7 Days in India - Day 5: Train Travel

Day 5 - November 28

We awoke at the crack of dawn, which was hardly any effort considering the jet-lag, and we prepared for our newest adventure.  It was time to travel, India style!

With a stuffed backpack, I was dropped off with my fellow teammates at the local train station in New Delhi, to head to Agra for one night.  If we thought we had seen chaos before, we were in for a shock.  The train station was crawling with people.  If you ever needed a travel wallet (the kind that goes under your clothes) the time was now!  People were bumping into us, pushing their way to get in and out of the station.  There were old people, young people and entire families with luggage and you could tell that there was people from lower castes and higher castes, all just wanting to go somewhere.

Thankfully, we weren't just dropped off at the door, but we were guided to the proper train platform and the two young men from the church stayed with us to wait for our train to arrive.  I held my backpack close in front of me, not willing to have it on my back when it contained so many precious items.  This place was beyond crowded!  There was a family with huge sacks of their belongings, children laying down on cardboard and covered with a blanket, trying to catch some sleep before loading up on the human cattle-car, also known as "economy class".  Thankfully we weren't booked to travel in the "standing-room-only", sardine-packed train car, accented with essence of curry and body odor, but instead we were traveling in style, in second-class seating.  That meant we had our own assigned seats that had fold-down trays and a little bit of extra luggage space.

Our train arrived, and we found our seats and settled; keeping a close eye on our belongings as other people crammed in, searching for their places.  Right away, it was difficult for me to keep from wrinkling my nose at the obvious grime and dinginess of this train-car.  It's not like I'm a germ-freak by any means, but everything seemed to be coated in a greasy, dusty sheen, and I had difficulty looking through the window because of the smears of fingerprints, and imagined (or unimagined) mucous and other foreign matter.  I gingerly took the curtain (which felt stiff and grimy as well, like a muddied sock that has been allowed to dry on the laundry-room floor... for a month...) and I attempted to wipe clear the window to get a better view.  All in all, it added to the effect of my vision of India - a smoggy film between my eyes and the landscape, corrupting each of the pictures and videos that I took!

The "boys" became adventurous as we waited, and thought they would check out the infamous "bathrooms" on the train.  We'd been told by a friend who had traveled to India, that the toilets on trains were for emergencies only.  Like... you're about to explode and mess your pants, sort of emergency.  They returned to Kindra and myself with eyes as large as saucers, and said "Girls, you do NOT want to go in there!"

They proceeded to describe to us the stainless steel "toilet", actually, more of a hole in the floor and a pipe that curved out and onto the tracks.  As cool as it would be to squat over a metal hole and pee onto the tracks while on a moving train, I decided then and there that I would "hold it" until we reached our destination.  Kindra questioned whether there was a sink or any means of cleaning oneself after using this "toilet" and we were told that there was simply a small water spigot with a metal cup with which to swish away the refuse... and any remaining germs... ahem... ya.  When in India....

With the grand tour of the train out of the way, we settled in our seats and began to move.  I worried that I would become motion sick, but surprisingly enough it was a fairly smooth ride.  I sat, semi-hunched forward, still feeling uneasy about the grime on my seat and not wanting to coat my hair with the germs of the thousands who had previously rode where I now sat, and I looked with interest out of the window.  Sadly, what I saw was once again a prime example of India's poverty.  With dismay I noticed many children playing along the tracks, unattended and dirty, seemingly looking for food or valuable scraps that might provide the means to a bite to eat for the day.  Others had obviously made their homes along this busy place, and I wondered how one could ever grow used to the constant clatter and noise of the trains passing by.  Not only that, but it boggled my mind how mothers (or older siblings) could possibly keep little ones safe in this environment.

For a while, I busied myself taking photos and video clips of the dismaying sight of people's everyday living on the side of the tracks.  From large apartments and shops to cardboard shacks, from the middle-class to the very poor, each and every person dealt with the same dirt and smog.  There were people everywhere - some hurrying along, some just squatting in the middle of a vacant, garbage filled lot, as if they were aimlessly waiting for something...

After some time, we left the suffocating collection of buildings, and the swarms of people and we were in farmland and open fields.  After several days of being stuck in a city of 20 million, myself feeling somewhat claustrophobic and missing my "alone-time", we finally could see the green fields and blueish-grayish sky again!  I felt like I could breathe deeply once again, but alas I was trapped on a train with stale air smelling of B.O. and curry so I didn't take that deep breath that the open sky invited.

Meanwhile... we were on a train - not just any train, but an Indian train!  One of the most interesting things about traveling this way, was the constant stream of sales-people walking up and down the narrow aisle.  I would hear the creak of the door to our train car behind me, and then the smell of curry would waft towards me.  Next I'd hear some undecipherable words, as a man carried a large tray with small foil wrapped dishes of curry.  There was also people selling chips and other packaged Indian treats and someone selling somosas.  There was a young man who carried a large metal bucket crammed full with bottles of pop and water (that looked quite heavy!) and a man with a canister of coffee.  Our favorite though, was the Chai-walla (tea seller) one of which had the funniest way of saying "Chai" in a low, guttural tone as he walked through our car.  (We managed to catch a little bit of his giggle-inducing-voice on video!)

Eventually, despite the nefarious odors and the grime on the back of my seat, I relaxed and closed my eyes, taking a short nap in preparation for the busy day ahead of us.  When I awoke, we were heading back into a urban area - this one looking slightly different than the city of Delhi.  Agra, for one thing was a smaller city, with a population of just 3.5 million.  One of the things that makes Agra unique, however, is the prohibition of factories and industrial activities which produce pollution, in effort to keep the air clear to protect the Taj Mahal from damage.  (We even learned on our tour the following day that there are pollution sensors at the Taj Mahal, and if the smog reaches a certain level, all roads will be shut down and automobiles will be forced to park until the air sufficiently clears!)

Agra appeared to have a lot more rural influence, and there was a lot less cars and a lot more rickshaws, bicycles, horses and carts and other animals present.  The train slowed and we soon pulled into our station.  We scrambled to collect our belongings, and hopped out to an even greater crowd of people than we had left in Delhi!  Trying to put on an air of confidence, I walked forward and scanned the crowd of people for someone who looked friendly... or Christian... or at least who looked like they were looking for us!  It was quite a nerve-wracking feeling that we were in the middle of a different country and culture, on the other side of the world, with no one familiar to greet and guide us!  Then I saw a two modestly dressed men, one whom was standing and holding a sign that said: 'Mrs. Lisa'.  Okay, that must be us, I concluded, and I moved forward and said "Hello".  He turned and began to thread his way through the mass of people, and we scurried along to follow him.

