Asian Souvenirs

I'm home!

Well friends, I brought two significant things back with me from India this time: Malaria and a job. I suppose I didn't "officially" obtain these things until a few days after returning to the States. Both happened in Toledo, Ohio, where I will be moving to in a little over a month. But they did originate in Asia.

Here's the story:

One fine morning back in Kazakhstan I opened my email to find a message from Mike Fortune, pastor of the Toledo First Seventh-day Adventist Church. He had somehow got ahold of my resume and wanted to interview me for a youth/children's pastor position at Toledo First. I was stunned. I had been actively looking for a place in church ministry since I got back from Europe last fall, but I had all but given up on finding a post. I was signed up and ready to go to Regent College in Vancouver, B.C., having accepted the possibility that perhaps I'd misunderstood God's plans for me, or that perhaps those plans had changed. I was even starting to get excited about the prospects of going back to school and living close by my family and friends. Toledo hit me like a slap in the face, and for the rest of my time in Asia I really struggled through the decision-making process. Here I discovered a lesson about the importance of living lightly, spontaneously: As James says, to qualify my plans with "if the Lord wills it, I will do such and such." I hate living with uncertainty, and so when a plan seems tentative I always try to solidify alternate ones (like possitively-for-sure going to Regent because waiting for a job in ministry was taking so long). Several months ago I felt the Spirit telling me to "quit playing guessing games" about my future, that God would yet surprise me if I could just learn to be content with uncertainty. Well, "SURPRISE!!"

From Kazakhstan I flew back to Delhi and trained directly to Kolkata. Oh, it was glorious. It was so, so good. I saw old friends and made new ones. I revisited the sites of my most precious human memories. Some, I found, had been demolished or were soon to be demolished (the Salvation Army and Farhan hotels have BOTH been condemned, and for India that's saying a LOT about their conditions). So I had to make a new temporary home, this time at Hotel Paragon (still on Sudder Street, though). I think that's where I got chomped on by the blood-sucking, parasite-infested anapholes mosquito that gave me Malaria. The required incubation period seems about right.

After Kolkata I took a little pilgrimage back to Darjeeling, in the foothills of the Himalayas. I stayed in a little cabin on a rolling tea garden where I wrote, sipped tea, and ate steamed momos non-stop for a whole week. It was grand.

I had two very exciting and unexpected train adventures after that. The first took me to Guwahati, the capital of Assam in the far northeast. I have become slightly over-confident in my travels, it's true. I know Indian Railways like the back of my hand. Well, this "knowledge" was my undoing on my trip back from Darjeeling. I first took a jeep down the mountain to New Jalpaiguri, where my train to Sealdah (Kolkata) was to board. I arrived at platform 5 (where my train was scheduled to leave from) just before 8:00 (my scheduled departure time), and nonchalantly climbed on board the train there that said "Sealdah" on the outside. I found my bunk and settled in for the night, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was not quite right. The next morning when I woke up I discovered that the train I was on had actually originated in Sealdah and was going the exact opposite direction (Guwahati). Ha! I laughed my head off after the initial shock. I was also a little pleased with myself. Tourists are not able to purchase tickets to the northeast without special permits that are sometimes difficult to obtain, and here I had snuck on board without a ticket at all! I enjoyed my morning in Guwahati, but thankfully was able to find a cheap flight back to Kolkata so I could keep my appointments in Kolkata and Varanasi. It's too bad I didn't have more time to spend illegally in Assam. :)

From Kolkata I trained back to Varanasi to run some errands and to say farewell to the Sharmas (Lala, Vibha, Vinayak, and Vinit). Vinayak insisted on putting henna on my hands, and I simply couldn't tell him No. I was a little chagrined at the thought of turning up in Toledo for my interview the following week with red tatoos all over my palms, but what could I do? I don't think anyone would have been able to resist Vinayak's cute, earnest little face.

Now here is my second train adventure:

I had a reserved 2nd class ticket leaving for Delhi in the afternoon that day, but I was having such a lovely time with the Sharmas that I decided to forgo my seat and travel on a general, unreserved ticket later that night. I have never, not once, traveled 1st class AC on Indian Railways (I'm a cheap backpacker snob, what can I say?) And though I have wanted to for some time, until August 18th I had also never traveled overnight on a general ticket. I always had too much stuff to carry with me, and I feared it would walk away unnoticed in such a dense crowd of people. But on August 18th I did it, and HOLY COW was it ever an experience!

I have often traveled general class for short distances before, and each time the coaches have been incredibly crowded. But always I have at least been able to find a small corner to crouch down in. But this time I was traveling on the Shiv Ganga "Superfast Express," one of Indian Railway's most popular (and hence, populous) routes. It is a wonder that I was even able to push myself physically inside the train compartment and that I was not crushed to death. Indeed, there was one point in the night where I very nearly almost passed out because I could not inhale properly due to the crushing pressure on my lungs (thankfully I didn't have a wounding fall, because all the other tightly packed bodies held me up straight). I stood for hours that night, on one foot because there wasn't space on the floor for two. Finally we worked out an arrangement so that we could sit down in shifts during the wee hours of the morning. When my turn came I had to sit on the laps of two people. I had two little boys sprawled out over me, a man sleeping on each shoulder, and several sets of legs pinching mine in uncomfortably on all sides. It was almost more agreeable to stand! There have been cases of train passengers arriving dead from suffocation at their final destinations in India. Now I understand why. I can honestly say that I feared for my life at certain points during that trip.

