Love, love, love.

My class. Normally, when they take pictures, they all try to look serious. But one of the girls moved and they all started laughing - and I caught this picture. And honestly, we all laugh through class anyway, so this is much more accurate.


Proof that I'm there too. But aaaaaaaah why don't they smile?!


Three from the right - Zareen, my lovely sometimes-translator. Three from the left (with the braids), one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen.


Queen Victoria Memorial. Pretty. :-)

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. This then is how we know that we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us. For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything." - 1 John 3:16-20

When I first sat down to write this post, I had no clue how to tie together everything that I've experienced in the past week. I've taught a bunch of classes and worked at Kalighat. Though both are difficult and emotionally trying, I've been very...calm. Comfortable. I've had experiences that have been completely new and a little shocking, but through it all, I've been...peaceful? Thus, trying to figure out what to write has been difficult. Teaching - amazing. Kalighat - amazing. But what to write about them?

And then I remembered the quote I read on a chalkboard in the Motherhouse yesterday, after Adoration (which was also amazing): "real love cannot be explained using words, only actions" and then some other stuff. I don't remember the whole thing. But it got me thinking - I've always been a big fan of 1 John 3:18 (oh hey Sam Toeller!). So much, in fact, that it's one of my "theme verses" for my time in India. Loving with actions, rather than words. I think that we often try to explain love as if it's an emotion, or a sentiment. We tell people we love them. But without the actions to back it up, what does that mean? Since I've been here, I've been extremely convicted to make sure that my view of love is not emotion-based, but action-based. Friendship love. Brotherly / sisterly love. Romantic love. Love of all people. Love of God. If I don't show people that I love them, through time, service, support, etc., how will they know? If I don't show God that I love Him, do my emotions really make a difference? I can say that I love God, but if I'm not giving my life to actively serve Him, I don't think saying it every so often really counts. Relationships take time, not just statements.

I've been at Kalighat for a week now. And I've found that the more I'm there, the more I love it, and the more I love it, the more I want to be there. A few days ago, a woman named Kamala came in. Her first day, she had two volunteers with her nearly the whole time, so I was with other women. Her second day, I somehow ended up next to her. She was thin, barely moving, wheezing when she breathed, quite old (maybe, it's difficult to judge age here), with long, tangled, silver hair. There was a bowl next to her bed into which she coughed blood and phlegm. Super. So I sat there, and stroked her hair and held her hand and rubbed her back and watched for her chest to convulse so I could put the bowl in front of her. And listened to her talk about...something. I'm not sure what. When the women talk for long amounts of time, and are clearly trying to tell me something different than "blanket" or "food," I imagine what they're saying as they're saying it. I have entire stories made up for the women to whom I've listened, about husbands, children, mothers, and once, I swear a woman told me a recipe for curry.

And as I got to know Kamala, I realized that I really just wanted to sit there with her. I often sit and talk with Holu, Asha, Laila and a few other women, but, for the last three days, I've mainly been with Kamala. Two days ago, a doctor listened to her breathe with a stethoscope, and diagnosed a collapsed lung and congestive heart failure, and added "she's not well at all." She didn't tell me how long she'd have to live, and I didn't ask. So I combed her hair and French braided it, so the Sisters wouldn't have to cut it off. I figured Kamala probably wouldn't be a fan of someone cutting her hair. It was quite long. And right after I finished, she twisted it up into a bun. I didn't think her hands would be that dexterous, nor her arms that strong. She had difficulty sitting up.

Since I've been with her, she's recognized me when I walk in, and she's been more comfortable with me. The first day, she was kind of distant, but the past two days, when I held her, she leaned against me and talked with me. I imagine she told me about the family that should have been there with her. Usually, the sisters encourage us to interact with all of the women...but they didn't get angry with me for being with Kamala. And I think Kamala and I both appreciated that.