He led us to an SUV, and we threw our luggage in the back and climbed inside.  We asked if he was Pastor J (the man whom we were expecting to meet us) but we didn't really get much of a reply.  At this point, we were a little confused, not knowing if this guy was from the church or if he was merely our driver... or if this was a set-up to drive us to the outskirts of the city, beat us up and rob us.  Steve tried once again to question him, asking intently: "Pastor J?  Are you Pastor J?'  But the the driver didn't appear to understand us, and the man in the passenger seat was busy talking on his cell phone.

Some of us were feeling quite anxious now, and it seemed that we could only sit back and wait for the inevitable to happen.  Either we were in the right place, with the right people... or...

Thankfully, it was a short drive and we slowed and turned into the "Hotel Grand" which was not at all grand, but was the hotel mentioned on our itinerary!  We were safe...

With a sigh of relief, we jumped out of the vehicle and were greeted by a smiling, kind-looking man: Pastor J!  In the comforting presence of a trustworthy guide, we checked into our hotel rooms and began to get acquainted, ready for a day of adventures and ministry in the city of Agra!

The beautiful Taj Mahal

7 Days In India - Day 4

Sunday, November 27

Time was going by so quickly - and we hardly had time to think about home and our kids because we were so busy, seeing and experiencing so many new things.  It really felt like we were on a different planet - or as if we were living in a documentary.  Everything was just so different from our usual lives, and there was always something that would surprise us or overwhelm us or capture our emotions...  That's why it was nice that it was Sunday.  It was a day of rest, a day that would be more familiar, spending time in God's house with people whom we might not know very well, but who would welcome us as part of God's family.

Yet it would not all be familiar and normal this Sunday morning... for starters, the first morning service would be in Hindi!

I don't think I mentioned before, but one of the neat things about where were were staying was that the Pastor's home and the church and Bible school were all on one property, surrounded by a large brick wall.  Along with the Bible college students, a couple other families lived on the property, all committed to the cause of the ministry.  Again, as I've mentioned, there was such an enormous difference in atmosphere once you entered the gates of the complex - the mess was gone, the hurry and chaos was gone and there was a peace and beauty that filled the air.  So it was really nice to be able to simply walk over to the church building rather than battle the insane traffic just before the morning service started.

We walked into the sanctuary, and seated on 3 long rugs, in rows of 2, were all of the girls from the orphanage.  Every Sunday morning, they transported the girls here to take part in the worship service.  We waved and smiled at them, and a few of them shyly smiled back.  Being the guests of honor (which still felt rather strange to me), we were seated front and center.  The building began to fill up with beautiful brown people (I don't mean that rudely, at all!) and the worship team took their place on stage.  Right away, there was such a rich, vibrant, joyous tone to the music!  It was impossible not to clap and attempt to sing along - even thought the words were in Hindi. But occasionally, they used "hallelujah" in their songs, which made it a little easier for us white folks!

As a church, they obviously had a close knit community.  They asked who was having a  birthday or anniversary that week, and prayed for those individuals.  They spent time praying for their nation and it's political leaders and prayed with great zeal and gusto.  As planned, Steve and I came up during the offering and performed a song - one that had been written by someone in our church.  The people seemed to enjoy the different flavor of music. Then it came time for us to be welcomed and introduced, and they called the four of us up onto the stage.  Once again, we were honored with each of us being given a beautiful bouquet of roses.  The Pastor introduced us as "a wonderful team from Canada" and then all but Dan exited the stage and the tag-team preaching/translation began.

It only further enhanced the feeling of being in another world to spend so much time listening to a language that we didn't understand, but somehow, we didn't feel entirely out of place in that Hindi service.  After a short break, the English service began, and we enjoyed the opportunity to share in the lives of Christian brothers and sisters from the other side of the world!

We were given the opportunity to pray for people afterwords, and as they came with open hearts, asking God for strength and hope in response to Dan's message, we felt our hearts melting at the obvious struggles that these believers faced.  It wasn't difficult to commiserate with them, and to share in their suffering as we asked for God's grace upon their lives.  But most of all, it was an honor to join with them in faith, as we believed for God to move in their lives and, by association, India as well.

One thing I noticed was an abundance of warmth and openness among the people we met.  It seems that hospitality is a way of life for Indians, and we were greeted with smiling faces all throughout the church.  One older woman came up to me after the service and grabbed onto my hand, saying "I just had to meet the mother of 6 children!"  She had a huge grin on her face and told me how that (lots of kids) is the way it used to be... and that she came from a large family.  I just smiled, not knowing exactly what to say, but enjoying her enthusiasm.

Before we knew it, our work was done and yet another milestone had been crossed off the list of ministry work to do on this trip.  Somehow, we Canadians, for all of our country's typical apathy and lethargy, were able to be a blessing to this congregation in India.  One of the most poignant moments of this Sunday however, had occurred in the peaceful, heavy atmosphere of prayer that took place before the first morning service.  It was difficult to not feel a sense of uselessness here in India - that our problems back in Canada were paltry and lame and merely symptoms of extreme self-centeredness.

Then I felt the Holy Spirit speak to my heart.  First, I felt Him telling me that I was born in North America on PURPOSE.  It was God's plan, His will, and His design for me to born in a more affluent nation.  In that plan, he has a purpose and destiny for me to operate within my surroundings.  Here is something that rang clear and true in my heart, and I wrote it down in that morning prayer meeting:

We can come to a desolate place, like the slums, and feel such a need to impart destiny and vision in to the lives of these people.  While that is necessary and true, I would say that the great deception is in the fact that our churches in North America are filled with people lacking true destiny and purpose.  We have been deceived into believing that our destiny is to have a 9-to-5 job, a nice home and family, and to attend a comfortable, affirming church.

What a dismal, uninspired destiny... God has so much more for us!

 

7 Days In India - Day 3

Saturday, Nov. 26

Just another cow on the road, slowing down traffic...

This day we had the opportunity to visit another slum school, earlier in the morning before the Pastor conducted a church service for the slum area.  By this point we were already more comfortable with the ridiculous, confusing flow of traffic that followed no typical Canadian laws or standards.  So the drive over to this slum school was less stressful than our previous day's journey.  We still would poke at each other occasionally, wide-eyed and gasping with comments of how INSANE everything was - like seeing an entire family perched on the back of a scooter, weaving in and out of the traffic, or a rickshaw packed with 7 or 8 passengers, or the fact that our driver would continually squeeze our vehicle into utterly small spaces, in effort to get ahead of the buses, trucks and rickshaws that slowed us down.

There was hardly ever a break from the poverty.  Occasionally, we would see a new, updated building and it may have wall surrounding it - but that didn't stop the garbage from piling up outside.  And it didn't' stop people from constructing shacks of wood, bricks and tarp outside the walls.  Again and again, we would pass an empty lot cluttered with trash - and there was almost always people living on the outskirts of the heaps of refuse, and children picking their way through the junk; either playing or searching for something of value.

