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!

7 Days in India - Background

My love affair with India started many years ago.  My first neighborhood that I can remember, was in the heart of Northeast Calgary, and we were surrounded by "foreigners" - gorgeous people with dark eyes; bronzed skin and rich, black hair - unless it was covered up by a turban.  To be honest, the men with turbans scared me a little bit - but not because I was racist in any way - I was a modern-world child, raised on Sesame Street, and indoctrinated with the mindset that we should love everyone and accept everybody; no matter their skin colour.

No, the reason turbans signaled a slight fear in me as a child resulted from a slight incident involving myself and my brother one afternoon.  He was helping me ride his two wheeler, and I steered poorly, careening into somebody's parked car!  We ended up causing the side-view mirror to be knocked to the side and I think it was even a little broken!  A dark skinned man in a salmon colored turban came running down his front walkway, yelling at us "dumb kids" for crashing into his vehicle.  Innocent as we were, at around 5 and 7 years of age, we still held responsibility in damaging this man's car.  Thankfully my father was nearby and made amends, promising to make the mirror as good as new. (And of course, we were in big trouble!)

What I remember in particular about my desire to see India starts with a church service in the earlier part of my teen years.  A man came to our church one day to talk about his life as a pastor in India.  He was a man that seemed to be clothed in humility - not trying to impress us with his manner of speech or dress; but a sincere, truly grateful man who wanted to be a blessing to our rich, comfortable North American congregation.  His black hair was speckled with grey and there were lines of fatigue and stress on his forehead.  You could tell that he was a man who had been through much in his lifetime... a man who had given much.  And indeed, he told us stories of the persecution he and his wife and children faced as believers in a resistant culture.  This is not just name-calling and unpopularity that they suffered, but real, physical persecution.

He told us of the unwanted, the orphans and the desolate lives of those living in slums.  He also told of of the atrocity of bride burning - where young women are literally burned alive because their family cannot offer an adequate dowry for their daughters.  Some women, who manage to escape, are terribly disfigured from the violent abuse and are reduced to being outcasts, with no hope or future to speak of.  As a very young woman, I was completely horrified and heart-broken at the thought of these events.

Since then, I had a deep desire to travel to this land of intense culture... so rich and vibrant and crowded and apparently smelly!  Surprisingly, the closest I have come thus far to a deeper understanding of Indian culture was in the small industrial city of Sriracha, Thailand, when we lived there as missionaries 6 years ago.  We had a family living directly across from us, and beside us in our community who were from India!  My neighbor, Madpa was kind and helpful and her husband was a manager in a factory nearby.  It seemed that Indians made successful managers and often worked in Thailand because they were more naturally assertive and motivated than the locals tended to be.  I would often hear through our open windows the pleasant sound of Madpa and her family chattering amicably with one another in Hindi or some other Indian dialect.  Another memory I have was how Madpa and her friend from across the street would lace up their runners, and dressed in their beautiful, colorful saris, would go for an early evening walk almost every night!  I secretly wished I could join them, but just didn't feel "cool" enough... after all, I was just a shy white girl in Thailand... and they were gorgeous, talkative Indian women.

Now my bags are packed for our trip to India and I am cautiously excited for our journey to begin.  The caution comes from the thought that we just need to get ourselves on the plane, on our way, and then I can really relax and become excited about the adventure that is about to unfold.  Now I will really get to visit India - not in documentary form or on the pages of a magazine, but in real life with full-color and full-smell!

The Journey - A Chronicle of Discipline

I grew up on the Prairies.  The land rolls  on and on, adorned with combines, barbed wire fences and miles of cropland.  On one side, the fields seem to crumple and burst into mountains, like rumpled covers on my bed, bringing a sense of disruption into an otherwise smooth terrain.

Today I thought about the life of a farmer.  If I were to stare at my naked field in the spring, and begin to imagine all the hungry people who needed me to provide wheat for bread, and how I must turn this soil into food for thousands, I would be feeling a great deal of responsibility.  Before I know it, my imaginary field is littered with people, all hungry; all with their hands reaching towards me, eyes wide and accusing - waiting for me to provide.