I was going to go to Kalighat this morning, but I had forgotten to plan for Apne Aap today. So I slept in (10:30 - whoa), and bought candy for my students (pictured at the top!!), because I taught a lesson today on numbers and requesting things. What would you like, I would like, how many, do you have, I have, this, that, these, those, all, some, many, none. I placed all the candy (three different types) in the middle of the circle, and asked each girl which one they would like, and how many, and then separated the candy into three piles and asked them which ones they would like. They had to answer with something like "one of that, two of these, and one of this," using "this" for singular, close objects, "that" for singular, far objects, "these" for plural, close objects, and "those" for plural, far objects. And today, I had no translator. It was awesome. The girls and I had so much fun - they somehow picked up the word "enjoy," so they said "I enjoy class" over and over, and one girl said "I enjoy you." Hehe. Whenever I have them write sentences (often), they always work in something about me. When we studied "what do you like?" a bunch wrote "I like Ani." And who-what-where-when-why-how turned into "who is your favourite teacher?" I promise this isn't why I love teaching. But it's really nice to have such an encouraging group of girls, who openly express enjoyment of my two-hour-long class, joyously teach me Bengali and passionately complete the homework I assign. I feel extremely blessed to have such an amazing group for my first class. Oh...and they're probably the same age as me. I think most are eighteen.

Anyway, I got to Kalighat around four today (rather than three), because for the past two days, my taxi drivers have placed me in spots that are definitely not Kalighat. I walked to Kamala's bed, and she wasn't there. The volunteer next to her kinda half-smiled and shook her head, beckoned me over, and said "she died this morning." Oh. I walked into the common room for a few seconds, hugged my friend Jeff, and walked back in. Because there are lots of other patients. Holu was crying and clutching her stomach, and no one was with her - so I asked her kaemon achen? (how are you) and kothay? (where), and she pointed, and it was probably ovarian, she's young, so it could have even been menstrual pain - so I gave her a foot massage, and she calmed down. And then I helped distribute food, cleaned after dinner, washed dishes, joked with some Australians about the height of kangaroos, butchered some French with two volunteers from France, and went up to the roof for tea with the rest of the volunteers. A few volunteers asked me how I was, and honestly, I'm fine. Completely fine. Kamala was in a lot of pain, and looked very much at peace when she was sleeping before she died. She was old, I think. And I had prayed for her for awhile yesterday. So, nope, I feel fine. There are lots of other women at Kalighat to love. ...but I still swiped her name card before the Sisters could throw it away, which means her death affected me enough to cause me to steal from nuns. Uh...

Anyway, I'm learning that love isn't about how someone makes you feel, or even the inexplicable connection or chemistry between two people. It's about support, service, and doing everything you can to meet that person's needs. And needs are not the same as wants. Some women in Kalighat want two blankets - no. They get one. But when they're in pain - we're there. They need someone there, to give them a massage, a shoulder to lean on, a hug, some water - because otherwise they'd be dying on the streets. And please know that I'm aware that I need to take care of myself too. I'm not skin to skin touching the women with scabies. I promise. But I'm learning a lot about being who these women need me to be, for a few hours a day.

I don't think this post was anywhere near as focused as I wanted it to be.
But now it's 9:35, which means it's 9:05 in the States - OBAMA TIME.

Love and i-would-like-five-candies,
Stephanie

Update panda.

Amy said something poignant last night.

Sometimes, God puts us in situations we think we can't handle, in order to make us into people who can.

She didn't say it exactly like that, but that's the general idea.

The last few days have been a blob of unexpected change. When I started at Daya Dan, I thought I'd be there for a long time. Kids with mental disabilities? I can fit there. But then I got sick for a week (last week), and I haven't gone back to Daya Dan. It's something I prayed about for a loooong time. On Saturday, I ran into Jill on her way to Kalighat, and decided to go with her. Kalighat is the home for the destitute and the dying. It's right next to the Kali Temple, a Hindu temple that honors the god of destruction. Working at Kalighat is the one volunteer option that, before I came to India, I "knew" I was going to avoid. It's pretty much a giant, crowded, hospice. IVs everywhere. Cleaning bedpans. Changing dressings. Washing dishes. A lot of icky wounds, a lot of people dying. Right next to a huge mass of people celebrating the god of death and destruction. Not a place I thought I'd be of help - actually, I didn't think I'd be able to handle it at all.

Then I went anyway.
And it was wonderful.

I know enough Bangla now to have basic conversations, and joke about how little Bangla I know. Coup coum.Also, I'm a very touch-communication type person. Thus, hanging out with old women who want hugs and people to listen and smile and nod? I can do that. Yes, there are other volunteers giving injections all around me, but I've learned to avert my eyes, and focus entirely on the woman who's trying to tell me (in Bangla) about her children, her past, and where she got her silver bracelet.

I've moved from somewhere I thought I could be of help (Daya Dan) to somewhere I thought I couldn't even stand to be (Kalighat) - and I actually feel more helpful at Kalighat. This is craziness.