We stopped at a red light - at least I think it was a red light , but it felt like a traffic jam and all the cars were wedged together and waiting.  Along came a dirty, barefooted little boy, his clothing permanently grayed with the dust and pollution.  Around his waist was a medium sized metal hoop - somewhat smaller than most colorful, plastic hula-hoops that we are familiar with.  He began to dance around outside our window on the side of the road, attempting to provide entertainment and perhaps acquire a few rupees.  When his tricks were done, he came over and held his hands out to my closed window.  This time, I was prepared and I pulled out an apple from my bag and handed it to him through the window.  He took it, looking both puzzled and a little bit miffed.  He rubbed his fingers and thumb together, slightly shaking his head at us and said "Rupees... Rupees!" with an aggressive plea.  He was actually snubbing our offering of food!

We looked at each other with dismay, astonished that he was upset with us.  "No rupees!" Steve said to him, and I shook my head as well.  He plodded off towards an older boy on the other side of the median, showing his apple to him.

Just a minute later, a pretty young street girl spotted us in our vehicle.  (As I've mentioned, traffic here is crazy, so you can be stuck in one spot for quite a while!)  This girl wore a dirty old tunic an pants, and she also had metal hoops to do tricks with as well.  She seemed quite excited at the prospect of performing for some white people, and right away did some hand stands and flips, jumping through her hoop and twisting acrobatically.  She actually was quite impressive in her antics! As she came to my window to be rewarded I as a little nervous and wondering whether she would even appreciate my offering of food.  I pulled out a packaged brownie, leftover from our flight, and pointed at it, asking if she would like it.  She nodded and I handed it to her through the window, glad that she seemed a bit more grateful for the food.  We watched her as she brought it over to an older woman who opened the little plastic box as if to inspect it, and then closed it again.  The transaction was complete.

It was quite frustrating to see the behavior of these street kids.  There was a system in place and at work.  They were being manipulated and used for their age and vulnerability and they didn't even get to enjoy the "fruit" of their labors, so to speak.  Obviously these kids were working for a handler - someone who would guard them and send them on the streets to beg.  Every bit of money and food would go directly to their handler, who would, in exchange see that they were fed and somewhat protected.  If the child had an extra good day, and brought in a greater amount of rupees, than they might get extra food that night.  The handlers themselves, reported to a higher power, including the requirement to bribe the police so that they wouldn't be disturbed on their territory as "their kids" worked the streets.

It was really difficult seeing this, and feeling like our contribution and helping hand really didn't help.  We could give them more money, and maybe the child would be treated better that day, but then we were just feeding the system.  We could give them food to eat, but as we just witnessed, they might not even have the freedom to eat the food themselves, having to bring every bit of profit to their handlers.

So many children spent their days out of school, wandering the streets and begging.  While there are free government schools available for all people, the quality of these free schools is very poor and the kids have both no encouragement or discipline so it is difficult to get a real education.  Not only that, but using children to beg is a very lucrative business.  Those who profit from the children's efforts - whether it be their own parents, or a handler - will prevent the kids from attending school and continue to force them to work the streets.  it means that these kids have no sense of a future and no scope of life outside of the streets.  They are doomed from the start to live out their lives as the lowest of the low - helpless and hopeless.

This is where the slum schools were were visiting showed such a huge difference and turn-around for these types of people.  The moment you walked in the doors, you would enter an oasis of peace and hope.  Everything is cleaner and tidy.  The busyness, clamor and clutter is gone.  It is like walking into a different world, one that offers an entirely different way of living.

We drove into one of the worst areas we had seen so far and hopped out of the vehicle.  There was a narrow walkway alongside a brick building, and all sorts of people stopped their activities and began to watch us as we walked through the area.  Some appeared merely curious at our presence, others looked a bit more suspicious.

We turned a corner, and stepping up five worn and slightly crumbling concrete steps, we found ourselves at the entrance of a 12 X 12 brick building filled with children.  We were welcomed into the dark, cramped space that had a small spiral staircase just to the right of the doorway, that led to living quarters for the slum school's directors - a married couple with a baby.  The children greeted us with their practiced English words: "Good morning!" and we waved and smiled back at them.

We were seated in plastic chairs in front of the crowd of 60 or so children who sat, crowded together on the floor.   There were a couple of chalkboards attached to the walls and a few colorful posters with English words for things such as vegetables or days of the week.  Other than that, it was drab, dark and felt more like a tiny, old brick garage than a school for 75+ children.

Packed into the classroom, some even sitting on the spiral staircase

The first part of our visit, the children sang a couple of songs and then began to show off their learning.  Some of them were painfully shy as they quoted a scripture or told us the days of the week and their spelling, in English - others seemed excited at the prospect of preforming for and impressing some white foreigners. 

All too soon, it was our time to impress and we were given the opportunity, with a translator, to speak to the children.  Today, we felt much more at ease and having experienced the slum schools yesterday, we had processed in our hearts more of what we desired to give to these kids.  We smiled and greeted them, and Dan introduced all of us and told how we were so happy to visit.  I spoke to them, asking if they were working hard on their studies, to which they answered in English a resounding "Yes!".  We told them how we were so proud of them, and that if they worked hard, and if they followed God, that their lives would be blessed and that they would do well in life.

A couple of us had the opportunity to pray for the kids, and when I prayed, I think they thought they were supposed to repeat me, because every time I paused, they copied my words!  I quickly changed the direction of my prayer into something that the children could say with meaning, asking for God's help and blessing.  Kindra prayed as well, speaking blessing and protection over their lives.  It was so strange how inadequate we felt to minister to these kids - they deserved so much more, yet they looked to us like we were celebrities.  We just wanted to bless them - yet they honored and blessed us so much.

Next it was time to hand out milk and buns to the children, since they had to clear out the building for that morning's church service.  They brought the large stainless steel vat of steaming buffalo milk, and we lined up and began to hand out the cups of milk and small buns as the children walked out the door.  I went outside to get a better camera angle as the children emptied from the building with their treat.

After taking a bunch of pictures, someone invited me to see inside the building next to the school where I saw a small area where they were heating up the buffalo milk in a large stainless steel pot.  This was in a tiny "kitchen" area that would be comparable to the space that most of us have for an entryway into our homes.  From there, I could see into a doorway of another very small room that held around 30 children, all seated on the floor, with a couple young woman standing at the front of the crowd with a tambourine, leading the children in some worship music, in Hindi.  I loved how their singing was so heartfelt and real.  They didn't have an amazing band, with professional musicians.  They didn't even have instruments.  Yet they sang with joy and faith, lifting up their hands and worshiping the Lord.
 

