Salted Biscuits and Sprite

**Our best intentions don't jive with reality - they started turning off the internet connection between 5pm - 9am, so we haven't been able to post blogs daily (even though we've written them)... It'll all work out in the end though :) **

As you may or may not know, Eli and I have not enjoyed perfect health throughout this summer. Over the course of these 9 weeks, we've each been sick 3 times, including the virus that I'm almost gotten over.

I'm smiling under the blanket. I promise.

In the States, I rarely get sick. I attribute this to my childhood days of playing in the mud, finding "free" gum in the grates near my church, and having 4 siblings. Despite this, India has a way of finding my weak spots - not that I've been exactly careful. I eat street food on occasion, let street kids shake my hands, and forget to sanitize after riding the bus (because I'm usually standing and holding onto a communal bar.) Still, it's almost useless to try to figure out what has caused our illnesses. There are so many things here that our immune systems aren't used to that it's almost luck of the draw as to who will get sick next.

There is a definite bright side to getting sick, though. With each bodily battle, I learn a little better how to love and be loved, especially by Eli (who is now more like a sister than a friend, because she knows so much about me haha.) Let me give you a brief illustration. This current virus has been attacking me for 3 days now. It's been pretty awful - all the usual flu/cold/fever symptoms plus a few exciting episodes thrown in to spice the sickness up a bit. Eli has taken care of me through it all. She cautioned me against leaving the room, which I desperately wanted to do a few times, because the temperature outside was over 100 degrees and I had a fever. Instead, she compensated for my lack of mobility and sent an email for me, took pictures of a small "family" celebration I missed, let me keep the room really cold, listened to my complaining, had our brothers at Daily Bread make me a special tea we brought from America, and, without asking, bought me salted biscuits and Sprite.

For those who don't know, a salty cracker (called biscuits in India), eaten with a good swig of Sprite, is an AMAZING combination for an upset stomach. At this moment, I am now munching on such a cracker because it sounded so good. From what Eli told me, it helps the pH balance in your tummy... all I know is that it doesn't make me throw up, unlike the chocolate I tried to eat the other day.

Anyway, getting sick so often has been a good learning experience for me. It has taught me patience with my body, thankfulness for a wonderful companion, and humility, since I have to share every sickness-related episode with someone else. I couldn't have begged God for a better person to be on this trip with, and, while my heart is almost ready to leave India, I'm definitely not ready to leave Elaina yet. She's been such a strong support to me this summer and I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep it together at the airport when we part ways in less than a week (I live in Ypsilanti, Michigan now.)

On that note, please pray for Elaina, that she won't get the virus I have, because that might mean that she'll be sick on the 15 hour flight from Mumbai. Flying is hard as it is, so pray she'll remain healthy throughout the rest of the trip.

Pax,
Heide

STILL Learning how to Love...

            A couple of weeks ago I (Elaina) decided to stop taking the bus to work at Shanti Dan, and instead I started walking.  It is about a 20-minute walk but for reasons unknown to me, I was compelled to do so.  I have spent plenty of time walking alone in downtown Kolkata, but we live in the boondocks and the atmosphere is a little different here.  It quickly became obvious to me that seeing a foreigner around these parts is a rare occurrence.  Even though I had lived in Kolkata for many weeks, the first time I walked alone to work was stressful.  It got a little easier with each passing day, but even now I still feel exposed the second I leave my safe bubble. 

Every morning I take a deep breath, walk out of the gates at Seva Kendra, and take a sharp right to begin my trek to Shanti Dan.  If I haven’t done so already, I am quickly reminded to put on my reflective sunglasses.  I then put in my headphones to block out the things that I don’t want to hear.  We live across from a school, so there are usually students of all ages hanging around outside.  I smile at the small children who wave to me, and I cringe at the group of teenage girls who point and laugh.  I continue walking as motorcycles and taxis whiz by me within inches of hitting me.  Old, crippled people and families with small children beg me for money – successfully tearing at my heartstrings.  Boys and men shout things to me from across the street or purposefully get in my way, trying to get a reaction out of me.  I pretend like I can’t hear them because of my headphones, but in reality I hear every piercing word.  My vulnerability becomes even more apparent to me as I try my hardest to ignore the stares, the glares, and the laughter.  Parents even point at me to calm their crying children, because my white skin and foreign clothing is such a distraction.  I continue on my way, determined to stay strong.  I step around the piles of garbage, avoid the cows that try to sniff me, and do anything I can think of to avoid drawing attention to myself.    

As you can probably imagine, all of the attention that I receive on my morning walk used to infuriate me.  I wanted to scream at the boys who said lewd things to me.  I wanted to turn around and slap the man who wouldn’t stop following me.  I wanted to stand on my head in the middle of the road and shout at the top of my lungs, just to really give them something to stare at.  After a few days of feeling this way, I realized that my heart was SO in the wrong place.  It was full of hatred towards these people – hatred towards the very people that I had come halfway across the world to serve.  I cannot control how they act towards me, but I can control how I act towards them.  God put me on this Earth to love my fellow human being – even the ones that do not show love towards me.  “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.”  (Matthew 5:44) And that’s exactly what I do now.  I smile at the girls who taunt me.  I say a little prayer for the men who disrespect me.  I ask God to help those who cannot help themselves.  I think about the numerous wonderful and loving Indian people that I have also met. Nothing about my morning walk has changed except for my attitude.  Now my heart is full of love for these people.  I thought I had learned all of the lessons that India had to teach me – But here I am 9 weeks later, STILL learning how to love.  And I couldn’t be happier about it.  

So much love!!

Elaina

Washer Women

*Our internet has been down about 2/3 of the time we've tried to post, so these are coming a bit late. Sorry for the delay.*

When we first got to Seva Kendra and checked out our new home, we noticed a mysterious large red bucket in the bathroom. At first, we used it for an awkward trash can. One week later, when we started to smell, we discovered that what we thought was a bucket was actually a small washing machine. We've been hand washing our clothes ever since. 

At first, it was tedious. We'd dump all our dirty clothes on the wet bathroom floor, put some laundry detergent in the washing machine, fill it with water, then scrub the heck out of every single piece. After rinsing and wringing, we'd hang our clothes on the bars in the bathroom and on our bed posts to dry. The whole process took hours. 

The current state of our room

Luckily, we've had some time to perfect our laundry skills. One of the things we've  learned is that, contrary to American detergent, Indian detergent requires simple soaking and maybe a little bit scrunching to get the clothes clean. We've also become acutely aware of how colors bleed, especially with the clothes we buy off the street. I now have several multi-colored shirts because of this phenomena. Besides that, though, our laundry style hasn't changed much - if you were to compare the first time we did laundry here to the process I used today, it's pretty much the same. The clothes are soaked, rinsed, wrung and hung to dry. It still takes hours, maybe days, depending on available bed post space and rate of drying. 

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. The long laundry process has taught me a lot about domesticity, planning ahead, and to be thankful for the glorious modern washing machine. 

Now go change the load around.