  And I wondered what it must feel like for these women to know that this is their job, day after day after day? I know how I feel about washing dishes– how must they feel? And to believe that they are in the midst of a cycle that they cannot escape?

Where does the desire to live another day come from for most people? for them? I know where my hope comes from; but what about others? In so many cases, there are people who get up and face their lives of drudgery, and then there are also those who face more difficult circumstances and get up and beat the odds.

In each of us is a divine spark, put into us by the Creator, that innately tells us we are here for a reason, a purpose, and it is no accident. And for those people who I’ve seen, who worship their Hindu gods, they also have that same spark given by the Creator. But what they don’t know or understand is that there is hope and that God loves them as equally as He does all of us; that we are all equal to Him. And somehow they arise and do their job and visit temples and hope that in their next life they are more fortunate…. How do they know? What assurance do they have? Do they know what life they’ve lived in the past and that they’ve done enough to earn a better place in the future?

It’s an interesting time India is in. People are complaining that they can’t find good help these days. The lower castes are coming up and it’s much harder to find a driver or reliable household servant. Turnover is high. Some years ago, it was not unusual to have a servant and his family to stay for years. This is no longer the case. Why do people complain? Perhaps they don’t want things to change. Life is easier with help (there are no dishwashers, washing machines are still not so common, people still need drivers, etc.). Is it our human nature, no matter where we are in the world, to want to think we are a bit higher and there is someone a bit lower? Does it make us feel better, do something for our ego, or perhaps do we believe certain levels are closer to God? I don’t understand the entire situation, it is complex, but it wasn’t so much different in the U.S. not too long ago, was it?

Life is changing there, the economy is growing, and while there are still many problems to be dealt with, the growth is offering more opportunities for more people. And in addition to that, at some point, there will also be a reckoning with the statement that “all people are created equal”… this statement points directly at one of India’s societal foundations– the caste system. At some point, India will have to face this statement and make a decision. Either they believe we are all equal or we aren’t. The caste system says we are not. What does democracy say? What does God say? What does Hinduism say? What does the Bible say?

This is not meant to be political by any means… it’s where my thoughts and observations are today… by someone who has some ties to the country. I was born there, but not raised there. I can’t escape that when others look at me– they first me as – a person from India. I am not that on the inside, but that is who people see on the outside.  It’s kind of like being an Oreo cookie, according to a friend of mine: brown on the outside, white on the inside! So take it as it is– an Oreo cookie’s observations — who believes that God loves us all equally with a passion unequaled to any love or anything this world has to offer.

In God’s eyes, we’re all the same kind of cookie.

For several reasons this verse is relevant to me right now.

First, I’ve heard a number of different conversations in this country I’m visiting (India), and there are a few common themes and topics that recur. One of these is the very high price of land. In some villages, one acre is selling for over $200,000. It is unthinkable, because just 10 years ago, the people of this village were boasting that nothing in their village had changed for at least one hundred years. But that is no longer the case.

One billion people live in a space about one third the size of the U.S. Land is in high demand and in short supply, so the price is high. But the high prices also mean that there is an affluent middle and upper class that can afford the exorbitant prices. I’ve seen condominiums in large cities that sell for $200,000-$300,000. Perhaps for the U.S. it doesn’t sound too high; after all, it’s pretty close to the median price of a house in the U.S. But here, it’s a very high price to pay, and even though there are those who can pay it, there are millions who cannot. And another thing, the type of housing, the quality, the cleanliness, the type of housing—nowhere matches what most of the U.S. lives in—even for these expensive flats. You would be surprised.

So the seeking of a “spacious place” is something in demand here.

Also, as I travel and stay in different homes, and are accommodated very well and I’m very thankful, we are also a family of five staying with other families in a highly populated country. Finding a private place and quiet time isn’t as easy as it sounds. On a personal level, we are also seeking a “spacious place”.

But as I came across that verse and thought about it, I realized that spacious place isn’t just about the external—it’s also internal. It isn’t just about the physical, it’s also spiritual. We’re not only promised abundant living, but also spacious living.

I read Psalm 31, and found it even more meaningful, as I see many around me who are very poor, with very little belongings, who live hard lives; the untouchable caste who live with contempt and scorn and difficulties – it’s like I am seeing verses 9-14. I read two stories in the newspaper just two days ago of a poor man being burned, leaving behind his wife and four children, his mother and his sister. These people are desperate, turning to anyone who will listen and help. I read another story of a person’s hands being cut off. Another story I read is of a farmer, 60 years old, who was devoured by a tiger and her two cubs, and his children were searching for him—he was late coming home from the fields— and saw the tiger eating their father. The untouchables live in “utter comtempt of their neighbors… people flee from them.” Desperation.