If I focus on the goal of farming: simply that I must produce wheat for bread, I may get lost in the enormous responsibility.  For indeed, my long-term perspective states that in order to be a profitable, successful farmer, I must turn my cash into a crop and the crop into cash, BUT, there are many steps along the way.  Any good farmer knows that growing things take time.  You cannot produce overnight - no matter what people may demand of you, and no matter how responsible you feel to provide.  The field must be made ready; soil tilled and enriched with manure, fertilizer.  The seeds must be buried in the dark earth, hidden away.  Then, through a period of darkness and light, rain and sun, wind and calm - the little plants grow, and are brought to maturity for harvest.  The job of the farmer is to adhere to the schedule of plating, fertilizing, irrigating (if needed) and... waiting.

Discipline seems much the same way.  Take for example my goals in parenting.  It is daunting to think of what I dream I could have with my children - amazing relationships full of deep, meaningful conversations throughout their teen years, spanning into their journey to adulthood.  I won't settle for anything less!  I'm not just here to "raise" them, feed them, clothe them and the like - I want to KNOW them and connect to them.  So, that is my goal; my harvest is true relationship and companionship with my grown kids.  Therein lies the panic.  I jump ahead in my mind, thinking of what I must become and how far I have to go; how much work must be exerted, how much time, energy and effort I ought to apply to achieve healthy, above-and-beyond relationships.

I don't slow down to see the steps.  Plant a seed, water it, wait....  Plant another seed: a kind word, considerate actions, sensitivity... water with grace and encouragement, wait patiently... and they grow.

The discipline is in the waiting.  The commitment to discipline comes from questioning the goals - is it worth it? and then discerning "how do I do it?".  I take tiny, concentrated baby steps.  A cherry seed planted won't be a fragrant, blossoming cherry tree overnight.  I can't become an endurance runner simply by desiring to run a marathon (or half-marathon).  I speak from experience... progress is slow - you take your first step, then each step becomes another city block that you've run, and more steps turn into another mile, until, one day after much persistence and discipline, you run the race!  I didn't sit and dream of being a runner - and after much thought, introspection and pondering was suddenly able to run a long distance!  It is not the thought or desire that gets you to your destination, but the dedication and commitment - the daily grind.

You cannot reach what you have not set your sights upon.  Each journey requires a destination.  But today I wanted to address the issue of self-doubt, frustration, fear and the common question: Can I even do it? Will I ever make it?  I ask myself these questions often. 

The trail winds; a path that seems under construction with numerous detours, speed traps and uneven pavement with a sharp shoulder that reminds me of the highway from Hope to home (this is a real road - one of the mountain roads between British Columbia and southern Alberta!).  It's an uphill, steep, treacherous mountain road with a toothpick of a guardrail between you and the edge of a cavernous valley.  Often the passenger in our family vehicle, I've stared down the gaping, hungry hole of rocks and deathly steep descent, thinking - praying, really: "God keep our vehicle on the road!"  We maneuver the curves and bends along the way - the hills and valleys, and then, suddenly it all smooths out, and we're back in our territory - the flat, utterly smooth and barren prairies with only the howling wind for company.

Sometimes you have to take life and cut it down to bite-sized pieces in order to keep yourself from gagging and choking.  You can't become a great parent, spouse, runner, businessman, leader, or even friend overnight - but it is applying the right attitude, coupled with the right actions, day by day, little by little that leads you to success.  The discipline is in the journey; living with foresight and committing to little steps even on the "bad days" and the "dreary days".

The deep, dark soil is rich and baby plants have sprouted - some more quickly than others.  Daily I will water, nourish and tend to my crop - investing into the lives entrusted into my care.  I won't give up on the outcome - but I'll wait, knowing that the harvest is inevitable.

(My beginning thoughts on discipline can be found in this previous post: A Discipline Craving.)

The "Expert" That Made Me Mad

A couple days ago, I was quite angered by an article written in a local junk mail flyer/newspaper.  A father and motivational speaker/author, was writing an "expert" article on families.   Part of this article mentioned the importance of maintaining peace in the home and he stated that he had never once raised his voice at his now 8 year old son.  He claimed that it was completely unnecessary in the process of communication and would only serve to demean and belittle his child if he yelled.

"HA!" I scoffed angrily, in my head.  "ONE KID?  ONE MEASLY KID?  Try having six to contend with 24 hours a day, 7 days a week....!!!! Then we'll see who's yelling!"

