A few small facts

I realized that a lot of my posts on here lately have been quite, um, howshallIsayit, deep. So for a change of flavour, here are several things you may or may not know about me.

1. I like simple food. Like toast and peanut butter. Or a perfectly ripe banana. Or vegetables sauteed in olive oil with a few herbs. Or rice and dhal.

2. I have been known to make oatmeal at 1am for no other reason that I am craving it.

3. I like my life better without gluten.

4. I have never, not even once, dyed my hair.

5. I love the snow.

6. I love spending time with international and ESL students. I love listening to them tell me about their culture, country, and food, and getting to explain Canadian culture and English expressions. It's great to hear their English improve and see them become more confident. I've been friends with some Japanese exchange students for the past semester and this evening we ate supper together. The improvement in their English amazes me. Two months ago they were stumbling over their words, and struggling to put sentences together. Tonight they described their weekend trip to New York in detail and told me how to make Japanese breakfast eggs. Their English flows wonderfully and they are confident when trying new words. I'm so proud of them!

7. I've wanted to go to Afghanistan for ages.

8. I took those "how to succeed in school" courses in junior high pretty seriously. At least the part about starting things in advance and studying ahead of time. I don't believe in cramming, leaving things til the last minute, or studying the night before, so I don't do any of them.

9. I love playing with colours.

And now, without further procrastination, I must return to my review of organic chemistry.

Reflections on the first semester

I am sitting in the kitchen drinking chai and looking out the window at the field and trees covered in the first snow of the year. The sun is setting and everything is turning that deep icy blue hue that it does on winter evenings.

I finished my classes today and handed in the last of my assignments. All that's left to do is study and write my final exams. I will go home in thirteen days. I'm looking forward to spending time at home with my family and church family and friends. It will be the first time since March, really.

Unless the unforeseen happens, this will be my only semester at this university. I am going to stay in my city after Christmas and, Lord-willing, start studying nursing. Had I had time to think about it more when I came home from India, I would have gone directly to nursing and not come out East. Some callings are too strong to ignore.

I have been thinking about what, if anything, I have learned from this semester. I've been living alone in a new place far from home (again), studying full time, getting poorer (student life, you know), and experiencing small town life. Here are some of my observations:

Like Chelsea (who is also here in the Maritimes in her first year), I have marvelled at how all of learning is connected. Political science and philosophy connected a lot, and math and philosophy, and chemistry and math. Which I suppose means that chemistry and poli sci are also connected somehow. French not so much. And then, of course, I frequently saw applications of poli sci in my life and connected it with my trips to India.

I have continued to learn to depend on God. For my daily needs and finances, as well as for guidance and wisdom, He has kept teaching me how to turn to Him and not man.

I've learned when to work hard and when to scrap my studies for other activities. One day in the library, I discovered a large collection of encyclopedias of world cultures. On finding cultures and people groups that I have had personal contact with, I dropped all my planned schoolwork and plopped down on the library floor and read for a couple of hours. I find that I have a natural "knowing" of when I can drop some seemingly important assignment and when I really do need to get to work.

I've also been reminded that it is possible and necessary to take a weekly Sabbath. I can't imagine not taking one. I am not entirely sure why I can take a whole day off every week and still not stress out over how much work I have. The workload is not very heavy, and I don't know why. Most other students are constantly griping about how much work they have to do. Maybe they need to take a Sabbath? Or maybe it was just my combination of courses?

I have learned to enjoy getting up outrageously early in the morning, have my quiet time, and attack my work while most other students are still asleep. These quiet hours are the most productive for me.

My faith and convictions have been strengthened and are now more my own than ever. I don't drink or go to bars or party, and I don't feel silly or out of place. At first it was awkward, but now I am confident in it. I knew my response to those things was "no" before, but now that it has been tested, my convictions have a fine layer of refined silver (if I may use that image) around them.

And I think I am an adult now. (Okay, so this is kind of personal for a blog...) But I have lived on my own for some time now, I can make my own decisions (based on God's guidance, that is), and I can pretty much take care of myself. I do what I want when I want, and I enjoy the independence, for the most part. I will be living at home again come Christmas. We'll see how long that lasts!

Also, as I have blogged about several times before, I have noticed that I am not a small-town girl at all. Even though I have wanted to live somewhere like this for my whole life, now that I'm here I can see that it is not my place at all. I am to be in the city with all its busyness and dirt and poverty and diversity.

It is dark outside, my chai is finished, and it is getting close to supper. That's all for now.

"Only one life, 'twill soon be past,
Only what's done for Christ will last.
And when I am dying, how happy I'll be,
If the lamp of my life has been burned out for Thee."
--C.T. Studd (?)