Also, I taught English to ten-year-olds today (hence the picture). And it was AWESOME. No translator. By myself. And I suddenly realized that I know enough Bangla to comfortably teach kids. I'm still desperately trying to learn more, but today showed me that my attempts are actually working. I can't communicate with adults very effectively, but kids - definitely. I can say "good" and "very" and "little" and "go" and "stop" and "yes" and "it's okay" and "beautiful" and "my name is Ani" and "what is your name" and "what" and "where" and "who" and "why" and "when" and "how are you" and "i am fine" and "i like it" and a bunch of other phrases and words. And I used all of them. Hooray! And I drew stars on their papers, and they thought that was the coolest thing ever.

Okay, time for dinner.

India amazes me. God amazes me. I am here. Teaching English to kids and young women, changing bedpans, and loving dying women. Not what I expected. But wonderful.

Love and Apne Aap,
Ani

The Picture Post.

Yep. It's happening.


(cute kids outside the hostel)


(view from the roof)


(New Years)

I'm posting pictures.
There are a bunch on Facebook, but I figured it made sense to post some on here too.

So.........here we go!


Salwaar Kameez. The blue one.


How I feel about taking pictures of myself.


My old room. Modern Lodge #20.


Oh hey, fellow backpackers. This is what we do when we're not volunteering. Sit on a curb, grab some instruments, and play play play. There's a crowd standing around. You just can't see them.


More cute kids.


Martin! My tailor! ...or, his hand. And one of the three walls of his shop. Blogspot cropped all my pictures smaller. I'm in the process of figuring out how to fix that. [edit] Fixed! :-)


Pretty fabric.


And me in a sari.



Okay, that's all! Gonna go buy notebooks now.

Love and jpegs,
Stephanie

TEFL, next lesson, and little notebooks.

Drumrollllllll...

I've discovered something that I'm nearly sure I want to do with my life.

Ready?!

Get TEFL certified.

It's a month-long, $1500ish program that gets me certified to teach English abroad, as a foreign language. Which means that I'd be guaranteed jobs pretty much anywhere in the world. Job = money. Money = ability to live somewhere. Teaching = helping people. Teaching English = utter glee. World-traveling = more utter glee. Hurray!

So, um...does anyone know anyone who has been through TEFL certification? There are a gazillion and a half programs out there, and I don't want to choose one that's a scam. Also, I have to figure out when I want to do this. Not any time soon. Maybe the May Term post-graduation?

Mmmkay, that's all for now about TEFL.

And! I figured out what I'm doing for class on Monday. I made little charts with faces and words like "happy" and "sad" and "tired" and "sick" and some other ones. And I'll teach question words, like "why" and "who." And "because." And I made a chart so I can teach all six present-tense conjugations of "to be," including the pronouns that go with them. So theoretically, by the end of class, they'll be able to have this conversation:

"What is your name?"
"My name is Ani."
"What is his name?"
"His name is Raul."
"How are you?"
"I am tired."
"Why? Are you sick?"
"Yes. But I am happy. I am in India!"
"We are sad because you are sick, but we are happy because you are happy."
"We are happy."
"Tik ache."
*head-wobbles*

Ambitious? Yes. But they're smart. And they want to learn. So I'm gonna push them. If it's too much, we'll split it into two days. Sam, thanks for the suggestion about taking the walk! I modified it and made little faces on paper to use for remembering adjectives. ...and I colour-coded them, 'cause I'm a nerd. Yay visual connections! :-)

Also, I'm going to New Market to buy a bunch of little notebooks and pens for my class. And Kalim will help me, so I won't spend a lot of money.

...and I caved and bought a Newsweek today. 60 rupees. Worth it.

Love and teacher-ness,
Stephanie

Learning, changing, let's teach a class!

Two days ago, I taught English at Apne Aap for the first time. When I first spoke with Mahua Sur Ray (...the woman about whom I recently wrote an entire research paper...omigosh she actually exists...), I thought I would be helping with a class that already existed. She said that they had English classes on Monday and Tuesday, and that I could help with them if I liked. Not a big deal. Right?

Wrong.

I got to the Topsia center, and waited for about an hour (as usual, everything in India (with the exception of the Missionaries of Charity) seems to run an hour late, thank God I'm so Type B), and was then sent to the sewing lab with around seven young women. And two older Indian women, who would serve as my translators. This is when I first started feeling like something was a little strange. I don't speak Bangla. Zareen speaks English and Bangla. The young women speak Bangla. Why doesn't Zareen teach them English? I don't know. I'll get to that later.