An elderly woman came very close to me, brushing against my arm, with her hands open, begging for coins. I’ve seen so many elderly women begging. I’ve seen many elderly women working, carrying loads on their heads, or walking in the market. I can imagine their life has been the same day after day—work, clean, wash—with little hope of anything else. I can’t imagine how depressing that might be.

Verse 6 talks about worthless idols and clinging to the Lord… I am in a country full of idols everywhere. I mean everywhere. Each house has statues and pictures of various gods. In the house I am staying in right now, I’ve counted over 20 statues or pictures. Some larger, some smaller. One relative’s house we visited today has a 4 foot statue of Lord Krishna in their “puja room” (some homes have a little room set aside as their worship room). My father in law arises each morning and spends one hour worshipping. Loud. He wakes me, perhaps the neighbors. Nobody complains. He says the same things each day. He reads from a prayer book. He goes out to the front porch, and begins speaking there. Then he comes indoors and says some more, then goes back outside. He sings for a bit. Then he comes to his puja room, and continues with more prayers and singing. He lights incense. I’m not sure what else is part of the ritual (candles?) Fresh flowers are brought in from the yard every morning by the servant as an offering to the gods—the flowers are placed by various statues and in the puja room. This is his morning ritual and has been the case for many years.

At least I have to ask myself—am I this consistent? Are American Christians? I’m not trying to take the side of Hinduism, just pointing out where I see I am lacking. I see a spiritual people and a country that doesn’t hide its beliefs. Yes, Hinduism is more of a culture than a creed… perhaps that is why it is more open? I’m not sure.

I know that singing and making loud noises and praying out loud outdoors on a daily basis wouldn’t be accepted in the states. Here in India, at least where I have visited, the homes are quite close together. You can hear very well what is going on in the neighbor’s yard or home, even! (Be careful what you say and do!!!)

And this is the case for many homes. Hinduism is part of the culture. In the large expensive apartment complex I stayed in (where over 1,000 families own flats), a statue of one of the Hindu gods is in the lobby as you walk in. And this is the usual case. Go to the doctor’s office, a department store, restaurant, street billboards… and you’ll see the same thing.

Each taxi or auto rickshaw has a small statue in the dashboard of a god. Once on the way home from the airport we hired a van whose driver happened to be Christian, so he had a picture of Jesus on the dashboard.

I can’t imagine this kind of overt spirituality would fly in America, where all kinds of freedom-from-religion groups would sue. But you know, it isn’t like that here. Fascinating, isn’t it? And this is a Hindu country. And what about America… where we are supposed to be able to enjoy the freedom to worship…. How far has this country gone from whence it began….

It’s part of the culture. We are the oddballs here, since we don’t visit temples, or have pictures of gods in our homes, etc, and of course none of this makes sense to anyone practicing this religion. Yes, I can see a difference in some cases on how we are treated as converted Christians (our families are Hindus). Some people see themselves as superior and we as inferior. Some don’t understand and criticize or ridicule it. Some don’t say anything but frown heavily inwardly without speaking it. Some are more hostile outwardly. It comes out in various relationships—personal or familial or just the stranger on the street.

So I’m drinking in this psalm on various levels. I feel attacked in some ways (not overtly or in a bad way)… just I feel it in the way some people behave. I see that this is a country besieged by idols (verse 21). I feel verses 9-13 in a different way, in my own life. I feel as one accused (verse 20). But in this psalm are some incredible promises. He promises to be a refuge, to deliver, to not allow his beloved to be put to shame, to put our feet in a spacious place… a place of freedom, rest, peace… full of His goodness and promises. He is a real, living God who hears and delivers. I’m not crowded. I have freedom. God’s love is freeing.

Psalm 31

For the director of music. A psalm of David.

¹ In you, O LORD, I have taken refuge;
let me never be put to shame;
deliver me in your righteousness.
² Turn your ear to me,
come quickly to my rescue;
be my rock of refuge,
a strong fortress to save me.
³ Since you are my rock and my fortress,
for the sake of your name lead and guide me.
⁴ Free me from the trap that is set for me,
for you are my refuge.
⁵ Into your hands I commit my spirit;
redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.