For a while I thought about how freakishly hard it has been for me to control my anger lately, particularly when it comes to yelling and raising my voice.  It's not like I ever say "You stupid kid!  You are an idiot!"  Of course, I would never demean my children in such a hurtful way.  In fact, more often than not, I sound like some sort of coach or military captain, yelling "Let's go!!!" or "Stop right now!" or "Everyone, sit down and shut up!" (Except, I would never, ever say "shut up" to my kids... I actually say "Be quiet" or "Not a word" if I need their silence.)

The problem herein, lies in the volume.  Granted, my house is noisy.  I have a loud, talkative husband who passed down his noisy genes to my children.  So if I am to compete with six people making loud noise all at once, I practically need a megaphone - or some lessons in voice projection.

So back to the "expert" article - what on earth could this guy know about yelling?  He doesn't cope with what I have to handle, day in and day out.  Yet.... conviction pricked my heart.  Isn't this an issue that I have been frustrated with lately?  Isn't this exactly one of the things I want to change in my household?  I desire greatly to deal graciously with my children.  I want to love them with real love - God's kind of love that is patient, kind, self-controlled and abundant.

A spark of inspiration hit me this afternoon that may be a helping hand towards my issue of being a recovering yell-a-holic.  How bout a yell-jar?  Just like a swear-jar, I would have to throw in a quarter every time I yell at the kids.  Then, to be appropriate, I will have to use that cash to buy the kids ice cream or some sort of treat.

I don't want to minimize this issue, but I believe a lot my "problem" is simply an issue of a bad habit.  Also, I recognize that along with the consequences of "paying" for each time I break the rule and yell or raise my voice, I need to tune my heart to a different channel and work on the feelings that leave me feeling so out of control.  With each quarter that I toss into the jar, there will be a prayer lifted up; asking for wisdom, patience, peace and most of all love for my children.  

While this plan may appear to primarily be a "slap-on-the-wrist" sort of consequence, I know that the constant reminder of my actions, and becoming accountable for my faults will inevitably either cause me to change or harden my heart.  Frankly, I'm steering towards the former.  In the end, each quarter will represent a prayer, and an apology.  I don't want to make light of this - rather, I wish to use it as a tool to cultivate change, growth and true repentance in my house.  I want my kids to stop yelling and fighting, but I cannot expect them to change if I am giving a bad example.

"Yell-Jar    25 cents per offense"

Well... here goes...  I better get to the bank and get a roll of quarters.

Let the journey begin:

A Discipline Craving (?)

Discipline is one of those four-letter-words... er.. make that ten-letter-words - that makes many of us feel either weary, guilty, pathetically weak, or simply annoyed.  Discipline is that thing that makes you get up at 5:45am, so you can go to the gym and participate in a "Body Boot Camp" as part of a New Year's resolution.  It is what is needed to lose weight, create habits, complete projects, keep food on the table and gas in the tank as well as being a key ingredient in keeping your important relationships from growing stagnant.

Here are some of the areas which I have recognized in my life that require discipline:

• Flossing my teeth at least once a day.  No matter what.  Even when I'm too tired and I'm getting to bed too late and I just want to flop down and pass out...

• Exercising even after I've spent a lazy week or two on vacation - eating way too much junk food.

• Getting up in the morning to homeschool my kids - especially when there is no buzzer to tell me when school starts, there's no dress code and the house is reverberating with the noise of kids who are running around on all fours, barking like a herd of wild coyotes. 

• Saying "no" to the extra large slice of chocolate brownie cake and saying "yes" to a heap of fresh veggies.

• Being intentional with my relationship with my spouse - not being given to laziness, but really paying attention to his needs and loving him in a way that he can appreciate.

• Committing myself to a purposeful journey towards God:  prayer, meditation, Bible study, along with  fellowship and accountability with other believers (all essential to further my Christian walk). 

It's ironic.  I crave discipline, yet fight it with every step.  I used to envision myself entering the army as a recruit - because then someone would "whip me into shape" or at least scream at me abusively until I accomplished whatever they required of me.

You'd think that six kids would be an aggressive enough force to establish a greater sense of discipline in my life, yet still, I waver.

Over the next few weeks I will be studying and pondering the idea of discipline.  Perhaps I'll even venture into the extreme and attempt a few new habits that bring me to greater heights of this disciplined life that I seek.  Yet that brings me to another question: Will I be happy by virtue of the fact that I am more disciplined?

All I can say is that I get so frustrated with life passing me by - with life feeling like a crisis and being filled with panic due the fact that I am neither prepared emotionally or physically to face each day.