So we sat down in a clump, and everyone looked at me. And I looked at Zareen for a moment, and said something like, "wait, am I teaching?" And she gave me the Indian-head-wobble, which means either yes, no, maybe, later, or anything in between. In this case, it meant "yes." Uhhhhhokay. So I asked her to translate for me, and spoke directly to the girls / young women (I think ages 16-22, maybe), and said "amar naam Ani." My name is Ani. Bangla. Step one. And they all smiled. And then I said, in English, "just as you are learning English, I am learning Bangla. So I know how it feels to learn something new. Please be patient with me as I learn." And *click*, connection panda. Awesome. So then I motioned for them to make a circle. Step two. Sit in a circle instead of a clump. Some of this memory is a little muddled, because I had to think very quickly, so I apologize if I write inaccurately. I grabbed a notebook and a bunch of pens from my bag, tore out paper, handed a piece of paper and a pen to everyone, and wrote my name in big, red crayon on a piece of notebook paper. In Bangla. And English. Ani. Once I figure out how to upload Bangla here, I'll do that. Promise. I asked them if they knew the English alphabet, and they all did. They'd learned it when they were little. So they all wrote their names, and we pronounced them back and forth.

Then I tore out another piece of paper, and asked them, with Zareen's help, if they knew any English. The group head-wobbled at me, this time meaning "no" or "maybe, but we're embarassed to try." I went with the latter. I think I'm getting better at head-wobble-speak. Then I smiled, and asked again if they knew any English words at all. Anything. This time, they threw out words seemingly at random. Car, bus, pen, water, cat, dog, lion, etc. We made animal noises for the animals to communicate understand beyond smiles and wobbles. That was fun. They reminded me a lot of me learning Spanish - words picked up from the street, from children, words that are fun to say, but really mean nothing useful - yo tengo una gato de fuego en mi corazon. I have a firecat in my heart. I water the lion bus.

I told them this was good, they knew a lot of English. And they all knew the alphabet. You are smart! You know much. I asked Zareen how much time we had left. Head-wobble. No idea what that meant. So I turned to the girls and said "let's learn something useful. Repeat after me." Zareen translated. Then "Bangla - kamon acho?" Repeated. "English - how are you?" Understanding. Further - "Bangla - ami bhalo achee." Repeated, certainty. They know this. "English - I am fine." Repeated, Indian tongues and teeth pronouncing English syllables. They copy my accent - the halfway between theirs and my real dialect, which has been lost somewhere on Sudder Street. I had them write both down - the Bangla in Bangla, the English in English, and I did the same. I explained, without Zareen's help now, which words matched up to which. Made sure they knew which letters matched with which. They knew that, shakily. Thank God I only have to reinforce the alphabet, rather than teach it from nothing. Then I asked them all, as a group, "kamon acho?" And they responded "ami bhalo achee" and giggled. Then, "how are you?" "I am fine." Applause. Then, with Zareen's help, I explained that we would, individually, turn the the woman to our right, and complete the exchange, in Bangla and English. I turned to Zareen. "Kamon acho?" "ami bhalo achee." "How are you?" "I am fine." And then Zareen to the next girl, and so on. And we went all the way around the circle, all of us in English and Bangla, practicing pronounciation. They learned quickly. Most had good pronounciation. My pronounciation. I had a few speak louder.

Somewhere in the midst of this, Zareen told me the girls had decided to call me "didi." Big sister. :-)

Then nine other girls came in, late, but on time if you're in India. So I introduced myself, checked how much English they knew, whether they knew the alphabet (they did!), had them write their names in Bangla and English, and ran them quickly through what I had just taught, while the other girls practiced writing "how are you" and "I am fine." Then I asked all the new girls to sit between the girls who had been there, so we alternated newer / older. And we went around the circle and did Bangla / English "how are you" again. By the same Bangla-English repeat, write, around-the-circle method, I taught "what is your name?" (apnar naam ki?) "my name is..." (amar naam...). And it went really, really well. And Zareen barely had to speak. And then I taught no (neh-hey) and yes (ha). And asked them at random what their names were and how they were. In English. And they responded, in English. Occasionally, they responded with "I am fine" to "what is your name," but not often.