⁶ I hate those who cling to worthless idols;
I trust in the LORD.
⁷ I will be glad and rejoice in your love,
for you saw my affliction
and knew the anguish of my soul.
⁸ You have not handed me over to the enemy
but have set my feet in a spacious place.

⁹ Be merciful to me, O LORD, for I am in distress;
my eyes grow weak with sorrow,
my soul and my body with grief.
¹⁰ My life is consumed by anguish
and my years by groaning;
my strength fails because of my affliction,^[a]
and my bones grow weak.
¹¹ Because of all my enemies,
I am the utter contempt of my neighbors;
I am a dread to my friends—
those who see me on the street flee from me.
¹² I am forgotten by them as though I were dead;
I have become like broken pottery.
¹³ For I hear the slander of many;
there is terror on every side;
they conspire against me
and plot to take my life.

¹⁴ But I trust in you, O LORD;
I say, “You are my God.”
¹⁵ My times are in your hands;
deliver me from my enemies
and from those who pursue me.
¹⁶ Let your face shine on your servant;
save me in your unfailing love.
¹⁷ Let me not be put to shame, O LORD, 
for I have cried out to you;
but let the wicked be put to shame
and lie silent in the grave.^[b]
18 Let their lying lips be silenced,
for with pride and contempt
they speak arrogantly against the righteous.

¹⁹ How great is your goodness,
which you have stored up for those who fear you,
which you bestow in the sight of men
on those who take refuge in you.
²⁰ In the shelter of your presence you hide them
from the intrigues of men;
in your dwelling you keep them safe
from accusing tongues.

²¹ Praise be to the LORD,
for he showed his wonderful love to me
when I was in a besieged city.
²² In my alarm I said,
“I am cut off from your sight!”
Yet you heard my cry for mercy
when I called to you for help.

²³ Love the LORD, all his saints!
The LORD preserves the faithful,
but the proud he pays back in full.
²⁴ Be strong and take heart,
all you who hope in the LORD.

***

Sharing with Emily at Imperfect Prose

I will explain.

Imagine a 3 lane road. There should be 3 lanes of traffic, right? Each vehicle in single file, right?

Not in India. If there is a 3 lane road, you might really see 5 or 6 lanes of traffic.

Here’s how it is. If there is space between two cars, one or two motorcycles or scooters might fit into that space, or an auto rickshaw. Bicycles and people walking by foot stay on the outer lanes of traffic. The same lanes of traffic are of course also shared by buses and trucks.

I used to think this was opportunistic– people trying to get ahead of everyone else and be first. I also wondered if this people were hard to govern– is it hard to enforce rules? Corruption, is after all, a major issue here.  Rules are bent and broken.

Maybe some of that is true, but I also think there is more to it.

The first reason has to do with space and waste. I notice that people don’t like to waste things. And, space and land is at a premium here. I can see how the extra space between cars in defined traffic lanes might be viewed as a waste of space if no one fills in that gap.

I also realize that with so much population and crowding and the traffic jams in cities, if people did stick in those single file lanes of traffic, traffic would move even slower. Despite the organization and lack of following certain rules, they seem to have figured out a way to make it work.

Well, there you go, my two cents analsyis on why traffic is the way it is, and I’m not sure it’s even worth that much. I believe I have left out more reasons.

But that’s not so much the scary part. The scary part is actually driving on roads or highways. Here’s what happens.

Buses and large trucks are quite slow, so people in cars and minivans want to pass them. Cars also want to pass motorcycles. No one can really go the full speed limit because of the number of trucks and buses and scooters and motorcycles on the road. Cars want to pass them so they can go faster. Buses pass other slower buses or trucks. So what happens is that even for a one or two lane road, there is so much passing going on. Lights are flashing, horns are constantly honking and people are passing. And the passing isn’t the kind of pass that involves long stretches of road in the front– oh, no! It means that you’ll be passing quickly and quickly moving back into your own lane and drive only a few inches between  you and the truck coming in the opposite direction. This will happen repeated times. Very often you will find yourself on the dusty shoulder as you move as far as you can to make space for all the passing vehicles. You might be surprised at how many near misses you will feel like you have, by the time it is all said and done, and you will have breathed a heavy prayer of thanks to God for keeping you safe and alive and in one piece.

It’s even more scary at night.