Preparing the Buffalo Milk

I could tell that my presence was a bit of a distraction, and I didn't want to disrupt this group, that appeared to be a Sunday-school class for the slum kids.  So I squatted down on the floor in the doorway, attempting to connect and be a part of this whole experience, not detract from it.  I gazed upon the children, all so obviously poor, but somehow looking clean and healthy in this otherwise dump of an area.    There seemed to be such a night and day difference between the beggars on the street and the children just wandering around in the slums - and the kids here, who were attending the slum school.  They didn't have the same empty, helpless look on their faces.  They looked hopeful and you could tell that they had a sense of worth.  I continued to sway and nod my head in time to the music, enjoying it wholeheartedly even though I couldn't understand the words, and I felt my heart fill with the hope that was represented in these beautiful children in the room.


After a couple more songs, I reluctantly went back outside to the open space between the two buildings where the children were still coming out of the school with their cups of milk.  I attempted to connect with some of the kids nearby, pulling out the pictures of my own kids again, and showing them to some of the children who were standing there.  Again, there was great interest in these cute little white children - a novelty with their blond hair and blue eyes.  Suddenly, our driver came over and asked us to go back inside the building.  Apparently there was a concern that we were drawing too much of a crowd, and there could soon be a riot of people, demanding milk and bread, if we did not get out of sight.  We spent a couple more minutes within the brick walls, talking with the pastor and meeting his wife and baby.  Then, all too soon, it was time to leave.

It felt like we really didn't have enough time to spend with these kids - all of us felt a sense of loss, wanting to express more love and just be able to sit with the kids and show them that we cared.  However, we were still at risk, being a novelty within this small slum village and we had to leave quickly before more people were attracted to the area.  We walked away, down a dirty sidewalk, with people lining each side and staring at us with their solemn brown eyes.  In the midst of such despair and dirt and desolation, it was amazing to see the contrast of the people with their bright, colorfully dyed clothes.  There was life, and hope within this desperate, run-down area.

It felt so different today, to be able to come and visit this slum area and minister to the children.  We didn't feel as out of touch and out of place, and found our hearts drawn to the children - wanting to be with them and to really do something to make a difference.  We reluctantly piled into the vehicle, gazing back at some of the children who had followed us out to the road.  It was such a picture -words cannot describe it, and the pictures that we took can hardly even capture what we saw and felt.  We waved back at the children, and snapped a few more photos.  Suddenly, one of the young boys came running after us - we had forgotten a water bottle and he wanted to make sure it was returned to us!  We felt such a gratefulness for their openness and hospitality.  They welcomed us as friends and made us feel like we were special to them... and all we could offer back was a smile and a cup of milk.

All of us felt sad that our time was so short here.  Something had changed in us, and the awkwardness was gone - replaced by true compassion and a God-given love.

"Don't forget your water!"

7 Days In India - Second Day - part 2

November 25 - The afternoon

I had so much to say about the visit to the slum schools, that I had to break up our day.  Now I will share about our visit to the Victory orphanage.

Thankfully, the orphanage was located much closer to the Victory headquarters.  In fact, we were told that if you walked, you could get there in just 5 minutes, but by car - because of all the winding roads and crazy traffic, it would take about 15 minutes.

We drove through typical busy streets and then came to a pathway that wasn't even a real road through some trees.  It was extremely bumpy and as usual, there was garbage all over the place.  We bumped along for a couple of minutes and then drove through what seemed like a REAL garbage dump.  It stunk horribly, there was junk and plastic wrappers everywhere - but the alarming thing about it was that there were nearly a dozen pigs wandering around the heaps of trash!  Suddenly we were back on a more "normal" village road (New Delhi is comprised of many smaller villages, all stuck together) and the orphanage was right ahead of us.  We drove into the gate and parked inside the courtyard.  Immediately, there was a difference.  Each time we entered one of the churches properties, it was amazing how much cleaner, more peaceful and orderly the building was.

We were introduced to some of the orphanage workers and the pastor began to give us a tour of the building.  They were constantly upgrading, and doing their best to make the home better for the children, to give them a better life.  The girls living in the orphanage were mostly true orphans - with both parents no longer alive, although some orphans have parents with critical illness who cannot take care of them.  There were 65 girls in all, and they shared several large bedrooms which had bunk-beds lining the walls.  Each child's bed was neatly made and many of them had a tidy yet small stack of their personal belongings on the ends of their beds.  Everything was very plain and simple, but obviously well taken care of and treated with pride.  There was a small room attached to one of the childrens' rooms that was for the teachers or leaders.  We came to a large, well lit open room that was used as a classroom and meeting area.  We were invited to wait in a small sitting area downstairs while the children assembled for us.

Again, were were humbled by the hospitality shown to us - we were given glasses of cold fruit juice and some funny white crispy chips that were in the shape of french fries (but tasted nothing like the western snacks I'm used to!).  I noticed a menu board on the wall, and took a picture of it.  There was also a hand-cute picture of a tree, with little faces pasted onto it, showing the months of each orphan girl's birth.

We were called up to meet the girls, and were brought in to the upper classroom where the crowd of neatly dressed, well-groomed girls were waiting with smiles on most of their faces.  Several girls stood in front of the group with bouquets of roses for us.  Once again it felt almost wrong that they were honoring us in this way, but we gratefully accepted their gift, and we were seated in plastic chairs in the front of the room.

The pastor was very jovial, and began to talk to the girls in Hindi, asking them about their meal that day.  (I could tell because I understood a few of the words were Indian dishes I've eaten before!)  Then he told us that the girls wanted to sing a couple of songs for us.  They broke out into gorgeous, jubilant melody in Hindi, filling the room with their praises.  One of the young girls in the front, sang with her eyes closed, her face uplifted and you could tell that she truly believed what she was singing.

We spent some time speaking to the girls and telling them how special they were to God.  It was not difficult to tell them that they were beautiful and loved and precious, because they looked up at us with sincerity and pure hearts.  God had truly taken the broken and brought them to a place where they could belong.  Their lives had been destined for emptiness, poverty and despair, and now we knew that these girls would become wonderful women who would glorify God with their lives and be an example to their community.

After we encouraged them and prayed for them, we took a couple pictures. (I will update and post them later, but they are on a different camera.) Then the girls went down to their dining room to have a snack and we went down to see where it was that they ate.  There were rows of tables and chairs, and the girls were all crowded around.  Immediately, we recognised what they were eating: "Somosas!" Dan said "They look delicious!"

"Do you want some?" they asked, surprised that we would be interested in their "boring" snack.

"Yes, please!"  we replied, "We love somosas!"  We each took one - and proceeded to sit down among the girls and eat with them.