After all of this (45 minutes? an hour? i don't know) I asked Zareen when we were finished. Head-wobble. Meaning "now, but take your time." Can I give them homework? Sure. Homework: decorate a namecard, using your name in English. Bring it with so I can learn your names. Also, collect five English words that you hear or see, from anywhere. Write them down. Know how to pronounce them. Know what they mean. Bring them with, and be ready to introduce them to the class. This should be easy, because you all know the alphabet, and there's English all over the city. Tik ache? Tik ache. Giggles, at the American casually using Bangla phrases at random. It's okay.

I decided that next week, I will teach them "it's okay," "where is the...," and some other phrases yet to be determined. I have until Monday to decide.

In the taxi on the way home, I exhaled. Something ridiculous had just happened. Originally, I was told I could help with the English class, if I liked. Then, I got thrown into a room of twenty young women who have clearly never taken an English class, and two older translators, who could clearly teach English if they wanted to. And then, teach.

Have I taught English before? Yes. ...English as a second language? Not even slightly. Did I say I wanted to help with the English class? ...yes. And honestly? That class went well. Really, really well. And it's not because I know how to teach English as a foreign language. I had no freaking idea what I was doing. Our God is an awesome God, and He was pretty specific about telling me to go teach English...so I'm just going to plan as much as I can for the next lesson, ask for advice, and go go go.

Also, class number two is in four days. And I'm gonna know a ton more Bangla by then. If any of you have advice on teaching a language, or on teaching in general, or on following God when I have no idea what I'm doing...yeah, that'd be appreciated.

Tik ache? Tik ache.

(Also, I ate Domino's pizza for dinner. Tomato, green pepper (called "capricum" here), corn. And Coke. Best. Comfort food. Ever.)

Trying to Predict God: John Acuff, I salute you.

So there's this blog called "Stuff Christians Like," kinda like the "Stuff White People Like" website. I promise it's not offensive or weird. It's really, really funny, and I think the point of it is to make Christians more self-aware about who we are, and some of the weird things we consistently do. Stuff like having food-eating contests at youth group, racing each other to see who can find 1 Thessalonians 4:7 the quickest, and breaking up with our boyfriends or girlfriends after retreats.

Also, he occasionally writes really encouraging (one of those words I really didn't hear until I joined the church - kinda like "love on" - I think it means "makes you feel better and helps you gain faith") posts about prayer, faith, and all that good stuff. And this morning, I was thinking about something I wanted to write about, and it's rather John Acuff-like, so I figured I should probably credit him.

So, John Acuff, I salute you.

Here is my Stuff Christians Like post.

Stuff Christians Like: Trying to Predict God.

We all know God is unpredictable. Or at least, we should know that. After all, parting a giant sea? Sending himself to earth as a baby? In a manger? Weird. No one could really guess that kind of stuff. But still, I (and I think a lot of us do this, but I'm going to just talk about my experiences) tend to try to, um, outwit God. It's like God and I are playing a chess game, and I'm like "oooooh God. I've played you before. I've seen your tricks. You're gonna move that knight and capture my pawn. Hahahaha I've got you now!" And then God turns the chess board into a pony, and gives me ice cream and suddenly we're sitting on a beach in the Bahamas, and I'm like "what?"

In real life (that situation would be sweet, but I don't think it's very realistic - then again, I'm not God) it looks something like this: I really want to go to Taylor University and major in youth ministry. There are scholarships. I visit and like it a lot. My boyfriend is planning to go there, and also wants to major in youth ministry. Thus, I start trying to predict God, automatically. I think that this situation is clearly going to happen, and God has obviously set it up. I'm going to Taylor. I'm going to run a ministry program with my boyfriend. Hooray! ...and then I feel this strange calling to Illinois Wesleyan, even though I didn't like it at all when I visited. And then I visit, and meet a girl I had heard about but never met, pray about it for a week, and send in my confirmation letter. And go to Wesleyan. Even though I thought I was going to Taylor. And now I love Wesleyan. And because of Wesleyan, I've learned a ton, grown a lot in my faith, worked at Timber-lee, and now I'm in India. And I have a bunch of amazing friends. And that boyfriend and I aren't dating now, and he's majoring in Computer Science.

The point of all this is as follows: I thought God was going to do one thing, and then God went "nope, I've got an awesome plan for you. And it's not what you think it is. It's better." This happens all the time. God is constantly messing with my plans, and substituting His own better ones. Like that time I wanted to study abroad in London, and now I'm doing missionary work in India instead. Haha...that's funny, considering imperialism. But seriously - why do I keep trying to outwit God? Why do I see something God is doing in my life, and start trying to look ahead? To think like God, when really, I'm a person. A small person. And God is really, really, big.

