I apologize that it has taken me so long to update this blog.  I’ve been in Dehradun for 16 days now. It’s hard for me to describe all that I’m experiencing here in words.  I’m on a steep learning curve with so many faces, places, and names to remember.  Working here at the Dorcas Center with Mrs. Ebenezer has been great.  The Ebenezer’s have taken me in like I’m one of their children.  I’ve been at a loss for what I should call them because Mr. and Mrs. Ebenezer feels too formal, but Annamma and Matthew doesn’t convey enough respect. 

I’ve been getting to know the women at the Center, but we can only speak to each other so much with me not knowing Hindi and only some knowing intermediate English.  Their stories of transformation are amazing.  When you meet these women you would never know they have been abused.   They don’t have that jaded, bitter air anyone would understandably have after experiencing such suffering.  A number of them came to Dorcas married to abusive, alcoholic husbands, but after years of prayer their husbands have come to faith, stopped drinking, and stopped abusing them.  Their families are not perfect, but they have experienced restoration I stopped believing in a long time ago.  My education has taught me to give up on hopes of such redemption and put more faith in restraining orders.  I’m not saying restraining orders are bad, but I’ve really lost sight of the power Christ has to redeem in abusive situations.  Even though we can’t verbally express much, these women have shown me love, and they take care of me.  I’m growing attached to them.  I don’t have enough time here for them to teach me all there is to learn.  Every one of them has been trained in cooking, baking, and tailoring.  I have little experience with Indian cooking, and my tailoring skills don’t reach beyond mending a hole in my pants.  Then of course, there is an entire language with a different script for me to learn from them.

Every day has been busy here.  There is constantly work to be done.  Everything seems to take longer to be completed her e than it does back home.  The slogan of efficiency never caught on here.  It gets frustrating sometimes, but when business is run more by private owners than huge corporations that’s how things work.  In the United States we have the option to never interact with anyone.  We can pay our bills, order food, and buy anything we need from our computer.  As a result of this we often have to make an effort to live in community.  Things don’t work that way here.  People know the grocer they buy jackfruit from, the shopkeeper they buy fabric from, the man they buy cereal from, and if they don’t know them they’re still called Auntie or Uncle.  The way business works here is like any anti-Walmart- college-student –who-has-been-protesting-big-business’ dream.

I almost forgot to mention that I drove.  Three years ago, when I first came to India, I was sitting in the back seat of a bus thanking God I didn’t have to drive.  Last week I drove a four speed manual car through the chaotic traffic, driving on the right side of the left side of the road for about an hour.  At least it felt like an hour.  I’m not going to lie, by the time we arrived at our destination my heart was racing, but hopefully I’ll get to a point where it feels natural to drive.

Hopefully I won’t wait too long before the next blog entry.   Feel free to send me e-mails. I like to know what’s going on at home too!

I apologize that it has taken me so long to update this blog.  I’ve been in Dehradun for 16 days now. It’s hard for me to describe all that I’m experiencing here in words.  I’m on a steep learning curve with so many faces, places, and names to remember.  Working here at the Dorcas Center with Mrs. Ebenezer has been great.  The Ebenezer’s have taken me in like I’m one of their children.  I’ve been at a loss for what I should call them because Mr. and Mrs. Ebenezer feels too formal, but Annamma and Matthew doesn’t convey enough respect. 

I’ve been getting to know the women at the Center, but we can only speak to each other so much with me not knowing Hindi and only some knowing intermediate English.  Their stories of transformation are amazing.  When you meet these women you would never know they have been abused.   They don’t have that jaded, bitter air anyone would understandably have after experiencing such suffering.  A number of them came to Dorcas married to abusive, alcoholic husbands, but after years of prayer their husbands have come to faith, stopped drinking, and stopped abusing them.  Their families are not perfect, but they have experienced restoration I stopped believing in a long time ago.  My education has taught me to give up on hopes of such redemption and put more faith in restraining orders.  I’m not saying restraining orders are bad, but I’ve really lost sight of the power Christ has to redeem in abusive situations.  Even though we can’t verbally express much, these women have shown me love, and they take care of me.  I’m growing attached to them.  I don’t have enough time here for them to teach me all there is to learn.  Every one of them has been trained in cooking, baking, and tailoring.  I have little experience with Indian cooking, and my tailoring skills don’t reach beyond mending a hole in my pants.  Then of course, there is an entire language with a different script for me to learn from them.