Sometimes

Sometimes I suddenly think of India. I close my eyes and vivid memories assault my thoughts, already occupied with drawing isomers and income inequality and Plato's Republic and le subjonctif.

I remember the smells and bright colours and crowded streets. I remember the steel plates, burning hot on the bottom from the rice and dhal, the best-ever chai at that one shop, the hot, spicy, greasy samosas from the street vendors. Washing my clothes every night, the water warm from the day's hot sun, the washing powder sticking to my wet palm. Beating each piece of clothing, sloshing it vigorously in the bucket, then wringing and twisting it and hanging it out to dry.

I remember the lush green rainforest, the dry and rocky hills with labourer-women carrying large baskets of rocks on their heads. The chaotic, dirty cities. The poor, the crowded, rundown slums, the little boy pooping by the side of the road. The clacking trains..."Garam chai, garam chai...", the grandma who kissed my hand when I gave her Rs 10, the little low-caste girl who came to the base and hugged me all the time. The multitudes and diversity of people, each with their own individual story, unique in the seething mass of 1.1 billion living, breathing souls...

I remember. Vividly. Clearly. In sharp relief. And my soul longs to go back...back to the land I have come to call my second home, back to live among the people I have come to love so much.

How much is too much?

I am writing a short paper (more like an essay) on the topic of income inequality for my political science class. I am to discuss it's pros and cons and then say what amount of income inequality is reasonable. The topic is timely, since I have been thinking about poverty lately. (And in case you haven't already noticed, I am blogging about it a lot too! I'll write more about it, too, don't worry.)

I have always felt uncomfortable with opulence. I remember coming home from India the first time. My friend and I had a layover in Dubai and we stayed in a fancy hotel arranged by the airline. I remember being astounded at the shiny modernity I was suddenly thrust into. Looking back, I think I noticed the contrast all the more because the care centre was so simple (it wasn't austere, but it wasn't anything like we have in the West). I felt so uncomfortable and self-conscious at the hotel.

I feel the same way at formal events and in fine restaurants, and when I am treated like some sort of elevated citizen. The thoughts that go through my head sound like this: "Wow...this is really nice...elegant like anything. It must have cost a fortune! It's very comfortable, but it doesn't make me feel comfortable on the inside. Even the napkins are perfectly folded and the forks are costly looking. Hmm...one could enjoy this for a while. But it's so unnecessary. How can some people bear this everyday? How could Stephen Harper or Barack Obama tolerate all this all the time? [I shudder. Then I think of the poor.] What! People are living with tons of unnecessary frivolities, and there is so much need in the world. This is outrageous!" And then I resolve to sell my possessions and give to the poor.

That leads to the question "How much elegance/opulence is acceptable?" I would argue that opulence is not an option for the Christian. I would also venture to say that Jesus meant what He said when He told his followers to give up everything they own and give to the poor, and then to follow Him. It isn't a particularly popular perspective, although it is what Jesus Himself seems to be saying. I found a slim volume in the university library the other day on St. Francis. It's a rather tattered biography, nearly 60 years old. On page 31, I read the following (shortened for the sake of space), discussing a portion of Luke 14. After noting that Jesus is speaking to the crowds (not the disciples) about the "elementary conditions of discipleship", the author observes:

"Yet there are hundreds of thousands of men and women who consider themselves Christian disciples who have not the slightest intention of doing any one of these three things...

"What can be done about it? We can try, as so many have tried, to get round these "hard sayings". We can try to persuade ourselves that Christ never said them, though few can accept so easy an escape as that. We can treat them as "rhetorical exaggerations"...though once we start doing that we can soon water down the teaching of Christ...We can argue that these conditions were meant only for the innermost circle of disciples, or that Christ gave them under the (erroneous) belief that the end of the world was imminent; but neither of these explanations can be of much comfort to a trouble conscience."

Hmm...This blog is named "Life With An Accent" henna?

Olympic torch

As I write this, the Olympic torch is going through the streets of this small Maritime town. It was just passed from one torchbearer to another outside the library window.

The Olympics will cost $2.5 billion dollars; the security budget is something like $1 billion. There is a sudden urgency to clean up Vancouver's notorious Downtown East Side and get rid of homelessness there. (The timing is so coincidental...)

My eyes are smarting. How can we spend incomprehensible amounts of money on sports and entertainment when there are billions of poor people in the world, children made redheads by malnourishment, and men and women who sleep in garbage dumpsters because they have nowhere else to go?

It isn't fair and it isn't just.

Generosity

Before I went on my DTS outreach, I was pretty sure that I was going to minister to sick people. My school/base leader sent me to Mumbai with the words, "God has something planned for you in the slums." "In the slums?" I thought, "Hello? What about the sick people?" Oh yes, there were sick people in the slums. Many sick. I wished I was a doctor or nurse so I could suggest some simple remedy to help them. All we could really do was pray. (We did a lot of that.)