At camp this summer, one of the speakers (Oliver!!) used to pray that his words would be not his, but God's. That his thoughts would be not his, but God's. He swiped that from Isaiah 59[edit, oops, 55]:7-8.

8 "For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.

9 "As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.

If God's ways are higher than mine, then why do I think I can guess them? I can't. I can't predict who's going to be the new youth pastor, or what I'll learn from Prac Crit, or how God will use me in India. And I need to learn to trust that God's ways are approximately a gazillion and a half times better than mine. Unfortunately, that's not a natural place for my mind to go. I'd rather hyperspazz over planning something and ask "what if?" 34723847289347 times than just roll with God's will. But I think that's a pride thing, just like everything else with which I struggle. So really, this all comes down to pride, and acknowledging that I am small, and my plans are silly compared to God's. And God loves me (as much as He loves everyone else, which is a lot), so His plans include wonderful things, such as sending me to India.

And God and I aren't playing a chess game. And if we were, I'd lose. I think that when I realize that there is no game, and that God is trying to make my life amazing, if only I'd trust Him - I think that's when I'll really start learning something.

[edit]

I meant to put this in here when I was writing it, but forgot. So here it is:

"Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that." - James 4:13-15.

Please feel free to comment and discuss at will. I'm sure a lot of you have a lot more wisdom than I do, so I definitely welcome help.

And I'll be praying that God continues to wreck my pride, and calms my brain down a little. If you want to pray that too, that'd be super. Also, I've been purposefully giving myself time every day to rest, pray, and reflect, and I'd love to be praying for you all. So if you want, please feel free to send me prayer requests. Snudelma@iwu.edu. Donnyobaad (thank you).

Oh! I almost forgot. I've been reading all of your comments, and I appreciate them all A LOT. They really help me keep my optimism. And you all are super-smart. I feel very, very blessed to know you guys. :-)

Faith, hope, and love (oh hey Charlie Welke),
Stephanie

James 1:27, pistachio-cardamom kulfi, and I've got some friends that you should meet. Not in that order.

Oh wow. I have no idea how I'm going to write a sufficient update for the past few days. I think I'll organize it by topic. And add some bolded words and phrases. Yeah. Here we go........

Well, first off, I'm not sick anymore. I've been sick for the past week and a half, and I finally figured out why. Actually, that's a lie. Emilio (Spain) figured out that it was because I was taking my malaria meds at night, right before sleeping, with no food. And thus, every morning, I was sick. Good job, Stephanie. So now I take my meds with dinner, and I feel fannntastic! Hooray!

Lately, especially after starting at Apne Aap, I've had a few different concerns - all of which have been completely warped around, so don't worry, I don't think like this anymore. :-)
1. That I would be no help at all at Apne Aap, because I don't speak Bangla (yet).
2. That I wasn't actually helping anyone at Daya Dan, because I have no freaking idea what I'm doing, the kids don't listen to me, and there are seemingly an infinite amount of much more interesting, older, more capable volunteers.
3. That I would never make friends here, because I'm shy (surprise!) and bad at finding groups of people.

Uh...then I prayed about all of this. And now...

Apne Aap really wants me to teach English. Last I checked, that was my major. I'm planning on going to English class on Monday. More on that after it happens. Also, every kid I meet at Apne Aap is consistently fascinated by me, and gets super-excited when I talk with them / make silly faces at them. I don't know what it is. Maybe they're just not used to people paying kidlike attention to them. And I'm good at being a kid. And you don't have to speak the language to connect with kids. I learned that in Mexico. :-) It works to grab a sweatshirt and throw it in the air and pretend to be a bird.

Yesterday, I played guitar for meditation at Daya Dan. Meditation is when the hyperactive boys are all forced to sit in a room in the dark. Still. Quiet. Nearly impossible. So…sister had me play guitar! And it was wonderful! And everyone was so good! The two boys who seem to be the most severely autistic – Joy and Annan - both LOVE the guitar. They sit still and quiet (unless they're rocking a little, trying to touch the guitar, or singing) and smile smile smile. And Sister Jonifer was in meditation with us, and she saw how good they were. If I end up doing music therapy with Annan and Joy, that'd pretty much be the best thing ever.

