Grumpy Taylor emerged from bed hoping to be less grumpy
today. The morning didn’t start out so
hot. I’ve been shy on details about this
subject thus far, but it’s time to address the obvious burning question:
Taylor, how have your bowel movements been affected by the Indian food? For the first few days, the answer was not at
all, for the past two days, the answer has been “explosively.”
My Tuesday-Wednesday mostly consisted of eying the bathroom
carefully and pondering whether or not I should dart towards it preemptively or
not. I’m living in fear of going
anywhere that is more than 10 feet from a bathroom. I brought some pills for this issue, and they
work, but a bit too well. Currently I’m
playing the rotating game of letting everything just work itself out for about
three hours, then taking the pills and letting everything get cloggy after I’ve
ensured the tummy won’t end up overcrowded.
The point being that diarrhea isn’t really an attitude
fixer-upper.
After 20 minutes of staring at my breakfast plate and
processing the internal mental battle of hunger and fear, I ate one banana and
slice of bread and called it good. We
were then off to prepare for VBS. The
majority of the group was beaming with excitement to get some kiddo time, but
kids have never really been my gifting.
It was great to get to some real ministry work, and I was beyond ready
for that, but the giddy “I WANT TO HOLD ALL OF THEM AND I CAN’T WAIT TO TAKE
PICTURES OF ALL OF THEM!” effect isn’t really there for me.
Plus, I’m still grumpy, so everything is stupid anyways.
To start, we had some songs prepared to lead the kids
in. Yes, prepared. There was no repeat of the “This Little Light
of Mine” incident of 8/17/2016. The
songs were performed competently, the children sang along and danced to Father
Abraham and I’ve Got the Joy, and then our musical peeps sang This is Amazing
Grace for them. Good times were had, and
no mothers were left shaking their heads and pondering how America functions. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d rate about 800
points higher than the previous day.
We broke the children into two groups after that and one of
our team members led a Bible study. It
was really wonderfully done, and she was able to relate to the children in a
way I’m sure no American had before. She
was actually adopted out of India as a toddler, and this was her first time
coming back, so she had the ability necessary to relate to the kids here. Her story was about how Jesus considers all
of His followers family, and that our family is more than just blood relation.
We broke into smaller groups after that, and I led a group
discussion with about 10 children. There
was an awkward part at the beginning when I performed the essential
introduction step of asking every child for their name. I was greatly worried about this step, more
so than any other, because between my knowledge of exactly two words in Hindi,
and my generally inability to interpret anything spoken with an unfamiliar
accent, I was concerned I’d spend all the time just trying to repeat their
names once. My worries turned out to be
unnecessary, because one was named Joshua, and all the others were Ramabaski.
The small group discussion proved two very distinct things:
1. That these kids were listening intently to the
story we shared in a large group setting, and know their Bibles incredibly
well.
2. That real conversation is tough to accomplish
when your translator waits until everyone answers an open-ended question, and
just gives you a summary of all of their answers at once.
Needless to say, the discussion was pretty short. We had a short activity afterwards where art
supplies were provided and we asked them to make a card to thank someone who
has been family to them. I ran out of
construction paper before I got any, so I just used a piece of printer paper to
make what has to be the worst card an adult has ever created for a friend. Knowing that creativity is pretty well capped
when you possess no artistic skills and only a single piece of white paper to
work with, I set out to intentionally make it as bad as possible. Backwards letters, occasional Spanish,
misspelled words, you know, the works.
I’m proud of it, I wish I’d taken a picture before I gave it away.
After we finished the cards, two of the kids gave theirs to
me. I probably should have expected that
based on everything else I’ve experienced on this trip, but it really caught me
by surprise. It warmed my heart to see how
much love these kids have, that they can just easily give it someone whose main
contribution to their life has been to mispronounce their names and then speak
a foreign language to them.
We played a quick game, and then all the kids wanted to
gather their cards up before going back to the large group. One of the kids who had given me his card
looked around the stack of cards confused for a bit, and then I showed him the
one he had given me. He responded by
excitedly grabbing it, and running off to give it someone else. Ce La Vie (probably spelled wrong, we’ve
established that I’m not good with foreign languages right?). Anyways, I’m keeping the other one, I’m
special darn it!
After we rejoined true chaos ensued. We had a game set up, wherein we split the
kids apart, and put them on opposite sides of a room. Then we dump 200 or so balloons in the middle
and tell them the goal is to get all the balloons on the other team’s side of
the room. That would be loud and chaotic
in any setting, but this is India, and a special environmental condition
exacerbated it.
