Bacon and Eggs

This morning I woke up and stared around the room for a moment. Was I really back in America? Had I not merely dreamed the previous forty-eight hours? Did I have the motivation it would take to walk to the bathroom? The thoughts bounced around my head like lazy mice not too interested in finding their way of the maze. Eventually, however, I made my way to the bathroom for my usual morning tribute to society; and lo, I took a hot shower. It was so hot it burned my hand at first, but ultimately I gave in to the moment rather stoically and breathed deep the vapors of the American luxury. (No, I don't feel bad or guilty in the slightest: indeed I was taking the hot shower on behalf of all Asians who otherwise didn't have the opportunity: it was a publicly spirited pleasure I assure you.) From there Jerry's father invited me upstairs for some bacon, eggs and toast; the offer alone made me want to hug him. I followed him to the kitchen, ate the food he prepared and began to feel the surrealism melt away like the cheese on my eggs: I am back in America.

I decided to write this post like Quenton Tarantino directs his movies—starting with the ending—because my mouth still has the taste of bacon and eggs and I wanted to write about it. But also to first announce that, yes, Jerry and I are back in America; I am celebrating the occasion by doing what I do best—writing—and Jerry is celebrating in his own gifted way; i.e. sleeping, but with talent. So now that my breakfast has been appreciated and our return notified, I can now explain the end of our time in India and our trip home.

After our trip into the mountains of Ooty, India, Jerry and I went home and crashed for a bit: I had a blister on my toe (a big one) and we both were sore from all the hiking. So for the following week we visited the orphanage and attended an engagement party, but otherwise relaxed. At the orphanage we did what we do normally: smile a lot, play with the kids, and play countless games of thumb war and the palm-fist game—something like patty cake. The engagement party was quite interesting as well, for the groom looked a bit nervous and the bride terrified. Ultimately we found out that it was a good arrangement (for it was an arranged marriage) and the two cared for one another, but at the time we thought there was something inhumane going on. Needless to say the experience broadened our minds to a completely different sort of thinking as pertains to marriage.

The following week we went with the orphanage kids and some others to another set of mountains within India. Not Ooty, but frankly I don't remember the name of the place we went in the slightest. To be perfectly honest it was meant to be a vacation, but when all was said and done we felt as though we needed a vacation from our vacation: the bus ride, for example, was in the sort of old bus that people joke about but never figure they would actually find themselves in: it wasn't horribly uncomfortable, but the engine worked under serious protest and would periodically overheat; i.e., a 'six hour' trip turned into a ride of over eleven hours. On the way back, actually, it took around sixteen hours. I'm not complaining, as there's no point, but merely trying to get across the fatigue of the situation and the bruised state of our tailbones. The good news of the trip is that we got to spend plenty of time with the kids—which we enjoyed immensely—and were able to ride a camel. For those uncertain, camels are massive creatures with a back which measures around seven feet off the ground; you get on the creature by it sitting down first, or, if you're black and athletic, you jump on. Otherwise we wandered through a muddy playground, went for a short boat ride, and visited the local 'zoo'—which prized a deer as its main attraction. It was a fun trip, truly, but I would be lying if I described it as the pique of comfort and entertainment; we often stole our enthusiasm from the perpetuity of the kids'.

Once we got back it was the final week of our stay, and much of it was spent in spiritual and circumstantial preparation of our departure; most details of which would not be worth describing, but the final spiritual preparation was most wonderful in an indescribable sort of way. Four days before our departure the Pastor's son, Samuel, flew in from America to stay for a couple months. We hung out with him for the most part thereafter. Otherwise Jerry was sick the final week with an impressive plethora of illnesses and drug induced lethargies. I pretended to be a nurse and made a few calls home with medical questions—the answers of which only a veteran mom would know. He did recover though and even managed to ride an elephant in the temple the day before we left, which made him happy. We then bid our farewells and Jerry tossed propriety to the wind and hugged our very nervous tangachi: Tamil for little sister: Muthu (moo-too), one of the maidservants we befriended during our stay. That was early Sunday morning, and we then left for the airport.

Sunday and Monday, for me, basically merged into a single long day: like eating a foot long hot dogs instead of two normal-sized ones—in that it gives one indigestion. Once we arrived from our first flight into Chennai, India, we were driven to a local hotel and slept for some hours. We then woke up to Pastor John—a man of absolutely remarkable character which I will elaborate on in a moment—knocking on our door as to meet us and give a tour of Chennai. Indeed it was a splendid tour, as we visited three landmarks of the Apostle Thomas: the place where he lived and hid, the place where he fled and was murdered, and the church which they built over his grave (which we saw). I can't provide much commentary on the experience as it only means something if one goes there; i.e., if one sees the places, stands there and thinks about it, and part of the Bible suddenly becomes more than ancient, abstract information: but true, historical fact with no concern as to whether or not people believe in it. There were Thomas' bones. It was all very fascinating, and Pastor John offered his own commentary and explanation to what we were looking at and some of the story therein. We then went back to the hotel to rest a few hours before our flight, and Pastor John talked to us for a bit about ministry. It was very welcomed, considering the character of this man, and we finished by having a very powerful prayer together.

It's a bit frustrating for me as I think how to explain Pastor John, for indeed I hardly knew the man, but there was an awesome understanding that we were three within the Spirit of God. I'm not talking about the thought or idea of being 'brothers-in-Christ', but a real, conscious sense; like three people standing, talking on a mountain. Ten years ago Pastor John gave up his social position and went to live among the people in the slums. He has no job at all, but pastors the people in the truest sense of the word—a pastor is one who shepherds—for he serves day and night the people, lives among them, and treats them like friends and family; they love him. He never knows how he will financially or otherwise survive, but for ten years has trusted God to provide in the truest sense his daily bread. It's a remarkable story, and the man has such a love for God and his people. That's the most incredible thing about him: not what he does or who he helps, but the splendorous love which simply illuminated from the man for life itself; he was not strange or foolish, but aware of himself, what he believed, and why. Please pray for this man and his ministry. He shall likely never be made famous by his ministry, but without a doubt it has tremendous eternal impact.

So, with that said, we made our way to the airport very early in the morning of Monday and departed without incident for Qatar. (I don't usually do this, but I highly recommend Qatar Airlines (Airways?) for international flights: the experience as a whole was pleasant and comfortable, and the long flight to America was easy with the impressive accommodations for even the economy class patrons.) We had a short layover in Doha, Qatar; Jerry ate a cheeseburger, wished he hadn't, and we were on our way to America. Jerry's father and sister greeted our tired selves at the airport, took us home, fed us, chatted with us, and sent us to bed. By that point I was running for around forty-eight hours with a couple hours of sleep, so my tired little mind simply grinned stupidly and quietly praised God for his goodness, and family.

That about does it. Jerry and I will be debriefing at his uncle's beach side property for the week, and hopefully friends and family will drive out there to visit us. Please, if I may, pray for us. We want not merely to relax, for we're sure that will happen, but also that God would help us to conclude and set permanence to our growth and experience within previous months. We long to grow ever closer to our King and Holy Father, and are quite sure there are many more lessons to come, but we want to make sure these lessons are understood first and settle within our minds, hearts, and characters. What's the use of experience if we don't learn from it? And, finally, thank you: thank you so much for your prayerful and financial support. To go to Asia as missionaries was a privilege and life-changing opportunity. I do not exaggerate in the slightest when I thank you all for having a major role in changing our lives; in changing my character to be better yet, and with an insatiable hunger for love, life and therein the Lord—the Author of all such good things. Again, thank you, and know that we love you all and pray for you as well.