Today, after arriving at Daya Dan, playing with the kids for awhile, and praying, Sister informed us that we were going to the park. With the kids. And we had to walk there. Sounds like trouble. But it was probably one of the most fun I've ever seen the kids have. Sister assigned each kid to one volunteer - there were a lot of us today. I got assigned to Annan, with whom I’ve never really done anything. He’s autistic and Albino. Before we left, he was singing, and I leaned in to listen, and then he peed on the floor. And me. So Jill and I changed his clothes, and then walked to the park. He was stared at a lot, but honestly, I get stared at just as much for being a single, white woman in Kolkata. So we're kinda in the same boat there. Annan and I held hands on the way to the park, ran around, and he found a stick! Hooray! So he tapped out rhythms with the stick on every surface he could find, and I repeated them back to him. And then we took turns singing back and forth to each other. I'm telling you, autism + music = good idea. He repeats musical patterns really well. And he seems to enjoy it a lot. He only got difficult to handle after awhile. He started climbing things, and I had to pull him down. But we made jokes out of it, so it was okay.

I talked with Rohid for a looong time today. He's eighteen, has cerebral palsy, and can't speak. But he clearly understands everything. So I sat with him for awhile and talked with him. And every time I walked somewhere else in the room, he stared at me and smiled. And he loves it when I sing to him. So I sang Come Thou Fount. Hehe. And he got annoyed with me when I stopped singing.

Also, this morning, Ankur decided it would be a good idea to climb on my shoulders (acceptable), ask me to stand up and run around (also acceptable) and pull my hair and try to bash my head in (unacceptable). Corner for Ankur. He refuses to apologize to anyone - he just throws massive temper tantrums and beats his head against the wall. This is the same kid who ran in front of the autorickshaw. I realize now that he's a huge ball of hyperactive, danger-seeking doom in a cute little eight-year-old costume. I have no idea how to help him, how to get him to behave safely. If he wasn't at Daya Dan, he would have gotten himself killed years ago.

Which leads me to a verse that’s really been convicted me to work my butt off lately. See quote at the top. "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." - James 1:27. This verse is changing my entire perspective on working here. The kids with whom I work are orphans, and I always forget that. They live at Daya Dan. A few days ago, I heard another volunteer say that if they weren’t at Daya Dan, they’d be dead in trash cans. That’s where a lot of the kids were found. Trash cans. Gutters. Alleyways. Their parents are the Sisters, Mashis (paid workers) and volunteers. But if the volunteers weren't there...the place would be a mess. I mean, God would provide. But God has provided already. Sister Jonifer talked with the long-term volunteers about this in meditation yesterday. We were all brought to Daya Dan, right now, for a reason. God knows what He's doing. And as I looked around the room at those of us who will be staying until March, April (Lydia, Amy, Jake, Me, Cecil, Jill), I realized that I'm not the 19-year-old girl who doesn't know what she's doing. We're a group of people all responding to God's call to take care of the orphans, and although I have no clue what I'm doing, God brought me, and the rest of the group, here anyway. And He's going to provide wisdom, patience, and all those other parts of the fruit of the Spirit. Yesterday, during lunch, I told Amy that I felt completely inept, and she said that's the best way to feel while working here. It's the only way to be completely open to God's direction. And my main prayer upon leaving Chicago was that God would wreck my pride. ...and now I'm working with unpredictable, hyper-active, autistic orphans, and a bunch of women whose language I don't yet speak. I feel my pride get a little more destroyed every day.

Also, for the first time today, I consciously tried to focus entirely on the kids. Sounds basic, but I've been having difficulty doing that. Today, rather than worrying that I wasn't doing something correctly, I changed Annan's clothes when he peed on the floor, fed Siban as slowly as he could handle ('cause he's small, and doesn't move other than chewing, and chokes easily), and firmly told Joakim that yes, he needed to use a spoon, I use a spoon, the kids who can barely walk alone use spoons, and you can easily hold a spoon. Use the spoon. Now. And no, Joakim, you cannot have a balloon, and I'm going to ignore you until you stop screaming and rolling on the floor, because I know you're faking it because you're obsessed with balloons. So deal with it and eat your food. ...and Joakim used a spoon. And stopped trying to get a balloon, for a little while. And I taught him "thumbs-up" and smiled at him. And he smiled back. I adore that kid.