So those were my two great train adventures, and what adventures they were! I spent one more night in Delhi after that before having a visit with Cherry and Varinder and a last momo meal. (Mmm.... Momos...) Varinder is a beautiful Sikh friend who shared with me about how communal meals are taken at Sikh Gurdwaras. I want to learn more about this, because it seemed to me very much like how the New Testament church must have taken meals together ("sharing everything"). At Gurdwaras the rich, the poor, the famous, and the ordinary, all share together in a simple common meal (eating together is considered very intimate in eastern culture). It is an act of unity and celebration, as Varin explained it to me, a place where hierarchical structures and status symbols are left outside. I liked that very much. I wonder what such a meal-sharing time would look like in a western-style church setting?

On August 20th I flew to Seattle and grabbed some fresh clothes before flying back east the next day for my interview. I was met by Shawn Flack, Toledo First church member and tech/sound-system extraordinaire. He and his fabulous wife Mindy put me up for the weekend and ended up looking after me in ways I'm sure they never imagined they would beforehand! Steve and Kendra Bills were also terrific people with whom I ate my first state-side caesar salad in months. That first Friday at lunch I felt like I was going to pass out, but I attributed my body aches to exhaustion and took a heavy dose of ibuprofen before heading early to bed. All day Saturday and through my interview I felt like I had a terrible flu, but I refused to admit that something was wrong. Finally on Sunday morning Mindy and Steve (both being medical people) insisted on taking me to ER after a night of pretty intense fever and chills. Sure enough, I had Malaria. I was diagnosed with P. Falciparum, the deadliest and most drug-resistant kind. You can guess I was a fascinating case study for med students at the University of Toledo Medical Center!

The Malarone they gave me didn't seem to do the healing trick, and Tuesday morning found me back in ER at the insistence of Toledo's infectious disease specialists. They drew more blood and determined that I actually did not have P. Falciparum, but rather the milder, recurring kind. (Great.) I also had a UTI. Two Indian doctors (whom I was relieved to see) pumped me full of enough Bactrim and Mefloquine to kill a legion of rats I'm sure, and then sent me home with a 14-day Primaquine prescription. In Africa I took 250 mgs of Mefloquine per week as a Malaria preventative, and it made me dizzy for the whole trip. You can't imagine what I looked like staggering through the airport after swallowing 1000 mgs of Mefloquine in one DAY! People must have thought I was drunk.

Well, I'm back on my feet now. It took almost two weeks, but I'd say I'm up to 90%. Now for a little more about the job:

Amazingly, the good people at Toledo First offered me the position (in spite of my hennad hands, wrinkled clothes, travel-weathered hair, and tropical disease-- whoever said you had to look good for an interview?) I was extremely impressed by the Toledo First community. They were obviously a very committed group of people, with a mind for community outreach and practical spirituality. I loved the questions they asked me in my interview, things like, "What two things, if we said them now, would make you not want to come and work with us?" This post is getting ridiculously long, so I won't drag it out further with more details about the interview. But my impression was that the Toledo First church is the sort of community anyone would would be proud to belong to. They struck me as creative, fresh, fearless, and ready and willing to try new things. They were supportive, warm, and joy-filled. These days we hear so many stories of sedentary congregations unwilling to change, unable to love, and bound by quarrels of the past. I did not sense this spirit at Toledo First-- not in the least. They are a people with vision.

I did not accept the position the night of the interview, because my head was just swimming with Malaria. I wanted some clarity before I said yes. But now I have said yes. And I'm glad. I still cannot believe that after everything that's happened this year, God is finally fulfilling the purpose for which (I believe) I came back from Europe. I will arrive in Toledo mid October-- exactly a year after I began this odyssey of love and joy and fragile (shockingly resilient) reawakened Christian confidence. What a year of beauty I have had-- beautiful wandering, healing, hoping, hurting-- beautiful belonging. I cannot adequately express my gratitude for the gifts I've been given these last twelve months, even in spite of the sad times that have come to my family. Yes, I'm glad.

So that's all for now, friends. Below is a You Tube promo for the first event I'll be in Toledo for at the end of October ("Tent City"). You'll need to pause the music on My Playlist to the right of this entry before you hit start. It is VERY cool.

Ultimate Workout- India 2008

Forgive the loooong delay. So much has happened I last wrote. I'll have to go back to retrace my steps. I'm in Kazakhstan now, substitute teaching at an English language institute for a week and a half. Wow! Life is so weird. I'll have to write more about my adventures in both Kazakhstan and Kyrgizstan next time. Below is a little meditation on Maranatha's recent Ultimate Workout India project. For those of you who don't know, UW is short term mission trip designed to challenge teenagers in the areas of spirituality and leadership. It had an enormous impact on me throughout my teen years. I mean, ENORMOUS. Anyway, here's what I wrote for Maranatha's magazine-- it'll help you understand where my heart has been this summer. I don't know what it will look like after they edit and publish it:

We just had an Ultimate Workout. It was rigorous and real: that’s what made it a workout. And it broke even my most wild expectations. After years of advising other fellow Ultimate Workout participants not to box in God with narrow hopes and calculated plans for personal growth, I still find myself falling for the game. God graciously smashed my dreams this year, delivering a truth more lasting—more ultimate—than any short-term spiritual high I could have asked for.