At night, even with headlights, there is a dusty haze over the roads. As cars pass, they stir up the dust on the shoulder. This dust, combined with the air pollution, makes it hazy. And at times, I could only see headlights coming at me from the haze.

This was last night. Whew– we made it safely, but it is really how driving is here. I prefer traveling in daylight hours but yesterday it couldn’t be helped.

I was in an accident 16 years ago. I was traveling at night by auto rickshaw ( a three-wheeler taxi) with two other people to the local train station. On the way there, we were hit by a truck. The truck did not stop, it kept going. The auto scooter was totalled. Thankfully we all survived. My companion to the right of me was most injured, with swollen knees and her sari was tattered. I had one swollen knee and one scraped knee. The companion to my left had no injuries. That knee injury took about a year before I forgot about it, and now it only flares up very occasionally, when temperatures change.

I am not at all afraid to travel by auto rickshaw but I won’t be traveling at night. My daughter is quite interested in riding in one, so we will do this. Air pollution makes it unpleasant in the cities but it is still something fun to try while here!

More to share later, I have more to share– but little time– and a goofy internet connection!!!

Writer’s block.

Maybe it’s the change of place. Or maybe it’s still the jetlag–it’s almost a 12 hour time difference between home and here.

I am, after all, over 8,000 miles from home (the calculated flight distance from Chicago to Bangalore, India is 8,543 miles). It’s about 16-18 hours of flight time, one way, not including the several hour layover in Europe. And while here, by the time this trip is done, I’ll have added another 1,000 miles because of traveling within the country. The total mileage when I’m back home and sleeping in my own bed will be over 17,000 miles. Wow.

On a bus safari at the Bannerghatta National Park in Bangalore, we spotted Bengal and white tigers. Here is a Bengal tiger stretching on a tree. Exciting!

Speaking of beds, I’ve slept in six different beds so far in 3 different cities, in 3 different homes. Not that I’m counting… LOL.

I’ve also eaten lots of rice. I normally don’t eat rice every day, but here, they eat it every day. Even breakfast consists of a steamed cake made of lentil and rice flours, or a flat pancake made of the same. If it’s not the rice-based breakfast, it’s a wheat based hot cereal cooked with spices and vegetables.

Big bins of various types of rice at a "wal-mart" store in Bangalore that was called "Easy Day"

The cuisine of north and south India varies, and even varies among state to state– so if I were visting the north, we’d have chapatis or rotis for dinner. They eat that sometimes here in the south, too, but it is a different diet and way of cooking curries. They cap off their meal here (rice with vegetable curries) with just rice and yogurt. Oh– and they eat by hand in the south. No spoons or forks needed. Just hands. I’m still using my spoon, but my kids really like this eating by hand thing– really, how often have I told them in their lives to please get a fork or spoon and not just eat by hand! So this is a fun experience for them. It is culturally acceptable to eat this way here.

Even though this is not my first time to visit India, it feels different because all 3 of my kids are here, too. Although the older two were here 10 years ago (one was four years old, the other was only a year old), it is like their first visit here. I feel a tremendous amount of responsibility for their health and well-being, and maybe all of the changes, the environment, the diet, the heat, the language differences, all of it– sometimes puts me more in a cultural shift/survival mode than a sit-back-and-enjoy-the-vacation mode.  It isn’t that kind of a sit-back-and-relax-vacation. I realize that my idea of a true vacation is a carefree, swing in the hammock under the palm tree kind of vacation– the  kind I see pictured in magazines– and I never have to see the inside of a kitchen! Ha! I’ve seen hundreds of palm and coconut trees here thus far, but no hammocks are to be seen near the majority of them.

Speaking of trees, I’ve been keeping a list of the types I’ve seen so far– at least the identifiable ones (there are dozens of others.) Here’s the list:

• Almond
• Coconut
• Palm
• Mango
• Papaya
• Banana
• Guava
• Fig
• Pomegranate
• Neem (not a fruit tree– a highly valued tree that has medicinal value)
• Bamboo
• Eucalpytus

I’m forgetting a few–and just reading that list makes me hungry for fruit– yet many are not ripe at this time of year. We have gotten pomegranate, papaya and guava, and coconuts seem to always be in season, as well as bananas. Mangoes are small on the tree and mostly not even seen yet, and we’ve heard grand stories for years– like legends almost, the way they talk about mangoes–  about the variety of the mangoes available and how deliciously sweet they are in season. I don’t care much for papaya, but I do like mangoes. Too bad that mango season is also in the hot season– when I prefer not to visit, so I can’t confirm whether any of the legendary mango stories are true or not!