Right away we noticed that the girls became very shy and giggly.  We would look down the long table, and making eye contact, would smile at them and wave "hello".  They were so sweet and knowing that they all represented a broken family, it was not hard to feel love and compassion for each of them.

We asked why they were giggling so much and the pastor looked thoughtful for a moment and said: "Well, probably because you are eating with them.  No white people have sat down at their table and ate with them before."

Whoah!  That was intense - just the idea that our sitting with them honored them so much was humbling.  We felt humbled to be near them, to speak to them and show them a little bit of love!  But they saw us as something special, and were so affected by our visit.  It made me all the more determined to smile and show love and attention to them.  Every chance I got, I would lock eyes with a girl and then smile affirmingly, trying with all my might to project some of the love of God that I felt towards them.

The visit was far too short.  It seemed that we could only glimpse into their lives for a moment, reach out and show them just a fraction of what was in our hearts, and then we had to go.

This home was such an incredible example to me of God's family.  You may be broken, alone, rejected, lost, hurting and impoverished.  But when you are welcomed into God's family, you suddenly have a home.  You have a safe-haven of peace and tranquility where you belong and are given a sense of destiny.  These girls had the love of God written all over them, and the work of the gospel, pure and undefiled was evident.  They were no longer merely orphans, but daughters of the King.

James 1:27 Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their trouble, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world.

7 Days In India - Second Day

Friday morning, November 25

Our team members joined us today (some good friends who are also leaders in our church) and we had a full day planned for us.  We were finally going to visit some slum schools and begin to give out Buffalo milk from the money we had raised!

It was our second day, so I felt a little more adjusted to the culture and the overall busyness of the Indian streets that were full of people and, equally important, the manner of driving through Indian traffic.  I was also prepared and eager to hand out some food, should the opportunity arise that a beggar child came knocking on our car window again.  We had a long drive ahead of us, and there was plenty of traffic to maneuver through.

We came to a place along the road that was intersected by a large overpass.  I could see that many children were playing in the rubble, that some homeless people had make-shift shelters and laundry hanging up.  Most heartbreaking, was seeing the very young children - practically babies, wandering around with just a scrap of a shirt on and bare bottoms, playing with the garbage on the ground.  Too often, I saw little ones without any sort of supervision and it made me wonder how they could possibly survive.

Traffic became heavier, plugged up with the two lanes packed 4 cars and 2 motorcycles across the road, and we had to wait for a light to change.  Then a little boy approached our vehicle, barely tall enough to see over the window, and he began to knock on the glass with his dirty hand and looked up at us with large brown eyes, asking "Rupee... rupee??"  I pulled out a packaged muffin from my bag and handed it to my friend Steve who was sitting in the passenger position where this little boy was knocking on the window.  He rolled down the window, and with a quick snatch, the boy grabbed the package and scampered off.  We tracked him as he weaved his way through the cluster of vehicles, away to a sheltered area under the overpass.  He ran with light steps, seemingly excited by the treasure we had given to him.

I felt better in that moment.  It felt like, for once, I was able to alleviate some suffering - one little child would have his tummy temporarily filled.  Yet, next on the agenda was a visit to a slum school - what would that sight behold?

We drove a great distance - in heavy traffic we would have expected to take 2 hours to reach the school, but today we were making good time, and it took around 1 1/2 hours.  Some stretches of the roads were smoother highways, other areas were crowded streets lined with small shops and cars haphazardly parked and double-parked on the side of the road.  As we drew closer to the slum area, the streets narrowed and became far more bumpy and unkempt.  We saw our first cow on the road, which was very exciting for us Western tourists, but a mere annoyance to our driver.  We began to see a lot more run down homes and structures - if that is even possible.  More of them were semi-constructed brick and sticks and plastic, surrounded by heaps of refuse.  Always, there were young children wandering aimlessly or playing in the dirt.

We came to a brick enclosed structure and the driver honked his horn and a gate opened up and let our vehicle inside.  A clean, yet very modest structure with colorful paintings on the walls greeted us - we had arrived; the first slum school!  There was a small open courtyard, and a couple of buildings attached to it.  One had several school rooms - just small 10X10 or maybe 12X12 rooms constructed of bricks with cement floors.  Then, on the other corner of the courtyard was a taller building that had a second story with a classroom and an open roof-top sitting area that was also used as a classroom.  Everything was dangerously constructed by North American standards - with an open concrete stairway that had no walls or railings to keep you from falling down.  But by slum standards, this place was an oasis.

As we stepped out of the vehicle, I was completely overwhelmed to see that 4 little girls, with timid smiles, and a look of awe in their eyes, were holding flower necklaces to give to us in honor of our visit.  I felt so humbled and undeserving (did they know what a horribly selfish Canadian I was?) but I gratefully accepted their gift with a very sincere "Thank you!".

We gathered in a small meeting room with an old computer and some plastic chairs lining the walls.  This appeared to be the office or meeting area.  Then we were introduced to the Pastor and his wife who cared for the children and managed the slum school.  They immediately began to serve us, and brought us cups of cold water to drink.  In a way, it felt terrible how well we were being treated - like we were dignitaries or something.  I just felt so undeserving - here was a couple who were giving up so much to serve the lowest of the low, yet, they were just genuinely happy to see us, and the Indian culture is naturally very hospitable.

We took a quick tour of the buildings and observed for a few moments the children in their classrooms.  This happened to be one of the nicest slum schools, and although very crowded, they children had small desks lined up in which to do their learning.  What shocked me the most was how young some of these children were!  Tiny little 3 year olds sat respectfully and quietly in their seats, in their miniature sized school uniform,  some looking up at us white people with large frightened eyes.

There was a watchdog also, up on the rooftop.  He was precariously chained to a peg, on a short leash and wandered in small circles quite happily, wagging his fluffy white tail.  One false move though, and he'd be hanging off the side of the roof.  (Don't tell the SPCA!)

We were informed that we needed to travel to a lesser slum school in the area, that we'd be giving those children their Buffalo milk and buns first.  So we piled into the vehicle and began to drive through the village slum area - people staring at us as we passed them by.  Along the side of the road were some "nicer" apartments - government buildings that would then be sold to people.  For most of the people in this neighborhood, however, they were entirely unattainable in cost.  We turned at an intersection, deeper into the slum and on one side of the road I saw a man cooking on the ground in a pot, and on the other side of the road, a man was peeing.  We passed by many more broken down buildings, the streets filled with busy people and wandering children, garbage heaps randomly filling a vacant space with goats, pigs, dog and even cows rummaging for something interesting to eat.  Here there were open sewers along the side of the road, more accurately described as a deep gutter that was filled with garbage.