So I'm putting it out there into cyberspace... I am pursing a more disciplined path. Stay tuned to see what transpires...

Balloon Despair

As I opened the door of the little community center following my friend's baby shower, I was bombarded by the tormented howls of my 3 year old boy, running towards me from the parking lot.  Thinking that he may have fallen and hurt himself on the way out to the car, I exclaimed "What happened, what's going on?" to the older children.

Little Ben, with tears rolling down his cheeks, blubbered tragically: "My ba-woon... it's gone!" and pointed to the sky at a rapidly disappearing green helium balloon on a yellow ribbon.  Relief filled my heart that there was no injury; no scrapes or bruises, yet I couldn't help but sympathize at the heart-felt innocence with which my son continued to mourn, his little finger pointing and his eyes wide with terror at the tiny speck that faded into the clouds, far above the city sky-line.

Instinctively, I knelt down, holding him close and tried to ease his suffering and sorrow.  I told him that the balloon was going on a journey, way high in the sky, and that it was having an adventure in the clouds. 

"But it's gone!" he protested, as I tugged his little hand and moved him towards the waiting van.  The tears still poured down, and unreasonable, over-tired protesting manifested itself.

"Maybe someone can share their balloon with you!" I suggested, hoping to offset the tragedy and distract him.  "And we have lots of candy in the van from the pinata!" I bribed.

Thankfully, one of my older children took pity upon their younger brother and offered their balloon to him.  I commanded the children to hang tight to each of their strings as we loaded everyone up, bucked them and shut everyone (and every balloon) safely inside.

Driving down the freeway a short time later, the cutest words ever came out of my 3 year old's mouth:

"Mommy," he asked, "Can we go to the airport and get in a plane and find my ba-woon?"

Awwww!!! My heart melted at his ingenious, yet impossible plan.  Sadly, I had to explain that the "ba-woon" was too far away and we wouldn't be able to find it - not to mention the exorbitant cost of chartering a jet (or helicopter) and taking off on a futile mission such as this.

Oh to be young and have the most tragic occasion be the loss of a party balloon.  The pain is great and traumatic in nature, bursting forth with wailing and despair - but can be remedied by the simplest of gestures - a sharing sibling or a bright yellow lollipop.  If only it were so easy.

I don't have a heartwarming parable or creative quip to share along with the imagery of a balloon sailing beyond reach.  Frankly, I'm at a loss to bring closure to the vivid picture that is a comparable depiction of my own life at times - hope drifting far beyond grasp.   And I know that I'm not the only one who struggles with hope and despair; success and failure; good days and bad.  Sometimes life is beyond control.  Sometimes (sorry to burst your bubble) BAD THINGS HAPPEN.  And worst of all, there are times when we feel powerless to fix it.

I take heart in the only thing that is sure and true.  God's mercies are new every morning.  He is faithful.   He is the most secure, most real, most true part of my life. (Lam. 3:22)  

For the mountains shall depart And the hills be removed, But My kindness shall not depart from you, Nor shall My covenant of peace be removed," Says the Lord, who has mercy on you.  "O you afflicted one, Tossed with tempest, and not comforted... In righteousness you shall be established; You shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; And from terror, for it shall not come near you. (Isaiah 54:10, 11& 14)

The Pedestal

Once in a while, I find myself basking in the glow of a compliment, often related to being "super-woman" or something ridiculous like that.  Like any attention-obsessive woman, the words will roll back and forth though my head for the next few hours or days until they are blotted out by some self-incriminating judgement which I pronounce upon myself.

So is it wrong to aspire to perfection - or, near-perfection?  Because I know I'll never look perfect with my stretchmarks and newly found grey-silvery hairs, but at least I can work on my behavior and try to become as "perfect" as I can...  Is there a problem with trying to be the "best" mom and wife that I can be?

I try to be all that I can to my children.  I give them the opportunities I never had, and I try to make sure they are well-dressed (while maintaining budget-friendly standards) and I spend time with them, doing all sorts of fun, family-friendly activities.  I try to be a kind and patient mom, and even though I get angry far too often, I think I usually am doing a decent job as I attempt to connect to my kids and remain attentive to their sensitive, impressionable hearts.

