Trigger

It was a busy day yesterday: lots to take in, lots to deal with. I went to sleep at about 10:30 mostly due to exhaustion--a good exhaustion--but that was not to last. By 3:30 a.m., my mind was wide awake, processing, not interested in sleep. This is not new for me. It happens often. I can only take in so much before I have to stop and think about it. I am great in a crisis. I forge ahead, directing others, solving problems, always walking out of the smoke. Then, some time later, I deal with what I have been through. Life has been busy lately, with Haiti thrown in just in case I dared to think that I might get my head above water, and I know I have a backlog of “stuff” to process. It is great to have 4 solid hours of think-time this morning, but why now? What triggered the need to process this morning? Children singing. The universal language of music.

Yesterday we went to an orphanage where 4 of the students we sponsored come from. Dr. Ray wanted to check out some of the local orphanages anyway, so we killed two birds with one stone. They have 99 orphans here from age 2 to age 17, both boys and girls. They had very little warning that we were coming but warmly received us and gave us a tour. I am not the kind that loves to hold the kids and play ball with them. My strength is more in evaluating buildings, drainage, security and so on. That is pretty much what I did--asked about the agriculture they teach, looked at the mulberry seed harvesting they do, stuff like that--while Dr. Ray talked to the house mother and the kids.

All the kids assembled in the chapel to hear a message from us, and I took the opportunity to meet with the boys taking classes from Grace at CCIT and talk with them a bit. We took a picture (note: they are smiling this time!) and then we went inside. There were opening remarks; Dr. Ray gave a motivational speech about education, caring, and community; and then the children sang for us. Not just Mary had a little lamb, no! They sang hymns in three part harmony. They did not just sing out of duty; they sang with joy and heart. They smiled. They beamed. Music is a part of this community, and it is alanguage that we all understand. I stopped thinking about the construction techniques of the chapel, of the politics of helping, of the flight we might not catch because of the rain. I stopped thinking about it all and was simply inspired.

It was the voices of the children that triggered my minded this morning, their voices focussing me on what needs to be done and reminding me why I am here, why this matters. Their voices are helping me process all that I have experienced, put it into perspective and carry on. Thank you, and keep singing!

Bay of Bengal, Baby!

(I don’t know exactly where my blog is right now, as I have only a very poor connection, if any at all. I have enough connection to send a rough copy to my editor, but I haven’t actually seen my blog in a while, so if you like them, great, but it's all in the editing. Thanks to my editor! I also need to thank Carol Perrin and Pastor Sagar without whom I would still be in Hyderabad and would never have met up with Pat and the gang. With the right contacts--and enough money!--you can do anything in India!)

After touring the orphanage and having some very productive meetings yesterday, I retired to my room for a sound sleep. I was fortunate to have a room; there was a very large wedding in town that was eating up all the space.

This morning I took my taxi for a tour of Narsapur. This is a pretty big place by Canadian standards but barely makes the map by Indian standards. As with all Indian towns, there is non-stop shopping--little stores everywhere! The town is divided into districts, so all the tailors are in the same area, and all the plumbing supply stores are in another area. This makes for quite a bit of travel if you want a skirt tailored for your sink.

Narsapur is on a large river near the coast of Bengal, and it sports quite a fishing industry. Fish are caught in both the river and at sea, with the boats coming up the river to a little tributary to unload.

Small boats filled with sand used in concrete for construction in the area also come up the tributary. I asked Pastor Chand about the beach and swimming the day before, but he said it wasn’t safe.

After touring the town, I decided to see if we could find the coast. We went to the guest house to see if Pat and Sisay wanted to come along (much to Pastor Chand's chagrin). Google Earth shows mile upon mile of sand beach. Thirty minutes later, we drove past a beautiful Catholic church looking out on an amazing sand beach! There was a little park where one could eat lunch and some stalls selling drinks and snacks. We walked on the beach for 10 minutes until I couldn’t take it any more! There were great surf waves: one break, 3 foot swells rolling on shore at about 15 degrees.

There were little kids wading in the break--no evidence of a riptide. How bad could it be? I didn’t have my trunks, but I was wearing brand new underwear. I asked Pat if she would mind if I went in for a dip, and she said it would be fine, but I don’t think she was ready for the bright white streak across the sand, and I am not just talking about the new underwear! The water was like a bathtub, the waves were just right for playing in, and there was almost no rip at all. Besides, worst case scenario: I get to see Sri Lanka again! I am sure Pastor Chand was worried the whole time I was in the waves but perhaps was more worried that at some point I would have to get out! Pat averted her eyes as I rolled up on the beach like Moby Dick gone wrong and dashed up the beach to a little hut to change.

I didn’t go to the beach just for my own entertainment; I was checking it out as a possible point of interest for when I bring a group over in February. It would be a great activity to bring the kids to the beach to build sand castles, eat a picnic lunch, and play in the water. One adult to every 4 kids just like a family day at the beach. I didn’t mention this to Pastor Chand. I think I need to pick the right moment and make many promises to bring my swim suit this time.

Pastor Chand treated us like VIPs. It is obvious how important Pat is to him and the orphanage. He has a big job there, trying, as someone must, to meet the need where there is no shortage of need! Tomorrow, I brave the roads again to go to Guntur and meet Pastor Sagar and visit the orphanage where Carol Perrin worked last year. I feel safer in an ocean full of sharks than on the roads. Until then, it is "bye" from the Bay of Bengal, Baby!