Coconut tree (Bangalore, India)

I did get to eat a sweet fruit that is not available in the states– here it is called “sapota”, in north India, it is called “chikoo”. It looks something like a kiwi on the outside, but the inside is a sweet brown flesh, unlike any fruit I’ve ever had. I first tasted it over 20 years ago and never forgot how much I enjoyed it. I have no clue what the English word might be for this fruit.

Horns beep constantly on the road (it’s customary here to honk the horn if you want to pass, to warn someone, etc.). And the pollution here is horrible– it’s not uncommon to see people on motorcycles cover their noses and mouths. There is a visible dusty haze over the city, obscuring buildings and the view. I am sure Hyderabad is no different from other cities. Bangalore is the same. Pollution is most definitely an issue.

Fishermen at sunset on the Krishna River in Vijayawada, India

A country of one billion also needs to address waste and plastics– and I’ve noticed a most definite push against plastic bags. Utilizing reusable bags are highly encouraged and people are heeding.

It’s noisy. If it’s not the cars, horns, or construction noise, it’s the people. People selling their goods on the streets will shout to let the neighborhood of the opportunity.

The "auto rickshaw" is like the Indian taxi-- very common mode of intra-city travel. It's a three wheeler vehicle and seats about 2-3 people.

It’d take some effort to live an isolated life here, at least it seems that way. The doorbell rings several times a day, whether in a city or in a village. If it’s not a visitor, neighbor or relative, it’s the house cleaner, the lady who washes clothes, or the person who irons the clothes.

Many people hire household help for cleaning and washing. In one village, a house servant still washes clothes by hand. This was the norm until recently, as more people can afford washing machines now and have the water set-up in their homes or flats to accommodate them.

In the village I visited, the house was so close to the other house (a few feet perhaps), I could hear the baby crying. I could hear the servants who rose before dawn and began their daily work.  I saw green parrots flying among banana trees just across the street. Now, that’s not a sight anyone typically sees in the Midwest! It was most definitely a vacation-y type of moment!

Power outages change the daily life of those who do not have inverters or generators to rely on for some electricity when the power cuts off. The power goes off daily here for a few hours.I’ve been to 3 cities so far, two of them with a population of 7-8 million, one with a population of over 1 million, and the story is the same in each place. In the village (next to the 1 million sized city), the power outage was more obvious (even with an inverter providing some electricity)– lights and any unncessary electrical appliances are all switched off. In large businesses and some more modern homes, the power outages are not even noticed because generators kick in automatically when the power is turned off.

Typical Indian kitchen. The stove is a portable gas appliance, connected to gas cylinders behind the cabinet doors. No dishwashers-- they are uncommon. Also in the kitchen in a pantry closet, and a door leading to an area outdoors, where dishes are washed and dried.

And in some places, the water shuts off for a while, too. In Bangalore, we experienced water loss in part of the house. The power even goes off on an unscheduled basis as well. The microwave and the computer couldn’t operate at the same time– one has to be unplugged it the other is in use. Not all flats are like this– but issues like this are very common.

It’s colorful here.

Women dress in colorful saris and kurtis (long tunics). I went to a department store the other day and marveled at the fabrics– beautiful fabrics (silk, chiffon, cotton, you name it, in every color and in hundreds of different designs) that are sold for custom tailoring into women’s clothing. Each ensemble was unique and colorful– so much variety. No one wears the same thing. In the stores, one won’t see rack after rack of the same shirt or outift in different sizes. Quite the opposite. Expect to see a variety in one size. I suppose for people who care about being seen in the same outfit at a public event– they’d feel quite safe that is not so likely to happen here!

Okay– and that’s just the clothing. The interest in jewelry, and gold in particular, is another subject entirely.

Each morning, in order to have a hot shower, a switch must be turned on to heat the water, which is stored in a tank.  I suppose if someone is running late, she’d have to deal with a cold shower. Some areas of the country are so hot (especially in the summer) cold water is probably what most people prefer anyway. I’m visiting in the “winter”, and in two of the cities, the temperatures are in the lower 80s, and one city in particular is quite hot. (Homes don’t have air conditioning, although now some have units installed in bedrooms. People use ceiling fans to cool off and open windows to get cross ventilation in their dwellings. 80s sound wonderful to me, but it feels hot! The seasons in Bangalore are “summer, rainy, and winter”. I’m not sure if that is true everywhere. In the extreme north, in Kashmir, they have snow right now. And remember, “winter” is a relative term. Here, in south India, winter means temperatures in the 70s and 80s. For the people here, it is cold. It is not uncommon to see people in sweaters or scarfs in the winter, in 80 degree temperatures. In the Midwest, we get excited when it reaches 50 in the winter! I could get used to this kind of winter!!