I do my best to be a great wife which involves not talking about diapers and baby-barf all the time, and occasionally dressing up.  Which leads me to the fact that I try to be an interesting wife... so I do my best to keep up to speed with my husband's voracious appetite for knowledge of current events, finances and the latest theological debate.  I know he doesn't want a wife who will just smile brightly with a vacant stare in her eyes and say: "That's nice, dear!" (having no understanding of what was just said!).

Then there are the "spiritual" hoops which I attempt to jump though, often guiltily, being dictated by what I feel I "should" be doing, not necessary out of love and relationship to my God.  But I work at it, and I struggle - trying to read my Bible and journal and pray... and it keeps me going, and I have another check-mark on my list of requirements to be a good person - a good wife, mother and leader.

Is this what I am, though?  All this stuff I do is easily shattered by a bad day.  I loose my temper and freak out one too many times - or worse yet, I wake up feeling depressed, weary and uninspired, making the entire day something I just have to "get though" and I miss out experiencing the vivacious, joy-filled relationship my family represents.

We try to be super-mommas and we fail.  We try to be Martha Stewart and the stock boils over, the garden doesn't produce and our decoupage looks like the art of a 3 year old.  We try to be champions of spirituality: ready, and equipped with all the right answers but sometimes we just have to say "I don't understand".  We can attempt to be an exceptional lover - always encouraging, always attractive and always able to get that spark going - but some days the words are few and tense, there's too much dirty laundry and you're barely coping with the utter exhaustion to do much more than mumble "G'night" after circumventing another day of near-financial, relational and general household ruin.

Life gets to us.  Yet still we strive.  We hold up a pedestal, and scramble to stay perched upon it's lofty height.  Why?

I don't think it is wrong to have goals.  I don't think it is wrong to want your home, your kids and your self to look nice.  The wrong comes from misguided priorities; setting your eyes and focus upon an illustrious image.

Some days, you just need a swift kick in the head to keep from obsessing about minor issues - like insisting that all of the tangles are combed out of your child's hair before stepping outside the door, and not inviting people into your home (offering the gift of friendship and hospitality) because you are embarrassed about the finger-smudged walls, crumbs under the table and your threadbare, cheap furniture.  Because once you uphold your appearance and behavior higher than the act of loving others, and even in a sense loving yourself, you've strayed into dangerous territory.

Lady, it's time to get off the pedestal...

Sometimes I try really hard, and hold myself to far too great a standard because I just don't really love and accept myself.  I'm not even really talking about a self-esteem issue, though.  I don't believe that we should run around, saying "I'm okay, you're okay, let's just accept our issues because everyone is SPECIAL.."  Yuck... blech!  On the contrary, I know that I HAVE ISSUES.  I screw up.  I'm selfish like the rest of society and I let people down.  Rather than acceptance based on behavior or acceptance based on just being "human", I know that I need to seek a far more eternal, profound anchor.  My anchor and hope rests solely in God's love and acceptance of me.  He loves me.  Rather than a pedestal, I need an anchor.  I need something that will tether me to earth, give me roots, allow me to accept my feet of clay.  I can't be all, do all, and look like "all that", all the time!

I have noticed that the true barometer of my actions, and whether I am striving or not, is seen primarily in my happiness and contentment.

If I decide to bake 5 dozen cookies and play in the leaves with the kids, followed by cooking up a gourmet meal and wearing heels and lipstick, and I can do this with joy - not with stress and striving, then it's okay!  When I am over-extending, straining and torturing myself to uphold a certain ideal or image - it's wrong!

So what knowledge have I acquired though this dialogue?

I started out, driving down the road, alone in my dark-green, messy mini-van, pondering my propensity to try to be "perfect".   I shouldn't try to be a certain way to impress others or even to impress myself.  I'm certain that I will continually teeter-totter between right motivation and wrong motivation, but I know well enough to sincerely check my heart and consider whether I am doing things for the right reason.  I know I can't live on top of a pedestal.  I can't set my heart and happiness on a superficial image of who I wish I could be - because I will continually let myself down.

I wish I could end this posting with some magical phrase that neatly wraps up the point I am trying to make.  Unfortunately, this is far too abstract to be whittled down to one sentence.  Heart issues are complicated.  What I will say though is this:  I'm okay with not being perfect.  I know that my worth and merit is not based on all that I do.  However, I will still do my best in all areas of life.  It's not wrong to challenge yourself and work hard - but it is important to be cautious about idolizing a certain image or ideal.

"Super-Momma" is not exactly the right term for me - I'm more of a "Super (but not perfect) Momma".