Two days after the project I am left sitting here in an air-conditioned room tracing the face of each participant in the jumbo-glossy group photo we had taken in front of the Taj Mahal. Each teen came with a story and went home with an added chapter unique to their own. 17 year-old ______ signed up from ____ because of her fascination with Indian culture and her desire to make a difference in the lives of others. Recently the idea of studying theology after high school entered her mind. Ultimate Workout gave her the opportunity to think that possibility through in a compelling environment. _______, 18, challenged me with his boyish energy and generous laughter, but most of all, with his genuine pursuit of a loving and compassionate God. ___ hopes to return to India as a school teacher one day.

I will never forget these people, and I don’t think they will soon forget Ultimate Workout-India, either.

Ultimate Workout-India introduced its first annual project last year in Orissa. The target volunteer group has been teens with past mission trip experience—particularly Ultimate Workout experience—and those young people seeking the most intense leadership and spiritual growth opportunities. We came to the project this year with lofty ideals. But by the grace of God, we fast found ourselves confronted with the reality of our human brokenness. The project scope was to help prepare for the opening of the Kadapa Adventist School in Andhra Pradesh, a new facility working closely with a program called Adventist Child India (ACI). ACI provides sponsorships for Adventist village children whose families make less than two dollars a day to come and study as borders at the Kadapa School. Our work for this UW-India had five components: interaction with the children at the school, construction of a wall around the compound, landscaping and beautifying of the campus, sanding of the new 3-child bunk beds for the dormitories, and prayer and visitation in the local villages.

We hit day one hard, mastering the art of block-laying and bogenvelia-bush planting in short order. The teamwork and group camaraderie was terrific and I remember being extremely grateful for the teens God had brought to India this year. But warm fuzzy feelings get stretched on mission trips where the sun shines hot, personalities grate, and unfamiliar living conditions strip away the comfortable borders we build for ourselves at home. One particularly sobering setback came on day three of our project: a wave of the stomach flu washed through our group, knocking two-thirds of the participants down flat on their backs. Discouragement threatened as we watched our newly-planted bogenvelias wither away under the hot sun.

Though undesirable from a human standpoint, these circumstances gave us a hard, honest look at ourselves. We struggled to comprehend how as individuals we deal with discomfort, heat, illness, and the reality of life and death in something as simple as a flowering tree. Sometimes the revelations were disappointing. We found ourselves to be complainers. We were tempted by exhaustion and apathy and the weight of our shattered expectations. Other times found us deeply humbled at what God was able to accomplish even through our limitations. After the sickness passed we made our way back to regroup by the bogenvelias. Brokenness begs teachability, and day by day—through trial and error—we learned how to keep our plants alive. First we regulated our watering times. Next we tried manure. Finally the school children taught us to build little circular walls around the bushes so that they could retain moisture better. The work we did was not grand or earth-shattering, but it was truth-telling in that it required such virtues as patience, discernment, consistency, and faithfulness. For me the plant nursery was a marvelous parable of how we nurture people, indeed, how God nurtured our group bit by bit in spite of our incredible resistance. His hand prevailed.

Generosity is God’s response to our clenched fists. It pours over us whether or not we receive, because it is his initiative. We saw it at work so many times this year. It came through in glorious sunsets watched from rooftops with new friends. It poured from the hearts of villagers who invited us into their homes for prayer and shelter from monsoon rains. The girls on our team slept in the same building as the young students of the Kadapa school. One morning I was feeling particularly grumpy— a trio of girls came up wanting to know if I could remember their names. I was incensed. With hundreds of children swarming the grounds of the Kadapa school, how could they actually expect me to remember each of their names? I brushed past them with obvious annoyance, seeking a room where I could close the door to their pushy demands. But before I could reach such mock security I was ambushed by twenty little girls who pulled my bewildered face down to their level and showered me with kisses.

The holiness of these moments pressed upon me with final clarity during the last Friday night worship our group shared together. We organized a communion service and decorated a rooftop with candles for special ambiance. But that evening was particularly windy, and even our best efforts couldn’t stop the lights from blowing out. We were angry and disappointed until we looked up into the night sky and saw the stars. They shone much greater and more luminous than the silly wax candles we were trying so hard to keep lit. God must have been laughing.

Looking back now, again, on the faces of this year’s participants, I am filled with wonder and gratitude over the joy that is available to those who recognize their inadequacy. Hardships invite broken people to stop and recognize the active and unchanging presence of God in all circumstances. This is the greatness of our weakness—the kind we boast in. And I do boast now, two days after this UW- India. I boast in the God of surprises—the God who showed us the truth that he is greater than our weakness. Indeed, it is in our weak places that he is most strong.