Drinking tap water would be an invitation to some unwanted ailments. Even the people here boil their tap water and drink it. Some people have water filters in addition to the boiling. I’m not even drinking the boiled water– only drinking Aquafina– since that just happens to be the first kind we found after arriving.

Here is the advice I’ve been given: don’t just buy any bottled water on the street. Don’t buy from a very small shop. Purchase well known bottled water brands from larger stores, and make sure the bottles are sealed and never been opened. Stick with the same brand of water for the entire duration of your stay. Don’t use ice. Don’t drink fountain sodas (only drink from glass or aluminum containers).

It was so much fun to drink coke from glass bottles– boy did we get a kick out of it (more advice– don’t drink straight from the bottle, use a straw). Perhaps it sounds a bit picky to take precautions, but believe me, after having experienced unwanted illnesses here in India in  past years, I know the key to enjoying a happy visit here is to be cautious. It makes the trip enjoyable for all concerned!

My daughter enjoying drinking coconut water straight from the source. This is one thing safe to consume from the street-- street vendors sell these all over the place. The coconut in cut in half with a very sharp knife right in front of you, they put in a straw, and you can drink right from the coconut. It's what the Indians drink to cool off-- like a natural kind of Gatorade, keeps people cool and refreshed. You can see the large pile of coconuts in the background. It's a fun thing to enjoy if you're in India.

I’m also avoiding eating any food prepared outside the home. No restaurants– although some would be safe, clean and hygienic. And absolutely no street vendor food! Eating something from a street vendor over 20 years ago has left an indelible mark on me– I will never forget the illness that resulted from that one. Lesson learned!

So while it seems less spontaneous to live this way, and I carry bottled water everywhere, I can tell you that in the past two weeks, thus far, my kids and I have not suffered from a serious “Hyderabad- I feel bad” syndrome (also known as “Delhi Belly” if you happen to be visiting Delhi). I hope we continue to have success during out stay here. It isn’t perfect even with our precautions– we’ve had a few very minor stomach disturbances. Of course, it works for us to only eat home-cooked food since we are only staying with relatives and friends and not in hotels.

Well, I guess I wrote a lot for someone who has “writer’s block”–  I think when I’m back home I’ll have a different perspective and will continue to process all of this.

There’s so much more to say, this is all for now!

My mind is spinning and still processing the change in scenery and place.

Women in brightly colored saris or kurtis (long tunics) walk the streets, scores of motorcycles fit in amongst cars of varying sizes, larger trucks and buses honk horns, and auto rickshaws ferry passengers across town. There are people in each direction I turn my head; India’s neighborhoods are abuzz with activity.

In just two days of driving in a 5 mile radius in just one part of the city, I have seen half a dozen Hindu temples, and the sounds of a nearby mosque wake ne each morning. I see evidence of Hindus, Muslims, and Christians living in the same city of 8 million. Diverse and cosmopolitan  describe Bangalore, in the south central part of the country. Traffic isn’t as frightening as I have experienced in Delhi or other cities bit it certainly is busy and congested– highly congested!

Two days ago we flew to a smaller city in another state– closer to the coast, and the weather here is warmer and a bit more humid, not as pleasant as Bangalore. The mosquitoes here are a force to be reckoned with– but we are so far managing and avoid going outdoors at dusk or early evening.

There is much more to say, but for now I’ll have to save all of the stories for later. The internet connection here isn’t so great– I get disconnected every 10 minutes and must reconnect!

Just wanted to write quickly to say that I’m still here… and I look forward to adding more as soon as I can.

I love the pencil scrawls of a young child. The words are out of proportion, misspelled, and the sentences are incomplete and full of grammar mistakes. But, I love to read and see these early attempts at writing. It is a glimpse into the thoughts of that young child.

Aren’t the imperfections and innocence part of what make it so endearing?