We pulled up along the side of the road, and entered a small gate between a couple of buildings, following the sound of children chantings something.  There, on the uneven ground with broken up pieces of red bricks and dirt was around 30 children, sitting and squatting in front of their teacher.  We could now see through the doorway into the rented space that the slum school was using, and saw that this 12X12 room was also packed with children on the floor.  We were greeted with a chorus of "Good morning" from the kids, and I tried to smile back although my mind was overcome just trying to process these conditions and the state of the children in front of me.

We were invited to greet the children and speak to them and I was grateful that Dan, being in the most senior position in our group, had to go first.  But as he spoke to them, I felt compassion welling up in my heart and managed to come up with some words of encouragement as well.  As simple as it was, all I really knew to say was that these children were special, and that we loved them and cared for them.  What really do you say?  What can you possibly do?  After we spoke to them, we were allowed the opportunity to photograph the children and they were being given their milk as they were dismissed from school for the day.

I felt so inadequate and unsure of how to relate to these children. I crouched down, and tried to make eye contact with a few of the little ones, but they looked at me suspiciously.  I smiled awkwardly and just waved in their faces "Hello!" 

What do I do?  I thought, with panic.  Will I just be one of those horrible tourists who takes pictures and says "Oh, that was so sad..." and carries on with life?  Can I make any sort of impact on these children's lives?

Moments later, the children were being served their milk and a little one was stumbling on the uneven ground, trying to make her way to a safe spot to eat and drink.  An older child, perhaps a sibling, took the cup from her hand for a moment, to keep her from spilling and she burst into tears!  He grabbed her tiny elbow and helped steady her, and gave her back her cup of milk.  She quickly found a step to sit on and began greedily breaking off chunks of her bun and dipping it into the milk. 

Outside the doorway, a small group of people were gathering; curious about the commotion going on at the slum school today.  We were encouraged back to the vehicle so as not to draw a lot of attention and cause a crowd to form, demanding milk and food.  We drove back to the larger, nicer slum school that was a few minutes distance away and I stared out the window, feeling quite numb and overwhelmed by what we'd seen and how helpless I felt.

Back at the nicer school, there were long carpets rolled out and the children were assembled to have their milk and buns.  Soon there were lines of children, back to back, seated on the red rugs, each with a cup in front of them.  The children prayed together, a prayer of thanksgiving and began to gratefully receive their warm buffalo milk and soft buns.

This time, I was determined to get in closer and bridge the gap between myself and these precious children.  I immediately thought of the pictures of my kids that I carried in my wallet and I pulled them out.  I squatted next to some little ones and began to show them the pictures, pointing to myself and saying "These are my babies."  All at once, the barrier was broken and the children leaned towards the photos, looking with keen interest.  They smiled brightly at Ezra's chubby little baby picture, taken on his first birthday.  They looked on with enjoyment as I passed through all six pictures of my children, and then I repeated the actions as I moved down the line, to different clusters of children. 

Eventually, all the kids were done eating and I continued to show pictures, and a crowd began to form around me.  I stayed squatting, low to the ground so I could maintain eye contact with all the little kids.  Little ones began to push their way through the group, vying for a good position in order to see my photos.  After showing the pictures multiple times to the group of kids, I began to tell the children each of my kids' names.  "Baby Ezra." I would say, slowly and clearly.

"Baby Ezra!"  The children repeated in unison.

I went through all of my children's names and then began to ask children around me what their own names were, touching their arms and faces gently as I did so.  I couldn't believe that I was finally able to connect and after learning some of their names, I wasn't quite sure what I should do.  Here I was, literally surrounded by 20 or so slum children, all of them fully at my attention.  I began to sing "Jesus loves me" to them, and would stroke little faces or gently squeeze children's arms or hands as I sang.  They listened attentively and seemed to enjoy it.  More children pressed into the throng.  I felt slightly overwhelmed at the need, and the desire for attention, but I carried on, singing and showing my children's pictures to the crowd.

At one point, I felt a little silly, and my legs were cramping from being crouched down for so long, so I got up and twirled like a ballerina.  The children laughed at me, and several of them copied me.  So for a few minutes, we played a little game of "Simon says" where I would do an action and this crowd of 30 or more kids would copy me.

All too soon, our time was up.  In some ways though, I was spent.  I felt physically exhausted, struggling with my insufficiency to meet the needs of these children.  These were not normal poor children who had less clothes, less toys and less "nice experiences" like the poor in Canada.  These were the lowest of the low, the untouchables, just one out of the 250 million classified Dalit (untouchable caste) in India.

I hated how awkward I had felt with the children in the other smaller slum school earlier.  I hated how I just wasn't able to express love to them; how I was at a loss as to how to communicate Gods love.  I kept thinking of how Jesus would welcome the little children into His arms, saying "Do not forbid them, for such is the kingdom of heaven..." (Luke 18:16)

The kingdom of heaven was somewhere here, in the slums of New Delhi.  It was here, in the eyes of these little ones.  I looked closely today, and for a moment I touched it - God's kingdom in the warm smile of a little child.

7 Days In India - Our First Day

Thursday, Nov. 24 - New Delhi

Our true Indian experience began not outside the walls of the home and church facilities we were staying in, but in the middle of the night, in our bedroom.  Having arrived at our host's home at nearly 2 in the morning, we were lovingly greeted by the pastor who offered us some delicious Indian food that his wife had cooked for us.  Although exhausted, and wishing we could just crash and go to sleep, we gratefully swallowed down some delicious home-made roti stuffed with curried vegetables.  However, that is not where our true Indian experience began.

We dropped into bed, completely worn out, and dozed to sleep.  The last 24 hours had been a blur of driving, flying and wandering around airports and we were thankful to finally be in a horizontal position, not in a squishy, compact airplane seat in a plane with 400 other people.  Suddenly, in the dark of the night, a loud voice boomed, startling us from our slumber.  Chanting began in a language we didn't understand, and we soon realized that there must be some sort of temple or mosque nearby and this was the "call to prayer".  While that was certainly a jolt to the reality of being in a new country, after being sound asleep, it held a hauntingly mysterious quality, and for a while, I enjoyed the foreign melody.  However, after 10 minutes and no sign of slowing down, my fascination wore off and I rolled over, put my pillow over my head and tried to get some more much needed rest.  We later found out that there was both a Hindi temple and a Mosque nearby, and everyday we would be "treated" to a taste of their musical prayers.

For our first morning, our hostess made us an all-American breakfast, and once again I wasn't very hungry because my body clock was so screwed up, but I made an effort to eat a little of everything she had kindly prepared.  Once we were fed, we spent some time getting to know our hosts, talking about our church in Canada and asking about their lives here in India.  Finally, the question we had been waiting for:  "Would you like to go and see some of Delhi or stay here and rest for the day?" asked the pastor.

