“Hey look, it’s our sub!” One student shouted back to the class from the open door. She held the door open for me.
It was surprisingly comforting to find the class in complete pandemonium. It took me a second to confirm that there wasn’t a teacher in sight to hand over the baton. I was on.
Which personality would the day require? Strict disciplinarian — or witty intellectual — or compassionate adult role model? Or all of the above, perhaps?
Continue reading “Taking attendance”
“So, you must like Indian food a lot? Why don’t we get Indian food for lunch?”
It’s question I’ve learned to dread.
It’s sort of a fair question since we lived there for two years. But usually what people don’t realize is that in India, Indian food is the main cuisine for every meal. In the States, we feel bored if we eat the same type of food three days in a row.
Continue reading “The food is not my favorite part of India”
I heard the familiar Skype “ding.” I am working toward a writing deadline. So, of course, I looked right away to see who it was.
It was an Indian pastor — we’ll call him Pastor P — I met a little over two years ago on a trip to Mumbai. He plants churches in the slums. Mumbai is home to some of the largest slums in the world. It was the setting for Slum Dog Millionaire. The slums in India are difficult to imagine (or recall to memory) while surrounded by comfortable American homes. Most of them are the size of a small or medium-sized American bathroom and a whole family lives there together. Sleeping on top of each other. No indoor plumbing. No electricity. Continue reading “Remembering India”
A year ago this March, I arrived in the US after spending two years abroad. In India. I spent two years in India. It doesn’t seem real some days, but there are scars you can’t see easily.
One is literally on my skin from the time I had a bump removed and biopsied from my finger. I didn’t think I was brave enough to have a medical procedure done in a foreign country. Would you believe the doctor’s name was Dr. Job — like the guy in the Bible that is known for his suffering? My finger gets tight now when it’s really hot outside. I can’t forget Dr. Job. Continue reading “Scars, Part 1”