As you can probably guess, it’s hot here. AC is not in every room, and in several where
it is, it’s not super effective. No
matter where you go here, if the room has power, it has a fan running on the
ceiling. In large rooms, like the one
we’re in for the game, there are like 20 of them. The next few minutes mostly consisted of kids
accidentally knocking balloons into fans while about 190 of them became loud,
bursting casualties of war.
After electricity killed our game, we got to witness the
festivities of a national holiday called Raksha Bandhan. That translates to whatever you decide is
does. How should I know? I don’t speak Hindi.
It’s a celebration of brother and sister, and the importance
of familial bonds in this culture, a perfect complement to the story our team
member had chosen of the Bible study earlier.
In it, the female goes to the male, ties an ornate bracelet (called a
Rakhi) around their wrist, marks their forehead with that red dot you’ve likely
seen, places a cloth on their head, and then gives them a bite of a sweet treat
to eat. This symbolizes their support
and blessing for prosperity and well being for the brother. The male, then gives a gift (which can be
whatever is deemed appropriate for their relationship) to symbolize their
support, love, and care for the sister.
It was fun to watch the kids go through a really cool
celebration that is much more meaningful than how we usually celebrate most
holidays back home. Of course, kids will
be kids and got anxious as they waited for everyone else to go. They then started dancing on stage to some
songs. They all knew the dance to a song
called “Stop and Listen.” After that
played, I learned that you can escape a lot of American things in India, but
the Newboys aren’t one of them. God’s
Not Dead was next on the dance playlist, and I lamented that it had followed me
across the globe to annoy my eardrums.
Once the ceremony was completed, every kid in the place
jumped on stage to dance to the stop and listen song again. Apparently the artist that recorded it had
visited them just two weeks ago and taught them all the actions
personally. With that in mind, the This
Little Light of Mine incident grew even more embarrassing than previously
experienced.
Later in the day, we took a trip out to a village where
there is a young church. That was an
absolutely phenomenal experience. When
we arrived, immediately, the villagers came forward to welcome us into their
house and complete the Raksha Bandhan ceremony with us. From a tourist perspective, it was a really
cool moment to be a part of, I feel very lucky to have been here for not just
one, but two national holidays that are specific to this country.
From a spiritual perspective though, it was just a further
continuation of the things I had processed after watching the kids go through
it earlier. These were my brothers and
sisters in Christ, and here were complete strangers that sought to bring me
into their celebration to display that fact.
The pastor made me feel right at home as well by repeating the same joke
over and over again. I wasn’t just
meeting new brothers and sisters, this guy reminded me of my dad too! I’ve always believed that I had siblings
through Christ all over the world, but now I have a bracelet to prove it.
After the ceremony, we went on a tour of the village,
starting with the house we were in. The
house was very small, it featured a burn pit on the inside that is somehow a
part of the job of the entire family. We
learned more about how they make a living, by making cigarettes. The wage they earn for this work is 50
rupees, which is less $1, for every 1000 made.
Once acclimated to the process, an individual can feasibly make up to
1000 in a day, so the family is making no more than a $1 per day for each
family member. This is what true poverty
looks like.
They showed me the rest of the property, which consisted of
a bathroom outside and their farm animals. They later offered our group the
opportunity to milk one of their cows.
It turns one girl in our group had that exact experience high on her
bucket and was thrilled to oblige. It
turns out that it wasn’t a cow being milked at all, but a water buffalo. Yep, consider that bucket list item
obliterated, she just milked a freaking water buffalo. I love this country.
As we proceeded into town, a small crowd of children
gathered to see the white people, an occurrence we had been forewarned would
likely occur. When we had arrived at the
village, the people gave us some flower leis, something we had grown accustomed
to at most every step of our visit. Of
course flowers die fast, and I can’t hold 80 of these on my neck, so we usually
give them away after wearing them for a bit.
Children are always happy to be the recipient, so we started handing
them out to the kids. That came with the
unexpected result of groupies. I think
every kid in the village was following us at one point, not really asking for,
or expecting anything else, just happy to see the rare sights.
At one point a child somewhere in the pack started wailing
and crying loudly behind the group, to which I reacted by saying “it’s okay,
I’m not a ghost.” I would later find out
that it was a child reacting to one member of the group trying to give her lei
over. The member who made them cry? Well, it was the Indian girl, who on sight
would in my mind be the least threatening as she looks like everyone else in
the village.
We were invited to look around in someone else’s house. While there, the man of the house asked for
our group to pray over him, which we did.