REST????  No way!  "Oh, we'd love to go out and see what everything looks like in daylight!" we responded, enthusiastically.

A short while later, we were seated in the back of another small Indian-style vehicle - this one a bit more like an SUV, and we headed out into the streets of Delhi.

At first, I had to readjust my thinking to the manner of driving, realizing that although we were continually breaking Canadian traffic rules and etiquette, that this driver must know what he was doing because I hadn't seen any dents or scratches on the vehicle when we climbed in.  In order to take my mind off of the driving - which is next to impossible with the continual honking of vehicles and jostling back and forth as we swerved through traffic, I began to concentrate on my surroundings.

Many of the brick buildings on the side of the road were extremely run down, but being fully used and occupied by vendors and families.  The streets are littered with garbage and many of the sidewalks are uneven with broken areas that you would have to walk around - you would never be able to push a stroller around these city streets, that's for sure!  And the people... there were people EVERYWHERE!  I suppose that is entirely reasonable for a city of 20 million, but it takes some getting used to.  People are running to the bus, they are running across the road, winding their way through the cars, buses, rickshaws and motorbikes.  There are mothers and children and there are men walking, working and some just squatting by the side of the road with no apparent agenda.  There are well dressed, beautiful ladies in colorful saris and there are woman with worn out, dirt-stained saris.  There are men riding bicycles with home-made wooden trailers carrying large barrels, or mattresses or metal pipes.  There are rickshaw carts set up to sell treats: ice cream or chips or sweets or roti.  I saw a man with a large mirror set up on the brick wall with a stool, shaving another man's head. I guess the noisy, smelly, busy Delhi street was his storefront and that was his barber shop.  Oh, and every so often there was a man in front of his parked vehicle, or just randomly stopped on the side of the road, facing the trees - or just a brick wall - peeing.  I don't mean to be crude... it's just how it is here!

We drove on and on for what seemed like miles but probably wasn't very far at all considering the traffic and all the weaving around our driver had to do.  Then we were stopped near a large overpass and we saw a woman, modestly dressed with a headscarf, albeit dingy and well-worn, approaching the nearby vehicles, begging.  She came up to our window, her hands in a prayerful position, up by her face and was talking to us through the window.   She asked with a blank stare in her eyes, reaching toward us for a moment, then bringing them back in humble prayer position in front of her face.  Moments later, the traffic moved us forward and I was at a loss, not really knowing if I should have done anything.  I braced myself, thinking of how this was totally normal here.  I reasoned in my mind that she was perhaps one of the less needy, being a full grown woman.

A very short time later, traffic had us stopped again and another woman approached our window.  This time, she was younger, and she carried a young baby on her hip.  He was tiny, clothed in a dingy brown shirt, bare-bottomed against his mother's hip.  He looked to be about 8 months old and his hair was dirty and his eyes were crusty.  She approached my window and this little baby began to pat his tiny, chubby hand against my window, staring into our vehicle.  The mother pleaded and looked at us, holding out her hand, showing a couple coins.  She made motion of eating, obviously saying that they needed money for food.  Again, I felt in such a quandary.  I felt panicked, wondering how to appropriately respond.  My memories of the movie Slumdog Millionaire made me wonder if this woman was merely using the baby to get more money as a beggar - perhaps he wasn't even her child!  I wanted to give them some money, but we had only just exchanged our Canadian cash and had no small change to offer.  All too soon, the opportunity passed and our vehicle whisked us away down the road, away from the need.

After that point, with my heart melted and my eyes teary, I felt unable to forget the vision of the little baby innocently banging on my window, just inches away from me. I had to ask our host what should be done; how to react.  He told us that many of the beggars, particularly the able-bodied, older ones, treat begging as a profession.  As for the younger children, it was true that they were hungry, but there was a risk involved in handing money over to them because of the corrupted circles of slum-lords over them - people who were exploiting these children and demanding that they earn money for them.  I resolved to hand out a snack to the next child who came begging at our window, knowing that at least the food would not be taken away from them, and could be of use.  But the opportunity was missed for that day... before I knew it, we were driving through the rich area of town to do some sightseeing.  I felt a sense of loss, wishing that I could have a chance to re-do that experience and give the poor baby some crackers.

For the next little while, we looked in awe at the splendor of some of India's beautiful architecture.  Such an enormous contrast to the run down, common areas that we had seen thus far.  We stood and took a picture in front of an enormous palace, with heavy security and other tourists gawking at it's grandeur.  After some photo opportunities, we piled back into the vehicle and headed to a tourist district with shops and street vendors selling their trinkets.  We stepped out onto the street, and I was glad to have my feet on solid ground again, feeling a little car sick from the extremely intense driving experience.  The air was heavy with heat, humidity, the smell of smoke, burning incense and an occasional whiff of urine.  Everything was extraordinarily colorful with people selling saris, wall hangings, scarves and jewelery.  Multiple times we were approached by intent vendors "Madam... hello... Madam, come and see!" and having been experienced in the art of discouraging vendors in Thailand, I willfully avoided eye-contact and continued to walk forward.  After viewing the wares of a couple streets, we circled back to return to the vehicle to find some lunch.

Suddenly, at my side was a gorgeous young girl, probably 7 or 8, like my own daughter back home, with long curly hair flowing down and her aqua-marine sari accentuating her cocoa skin and brown eyes.  She carried several dozen loops of bead necklaces on her arm, and ran her fingers up and down the colorful beads.  "You buy?"  She asked me, and began to chatter away: "Just 10 rupees... 10 for 100 rupees... you will be my first customer" and she kept in step with me, dancing in front of me, showing off the beads.  I smiled at her, this pretty young girl who was so precious and cunning, but gently shook my head.  "No."  I replied.

She spent another 30 seconds, keeping up with me and chatting about how it was such a deal, that I should buy her necklaces.  I really wanted to buy them too, I was totally convinced. But once again, we had no change to offer, only large bills... and she was just one of thousands of street kids... and I couldn't help them all.

Later in the day, as we drove home from our outing, I remember thinking "What am I doing here?"  It would seem that I was in a place that would break my tender heart again and again, especially considering my soft spot for these beautiful, dark skinned children.  And I had lost the opportunity to offer food to any of the kids - we never did see any on the way back home because traffic kept us moving along at a consistent pace, and no little ones approached our vehicle, giving me a chance to reconcile the feeling of heartbreak.  I thought to myself that I could spend my days walking up and down the streets, handing out food to the hungry.  Yet, would it make a difference? - or just serve to make myself feel better, that I had done something, that I wasn't entirely helpless.

I have a lot more to see and learn and do here in India.  I don't think it will be easy.  I know my heart will be broken.  I don't know what I can change.  But I'm here... and I'll keep praying that God will use me and I hope you will pray for me too.