Every day has been busy here.  There is constantly work to be done.  Everything seems to take longer to be completed her e than it does back home.  The slogan of efficiency never caught on here.  It gets frustrating sometimes, but when business is run more by private owners than huge corporations that’s how things work.  In the United States we have the option to never interact with anyone.  We can pay our bills, order food, and buy anything we need from our computer.  As a result of this we often have to make an effort to live in community.  Things don’t work that way here.  People know the grocer they buy jackfruit from, the shopkeeper they buy fabric from, the man they buy cereal from, and if they don’t know them they’re still called Auntie or Uncle.  The way business works here is like any anti-Walmart- college-student –who-has-been-protesting-big-business’ dream.

I almost forgot to mention that I drove.  Three years ago, when I first came to India, I was sitting in the back seat of a bus thanking God I didn’t have to drive.  Last week I drove a four speed manual car through the chaotic traffic, driving on the right side of the left side of the road for about an hour.  At least it felt like an hour.  I’m not going to lie, by the time we arrived at our destination my heart was racing, but hopefully I’ll get to a point where it feels natural to drive.

Hopefully I won’t wait too long before the next blog entry.   Feel free to send me e-mails. I like to know what’s going on at home too!

Imagine you are walking on the streets of downtown Philadelphia.  It’s trash day with a heat index of 100 degrees and high humidity.  When you look around the street you see people of all classes.  You turn to your left and there is a horse drawn carriage passing by that recently dropped a fresh pile.  Be careful you almost stepped in it.  You turn to your right and the vendors are cooking up fresh gyros and cheese steaks.  The smells of freshly cooked food, rotting waste, and excretion all mix together.  Shops and advertisements are flashed in front of eyes.  There is more sensory stimuli than you can process.   

Keep the images described above in your mind.  Now take the three black trash bags from the curb and open them.  Scatter the trash.  Instead of a clearly defined sidewalk and curb, imagine gutters lining the storefronts and slabs of concrete that serve as a bridge from the street to the store.  Those gutters are full of raw sewage and rainwater.  See the people walking?  Replace about 80% of the western-style women’s fashion you would see in Philadelphia, with salwar kameez suits and sarees.  The women create a beautiful sea of bright colors.  Smell the Indian spices wafting in the air.  To your right are fruit vendors.  It’s summer time now, so the mango is ripe.  When you look out into traffic imagine a milieu of motorcycles, cows, vikrams, auto-rickshaws, pedestrians walking too close for comfort to the cars, and sometimes you’ll see a bull-drawn cart.  Now the traffic looks utterly chaotic to the foreigner, but it ebbs and flows.  The Indian driver is on his toes ready to react and give with the traffic.  You can have more confidence that an Indian driver won’t hit you than you can trust a New Yorker will stop for a pedestrian walking in-front of a green light.  You must still be cautious. 

Remember the horse droppings you almost stepped in?  Erase the horse and the carriage and replace that with a cow.  Make sure you pay attention to each step you take.  If you’re not careful you’ll step in cow shit.  Now pardon my French, but I only use this word to underscore the vulgarity of the cow.  The idea of living in a place where animals are given the same rights as people may sound romantic, but it’s far from rainbows and butterflies when it becomes reality.  Stubbing your toe has a whole new meaning if you get dung in it.  Driving also has had an added challenge.  The cows aren’t as sharp as that Indian driver.  They move slowly and act like the gods they are treated to be.

Now you have walked down a street in India, and you never even crossed the ocean.