He offered to host all of us for dinner, which was case example number
4000 of me being blown away by the generosity of the people here. When we get home, I fully expect to spend a
week of this guy’s wages on one hamburger, and he wants to host 15 strangers
for dinner to thank us for a simple prayer that we were happy to give him. The generosity of the people here is
something I’ll carry with me the rest of my life.
Outside his house, a dog peaceably laid by the door. I’ve shared before about the general
heartbreak the dogs all over India have generated inside me. Well, I’d set my mind on petting at least one
dog before I got on the plane back home.
My fellow travelers have not been supportive of this objective,
frequently stating things like “that dog is going to bite you” and “you’re
going to get rabies” and “you don’t know what kind of diseases that thing has”
and “I can see the fleas on that thing from here” and “I can hear it craving
blood.” You get the idea.
Regardless, I’m confident that rabid dogs will certainly
warn me far before I enter petting range.
Also, I’m willing to risk it.
THESE DOGS NEED MY LOVE! This dog
let me get very close to it, but was looking at me with a lot of
uncertainty. As I was pondering whether
or not to press my luck, a man came up and told me “no, no” while shaking his
head and making a scratching motion with his hands. The communication seemed pretty clear, but
then he starting saying “good dog” over and over again. As I tried to put together in my head the
puzzle of
a. what was me hearing what I wanted through broken
English and
b. how the scratching sign language could possibly
not be a warning that this dog was likely to rip my kidney out
I was again interrupted by a scolding for an unsupportive
group member. “TAYLOR, DON’T PET THAT DOG!” Again, the adults had conspired against me,
and I moved on.
We passed a house that had the sweetest old hunchbacked lady
I’d ever seen come to the door just to wave at us as we passed. Next to her was a lovely young lady, spine
all straight, waving with her. It was a
beautiful reflection of what this country is in so many ways. Loving and generous in many ways, but
wearisome and harsh in others. It was like
staring at a before and after picture at the same time.
We continued on a short ways, but were at one point turned
back down the path by a group of people.
The details of the reasons here were not ever communicated to our group,
but we had been warned prior to the visit that oppression was not without
precedent in the village. Our handlers
take absolutely zero risk with our safety, so we were quickly turned back
towards our bus. Nothing violent or
threatening appeared to happen, but it was clear that those villagers had no
interest in being a part of our tour.
On the way back to the bus, another pettable dog entered my
crosshairs. This one got so close it still
hurts me to think about. I hunched and
whistled at it, encouraging it to come closer, and it wanted to so, so
bad. It looked at me with its head down
low, and still in a frightened stance, but was also wagging its tail so hard
its body was wiggling up to the ribs.
This was a nervous, but optimistic, full butt shake. A trademark of my own puppy, Nova, back
home. This was the dog. The stars had aligned, sweet petting would be
mine.
But no. NO!
Responsible people had to happen.
A girl in the group straight up mom voice scolded me with a shout of
“TAYLOR, THEY SAID DON’T PET THE DOGS!”
To which I responded by contesting that they did not say not to pet any
dogs, just that last dog. In the time I
took to turn and defend my actions, the dog chose anxiety over full butt
wagging optimism and scampered away.
Someday I will lay on my deathbed and wonder “what if?”
After we got back home, I spent some time in prayer, looking
for a cure to grumpy Taylor. God had
been convicting me that I had been holding some anger against my pastor for my
frustration about the trip thus far. My
blog has been mostly positive and light-hearted, but the fact that we had
almost exclusively been served by the people instead of serving was not at all
the experience I had expected, and it has caused me to feel guilty several
times.
Oh, the freedom of confession. We chatted for close to an hour about the
trip, my personal walk with the Lord, my frustrations with my church (which
we’ll explore further in a future blog.
Foreshadowing!), and my lack of direction in life at the moment. You know what changed about every one of
those things during the conversation?
Nothing! Still I felt a weight
lifted. I’m hoping for better serving
opportunities still, but in either case, my anger was gone. We had a nightly devotion and off to bed I
went, looking forward to a day ahead with a clear mind, and grumpless Taylor
ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting India.
Other Day 7 Observations
- · Holy crap the bees are big and scary
o
They have a hive literally right on the other
side of our bathroom fan
§
Yes, the kind of fan that just blows air out
through a hole in the wall
·
As in, yes, they can fly into the allergic dudes
room whenever they want
o
I’m glad I brought my epipen
- · The dogs outside at night are not ready to be pet
o
They have embraced the dark side
§
Puns!
·
Seriously though, you can hear them saying no
through the walls
o
Aggressively.
Them rabid.
§
Did not attempt
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