On one of my days off, one of the Mumbai DTS students invited me to come to her house. We took the train and bus, and on our way, I learned that this house was actually a slum relocation flat. (Her English wasn't very strong at this point, so it often took a while to get simple facts across.) When the city razes a slum area, they build large flats and put the poor in there for free. In this particular area, there were twenty flats with seven floors each; sixteen apartments to a floor.

That day was one of my favorite days of the trip. We sat in the tiny flat (a "BHK" with one bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a hall/living room, maybe 40m2), laughing and talking. She cooked chicken and chapati for lunch, and when her mother came home from her job as a domestic servant, we had chai. Her mother doesn't speak English, and I don't speak much Hindi or any Marathi, but we enjoyed each others' company anyway.

The area between the train station and the flats is a slum. Small huts, garbage, inadequate sanitation and water...the usual. As we walked there on the way home, they bought pani puri for me to try. It's like a small, round, hollow, puffed cracker, which the vendor fills with spiced, mashed peas and then dips in either chili or tamarind water. You eat it all in one swallow. I had never had it before, and the first time I tried it it went up my nose. We stood at the tiny stall (table, actually) by the side of the road laughing. I can only imagine what the locals must have thought: a strange white girl in Indian dress, in a slum, trying to eat pani puri with some locals and all of them laughing.

We arrived at the train station and my friend's brother went to get the ticket for me. They refused to let me pay him back.

I have never forgotten the generosity shown me that day. It is not often that a Westerner in a developing country is on the receiving end of material things. We are richly blessed with stories and growing experiences and the opening of our eyes to new perspectives, but usually we are the "rich" giving to the "poor". There were times on my trip when I had no money. But God always provided somehow. Through a friend back home or a financially poor Indian, I received much in every way.

I have not forgotten the slum people. Now, in a picture-perfect small town, surrounded by affluent young North Americans, it is the poor that I miss the most. Someday, Lord-willing, I will go back and live among them.

Five years later

Five years ago tonight, I became a child of God. I realized the date this afternoon: November 6. I spent a little time pondering what the Lord has done in my life over the past five years and how good it has been. Walking with Him is such a privilege.

Since I have been journalling for years, reading through my old journal entries is a good way to see how I have changed. My favorite entries are the ones since I became a believer. The transformation was almost immediate, perhaps not outwardly, but in how I thought. Before November 6, 2004, my entried centered on me: myself, my problems, how I wanted this or to do that. Within days, they were different. They were about God, how I wanted my life to center around Him, how I wanted to please Him. I wrote about others, about ideas, and about my walk with the Lord. I didn't pay any attention to this change for a couple of years, but now I see it clearly.

The phrase "born again" has become a trite expression, a worn-out, almost derogatory term. Let's redeem it! Being born again is great. I love it! Imagine having a whole new soul, a new way of seeing and thinking, a whole new way of living. It's a fresh start. All your sins are erased, all the ones you've committed in the past, and even the ones that you'll commit in the future. Your whole nature is transformed. You have peace and bubbly joy and a sort of light feeling.

And the thing that is so hard to believe (let alone comprehend), is that it has nothing to do with what we do. God doesn't forgive me (or you) when you do something that pleases Him. He forgives you completely when you ask Jesus Christ to make you a new person, and when you turn from your sinful ways and ask for Him to take over your life and forgive all your sins. Nothing you do adds to it. He does everything. It's all grace. (That's why it's called "amazing.") And He loves you! How He loves you!

I could go on and on and on about how good the Lord has been to me. How He has transformed me and is transforming me. How He can totally change my heart and attitudes in minutes, no matter how rebellious I'm feeling. How He provides everything I need, whether it's Vitamin C for only Rs 8, a perfectly-timed GST rebate cheque, a cheap French grammar book, or some half-price vegetables. He has blessed me with wonderful brothers and sisters in Christ, a home church that is now family whom I love dearly, and the opportunities to serve Him in India--twice. He never fails to do what's good for me, to show me how much He loves me, and to give me joy: not in my circumstances or in who I am, but in who He is and what He has done. He's amazing. What else can I say?

So, Abba Father, thank you for everything you have done in my life, and especially in the last five years of walking with you (even though I dragged my feet sometimes). Everything I have ever needed You have provided. You are way more than enough for me. And You are so faithful. Even when I am so often unfaithful, You are always faithful. Your steadfast love NEVER ceases--it is new every single morning. I love you so much. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I want to love you so much more, and be like Your Son, my Saviour. Let me see more of Your beauty and glory. Make me bold and loving and passionate about You. Impress the Cross more deeply on my heart. Make me understand more of Jesus' sacrifice for me. How I long to proclaim it! Lord God, I promised to follow You all of my days, and I am so eager to see where You will take me in the coming days and years. Make me glorify Your name, for you are truly an awesome God.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases--His mercies never come to an end! They are new every morning--literally every morning...Great is Thy faithfulness (Lam. 3:22-23).