7 Days In India - Arrival

November 23, 11:45pm

We finally arrived in Delhi and followed the flow of people off the plane and out into the airport.  I knew I was definitely in Asia when I used the public restroom and the toilet was a "squatty potty".  It was as if Asia was saying to me: "Welcome back!"  Not exactly the warm welcome I was looking forward to after nearly 24 hours off travel!

We followed the throng of people down a long passageway then down an escalator in to a large open area that was crowded with hundreds of people, all competing for a good place in line to go through India's customs department.  Again, the crowds literally pressed against us with no regard for our personal space and in a more humid, warm climate, I felt the sweat begin to trickle down my back.

Yet, we were here!  And despite the exhausting journey, I was excited to leave this clean, westernized government building and step out into the night air where the smells, sounds and sights would tell me of India.  It was an exciting feeling to come out into the meeting area that was lined up with eager people waiting for family members, along with drivers holding up placards with names written on them.  We scanned the line and saw two young men holding a sign "Dan and Lisa" and I waved and we greeted our first new friends from Delhi.

They kindly helped up with our baggage and led us to a small - and I mean SMALL - van.  It was similar to a VW van, but even thinner and so tiny it almost felt like India must be the origin of the Smart-Car, except that they make smart-vans designed to transport large groups of people in a TINY space.

Very soon we learned that the honking of your horn is synonymous with signalling and making other drivers aware that you are about to crash into them if they don't get out of your path.  There is no typical sense of order in Indian driving, and the lines on the road are more decorative than meaningful.  Within two minutes of being seated on the back bench of this tin can - I mean 'tiny van', we came within 12 inches of careening into another vehicle on the road.  The style of driving is a continual game of "chicken" with the other vehicles. To get to your destination quickly, you squeeze into any space available whether it's in the middle of a proper lane, or on the shoulder of the road.  The result is that instead of the normal 2 lane highway, there is a much more "efficient" 4 or 5 "lanes" squeezed into the same amount of space which we would use for 2 cars back in Canada.  Oh, and that's not including the motorcycles and bicycles that wind their way through the congestion of traffic.

Being that it was the middle of the night, thankfully we didn't have to experience the swarms of vehicles that would normally be there... that would wait for the following day.  Soon enough, daylight would come and we could observe the culture, the people, and experience the traffic with greater clarity and intensity!

7 Days In India - Travelling

November 22, 2pm - Calgary Airport

I slept like a baby, and awoke thinking rather calmly: I'm going to India today.

I'll admit that I was teary-eyed, saying "goodbye" to all my little ones, and my sweet 5 year old was wailing and clinging to me, determined to keep me from going out the front door.  For a few minutes, my heart was shut inside the entryway of our home, with my children, as we drove away towards Calgary.  Would my little ones survive without me?  Would my little baby (only 23 months) grow up and learn all sorts of things while I was away?

Well, those worries all blew away as we traversed the highway from Lethbridge to Calgary.  In fact, we were quite literally blown with the incredible blast of wind that was gusting in from the mountains, towards us.  As we left our home, where was a wind warning for our area and tumble weeds - and some vehicles, even, were blowing forcefully across the highway and into the ditch!  (We saw one overturned trailer along Highway 2.)

We enjoyed a last "Canadian meal" - actually, we had sushi and terryaki beef - before we dropped our van off and hopped onto a shuttle to go to the airport.  I have to say that it was in that moment, as we left the van and everything familiar behind, that it suddenly began to feel real!  With a panicked look, I counted and re-counted our baggage - just 5 bags?  How could there be so few?  Then Dan and I smiled at one another, realising that we were without kids!  Yippeee!!! Free---eee---dommmmm!  It certainly simplified things when it came to traveling.

The reality of India came even closer to us when we were dropped off at the airport doors, right behind an Indian family all dressed for their pilgrimage home.  It reminded me of our last missions experience, on our way to Thailand.  When we lined up for our trans-Pacific flight in L.A., we were the ONLY white people... and we had 3 little blond-haired, blue-eyed children that only served to further single us out as the only non-Asians traveling on the flight.  It was so exciting, knowing that we were about to experience something so different and life changing!

Well, it's about time to board and Dan just switched his clock to India standard time: 3:12am.  Sheesh... it's already tomorrow and our journey has just begun.

On the plane, just after take-off:

I just heard an interesting announcement from the flight attendant - The first-class compartment will be served meals from the menu, created by top chefs.  The economy class will be served "carefully selected meals and beverages".  Hmmm... should I be jealous?  Just what does a "carefully selected meal" taste like?  What does it mean?  Apparently, it means delicious, as this picture below will show you.  And if fact, it was quite tasty - for airline food. 

"Delicious Meal" as seen on the orange label...

Amsterdam Airport - 9:50am

Although we are not yet in India, the Indian culture was beginning to press upon me - literally!  we were lined up in a switchback roped-off area, passing through airport security in order to board our plane to Delhi.  At this point, there were very few white people in our midst and I got a real taste of the manner in which Indians interact and relate in a crowd.  I noticed right away that the idea of "personal space" was not understood by Indians the way it is understood, and upheld, by Canadians.  Continually, I could feel the people in line behind me pressing closer, jostling my backpack and even making me wonder if I should keep an eye on my valuables!  Then, when the boarding call came, the entire crowd was pushing forward, all eager to acquire prime baggage space for their carry-on items, and settle themselves into their seats comfortably.  This was a lot different than I was used to, being a conservative Canadian, but I figured I'd better get used to it considering I'd soon be staying in a city inhabited by 20,000,000 people!

Next stop... India!

7 Days In India - Quick Impressions

No, this isn't where we're staying... this is the Prime Minister's house in Delhi!

Well, we've hardly been here for more than 12 hours, but we are attempting to immerse ourselves into the culture and went out for lunch today with the pastor, who also showed us a few sights.  Along the way, I saw many unusual and colorful examples of India's culture - all on the side of the road.  Here's a very brief and slightly humorous take on some of the elements of my Indian experience thus far.

Things to do on the side of the road in Delhi:

1.  Get your head shaved by an experienced road-side barber.

2.  Face yourself away from traffic and go pee.  (Yes, seriously, I saw at least 4 guys peeing on the side of the road since we've arrived!)

3.  Avoid the herd of stray, mangy dogs or just lay down on the grass and hang out with them.

4.  Get a treat from the "Mother Dairy" ice cream vendor with his rickshaw cart.

5.  Hang up your laundry in a tree to dry and become breezy fresh - if you like the pollution/urine/incense-scented dryer sheet smell, that is.

That's all for now!  Stay tuned and I'll post more of our trip's adventures very soon!