As for friends - haha. God provides. :-) About a week ago, an entirely new group of volunteers started arriving. ...many of whom are in their early twenties. Yesterday, (oh gosh this is wonderful) this girl at Daya Dan and I started talking, and quickly realized that we had the same accent. And both freaked out. Her name is Jill, she's from Maine, and she’s here until April! Aaaaaaaah hooray! Two of her guy friends and her brother came with her, but one of her friends leaves in a week. So there'll be space in her room, which is a room for four, two separate bedrooms, and TWO bathrooms. And rent is 900, split four ways is 225. And after a day of working together, Jill and I were both like "okay, you're wonderful, let's live together kthanks." ...and her entire family is nurses. And she's currently a nursing major (but will be changing to counseling or something like that). Go figure. Also, Peter and I have started talking and Bible studying and such. And today, the first day that I've poured as much as I could into the kids, other volunteers and I really started getting to know each other. Focusing on the kids, and in the process, working together. It was wonderful. Everyone at Daya Dan right now seems to be so dedicated to the kids. Aaaaaaaaaah it's such a great atmosphere.

I should be done writing. I've written a ton. ...but I'm not.

I know I'm forgetting something.

Hmmmm.

Oh gosh! I just remembered. Okay, so this is a crazy story, but bear with me. When I moved into Paragon yesterday, I had to check in before ten, and before work, so I moved in at seven in the morning. And whacked some guy in the head with my bag as I walked in, and woke him up. It was a cramped, full dorm room with 8, 9, 10 (I don't remember) beds and a small table. Maybe two feet of space (oh imperial system, I'm used to meters now) between the beds. Tiiiny. But I figured I could deal with it, and I had prayed about going to the right room, the right bed…and I felt that God had been pretty clear on this room. So I apologized to the Korean guy who was swearing at me, left my stuff on the bed, paid the rent, and went to work. I came back later, and there were two very drunk Irishmen in the room, one on the floor, leaning on my bed. A few minutes later, the more sober one left, and Peter walked in. This was odd, because I purposefully didn't choose his room, because that would have been creepy and stalker-ish. Nice to meet you, that was a good talk we had, now I live with you. Nope. So anyway, Peter walked in, sat down, welcomed me to Paragon, and looked at Mark the Irishman and was like "hey man, how you doin'?" Apparently Peter and Mark are friends. So Mark wanted chai, but couldn’t really walk, so we tried to get him to stay in the hotel. He asked me how much I thought I was worth. And told me I was beautiful. And talked about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do. Uh. So Peter, Mark, and I went out to get chai on the street. Mark stumbled a lot. Got chai. Got stared at. Went back to Paragon. Mark refused to stay there, so, after much effort of trying to get him to sit, and much protesting from Mark about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do, he ventured out on his own. Another guy followed him. And I asked the front desk if any other 110 rupee rooms were free. Three people just left India and went back to wherever. ...all from Peter’s room. So I moved all my stuff, and now live with Peter, an old Japanese woman, and two empty beds. I did all my laundry and bug-proofed the window last night, and am in the process of getting over the fact that my underwear is hanging on a clothesline, outside, with everyone else’s underwear.

I write all this for a few reasons.
1. To explain why I live with Peter. I tried not to. But really, the first conversation we had in the room was about trying to find something Jesus said in one of the Gospels, and the old Japanese woman makes us go to bed early. So I think it’s fine.
2. My friends at school are right. I suck at taking care of drunk people. I'm just plain bad at it. I'm condescending, I don't know how to talk with them - it's just not good. Peter was awesome. Talked with Mark like he was sober. I need to learn how to do that.
3. What happened with Mark kept echoing in my mind as an image of me and God. I complain often that God doesn't let me do what I want to do...and then do the spiritual equivalent of stumbling into the street by myself. All the time. And I need to learn to trust God anyway, even if I don't want to, and think I have better ideas. Step one, come to India. Done.

One more thing. I found cardamom-pistachio kulfi today. It is my new favourite ice cream.

Okay. Now I've written way too much. This took me two hours. If you read it all, thanks. :-)

Love and learning (alliterative and cliché, but true),
Stephanie

[edit] And a few hours after I made this post, Amy was like "please live with me, Paragon's gross." Not quite in those words. And I'm living with Jill in a week. So now, after one night of living with Peter and a woman who constantly chops vegetables with a disconcertingly large knife and pretends she doesn't speak English until she says "i think you should not play guitar in the room," I'm moving back to Modern Lodge for a week.