That is quickly becoming the story of my life. Let it be the story of yours.

Kiva

I went to hear Jessica Jackley, the co-founder of Kiva, speak tonight. It was very interesting. She talked about how Kiva got started and what sorts of things we (students) could do to make an impact on the world. Specifically, they are: have a mission (surprise, surprise!), be open (to other people taking control of their part of the work), iterate (build up by repeating small things), and focus on individuals (people and their stories). She talked a lot about stories. That was cool, since I really like people and their stories a lot too. She also said, "Opportunities come and go, and you have to say yes or no depending on who you are."

Anyway, I was going to say something about poverty. It was related to this, but now I forget what it was. I'm tired, and I should go to bed. My hallmate just looked in my open door, and said, "You're still awake?" (I'm known for going to bed early.) So I'll go to bed now, and someday soon I will tell you what I've been thinking about poverty.

You could read these two articles to get started: "I Have Not Always Obeyed This Command," and its part two.

Sunday rest

When I arrived at university, I realized very quickly that I run on a completely different schedule than almost everyone else. Actually, I've never met anyone who runs on the schedule I do. The typical student stays up late at night: past midnight is common. "I've started going to bed early!" exulted one friend of mine, "Around midnight or 1am!" Then they get up around 8 or 9am (6am if they're nuts like my friend), some later than 10am, depending on what time their first class is. Most students party on Friday nights, sleep in on Saturdays, spend Saturday relaxing and hanging out, and then talk about working on Sunday, and actually start in the late afternoon or evening.

Opposite this, I go to bed early, get up early (well, usually), work late on Fridays (unless there's a concert) and spend almost all day on Saturday studying or doing food prep or grocery shopping. On Saturday evenings I am free, and I never do schoolwork or shopping on Sundays. Ever, period. I once tried doing some schoolwork on a Sunday night, but it wrecked the whole Sunday spirit.

Why? Why do I live so counterculturally, on a schedule that goes against the norm? The primary reason is because I choose to observe Sabbath. I am well aware that the Scriptural norm was a Saturday Sabbath. Since this post is not about what day to rest on, I will not debate the particulars. However, I will say that I believe it is important for Christians to take a full 24h of rest each week. Sunday is typical in the West, and even though I would probably observe Saturdays if it fit better, I have decided to rest on Sundays. Here in the Maritimes, where the law against shops being open on Sundays was only repealed a few years ago, most stores are still closed on Sundays, especially in small towns like the one I'm living in now. Sunday still retains a trace of specialness in most places in Canada, so I capitalize on it. It's the day most Christians go to church, a good day to go for walks, read good books, listen to excellent music, not cook (there's something leftovers and meal hall are good for!), plan the coming week, and write letters home.

One of my friends is a med student, and she also takes a day of rest each week. It seems impossible to take time off in school, but God really honours those who seek to obey Him. Somehow I have always managed to get everything done, despite spending a whole day each week consciously not working. It's grace, I guess. That's the only explanation I have. (Well, there is certainly less work than I thought there would be, but that's another post.) I think that perhaps the people who say that they "can't" take a day off either waste a lot of time during the week or perhaps have taken on too much. Yes, we should work with all our might and serve as unto the Lord, but that isn't the same as working yourself sick. The most important work was done for us 2000 years ago on the cross.

Another reason to take a day off is to preserve your sanity. Really. In a rushing, busy, nonstop world like ours, a day to be separate from the world will keep you sane and rested. Shut off your mobile, don't turn on the computer, don't watch TV, only spend the day doing activities that keep the Sunday spirit...you have to evaluate what keeps the Sunday spirit for you.

Personally, I do not do schoolwork or shopping, as I mentioned above. For the most part, I avoid anything to do with money. Normally I don't use the computer (though this isn't strict, as you can tell, since it's a Sunday afternoon and I'm blogging) or cook much. And I've discovered that I have to be choosy about my Sunday social events. If I don't, I come home at the end of the day and realize that I spent no time reflecting on God's mercy in my life, and that the day wasn't set apart for Him, like the Lord's day should be. I don't start my week rested and refreshed. I go for a long walk, read a good book that sets my mind on the cross, eat a special treat, go to church, and occasionally meet with a friend. Sometimes I do some planning, but I prohibit this if it makes me feel too anxious!

So I challenge you to choose to take a Sabbath each week. Choose activities that will be restful and "set your minds on the things that are above" (Col. 3:2). No, it probably will not fit nicely with how everyone else lives. But is that really what you're after?