The heart and mind of a young child are innocent. Don’t get me wrong, we are all still born with Adam’s genes and with a sin nature… and that propensity to sin continuously clings closer to us than the best type of cling wrap! But we also are spiritual beings. Our physical bodies will die one day, but our spirits will live in eternity.

We are all born with a sin nature, but the childlike faith and sweet innocence we possessed as children somehow get lost after some years and experience and hardship have taken their toll. It is part of the experience of growing up, maturing and becoming adults. Yet Christ says to us, “come as little children”. He asks us to look at the faith of a young child, and tells us to come to him like that. He wouldn’t ask us to do it if it were impossible; on the contrary, there must be a way for us sophisticated adults with our correct grammar and important agendas  to be able to come as a little child. Can you imagine it?

Children have the amazing ability to be fully in the moment. Their young minds are not crowded by the fears of the future or the failures of the past, or what every other person is the room might be thinking about them. They are blissfully uninhibited and un-self-conscious and simply enjoy being in the moment, and are fully into the moment they are in. Have you noticed that the sadness or happiness involved around a small thing can seem so large, but is also quite fleeting? That is a child, living in the moment.

Jesus says we are to come like those little children– he doesn’t mean with those kinds of fleeting emotions, but with their kind of trusting faith.

In fact, Jesus himself came into this world as one of us, as a little baby. He didn’t come to earth as a grown man. Nor did he come as a spiritual being only. He came as a human baby, in the most helpless, fragile, vulnerable way he could have come. God’s son came as a human baby! Perhaps many of us who have grown up with the story of Christmas, sung Christmas carols, seen countless Nativity stories, etc., have lost some of the wonder of that miracle. Jesus, God on earth, came as a baby, in human form!

He had to grow up in the same way that little boys do today. He had to learn how to talk and how to walk. He probably spilled his milk. He probably fell down and scraped his knees and cried because of the pain. The Bible clearly tells us he experienced everything we as humans do. By coming as a human, and growing up, he has the capacity to understand us fully in our humanness.

I am marveling today about that little baby boy, Jesus, God in flesh. It almost sounds trite today, since we are so used to hearing about the baby born at Christmas, but it is an astounding occurrence! A supernatural event. Something that would change the course of human history— and shows us God’s heart for mankind. “God loved us so much He sent His only begotten son…” (John 3:16).

Oh, how sweet the Father’s love for us…what a privilege and joy it is to be able to rest and marvel in the miracle that God made a way for a sinner like me. That is something to be thankful for. No other Christmas gift is needed. His gift of love for me is quite enough for a lifetime…for eternity. That is Christmas!

(from the archives)

(Source: Microsoft Office image)

I lose it. I yell, and think some things in my mind and feel things in my heart that don’t get heard by anyone but God.

And I go to God and tell him and He is the place where I get the balanced view. He loves unconditionally, but He also speaks to my soul and conscience. He corrects, convicts, and comforts.

“The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” I Samuel 16:7

I want a few days during Christmas break where I can stay home in my pajamas, all day if I want, and not go anywhere. But then I also want to get in my car and drive home, drink some sweet tea and feel warm breezes on my face, talk to my mom, and know that will cure this girl of her homesickness. But there is more I want, and none of the desires are attached to anything money can buy. I want to just rest for a while. I want… I want… it sounds so… selfish. But yes, I do. I want.

Then I remember.

“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.” Psalm 23:1

I memorized that when I was 12. And when did I forget? That even in the busyness of the season, the travels, or my mess-ups– that I shall not want?

“I give you my heart-cup, Lord. Please fill it overflowing.”

The other day I tried to string some lights around a bush. It was a new string of lights. I bought them last year at an after-Christmas sale. And while stringing the bush, I dropped the strand on the driveway, and one of the lights shattered. Later, when I plugged the lights in, they didn’t work.

I was irritated. I bought this new set, and they ought to work. Furthermore, I had tiny shards of red glass to gingerly clean up.

Sometimes Often, I feel like that little red bulb. Broken.

Yet I know the truth– that there is no amount of brokenness that He can’t fix. God is always willing to make things new if I simply ask. I am reminded of his gift of grace again, through a tiny piece of red glass.

It’s when I am broken that He shines bright in me.

I give up on that bush and refuse to buy another string of lights. The lights on the Christmas tree, sparkling through the window, will have to do. It’s lovely to see houses glowing with lights, but this year, the decor will be simple.

And I’m ok with that, because this broken empty bulb has a light shining inside her, all year round.

***

Sharing with Emily at Imperfect Prose