It is cold outside tonight. I don't really like cold weather. It makes me want to stay inside in my pajamas and sit around watching TV or be in the kitchen cooking a big pot of vegetable soup. I don't want to go anywhere. I don't love the piles of clothes, hats, gloves and coats that make it tolerable. I dread the icy whip of the wind as I step outside. I hate getting into a frost covered car and waiting for the heat to kick in. No...I don't like cold weather.
As I considered this, my thoughts turned to another time and another place. When my youngest daughter decided to "trek" in northern India a few years back and to live in the Himalaya Mountains for a couple of years, I didn't know what to expect. I spent a lot of hours on the internet learning as much as I could about the place she would be living. I learned about the dangers of mountainous trekking - lions and tigers and bears...oh,my! Well, tigers, anyway. I learned about the random trail shelters that are common on the paths for trekkers to stop in and spend a night. I learned about the need for wool socks, good trekking shoes and an all efficient back pack. I thought I had a good idea of what it would take to survive and tried to help prepare her with the best we could afford as she left our US shores and traveled half-way around the world.
Some years later, I now know that I didn't know anything and had no idea about life "over there". Although I know now that I know so little, I am beginning to get a better picture of what it looks like to live in a third world country, in the winter, in the mountains.
I'd like to compare life "there" with life "here" based on the beginning statements of this writing. In the Himalaya Mountains in the winter, it is cold...very cold outside - AND inside. My home would have no insulation...and no heat. Yes, there is electricity - when it is working (hydro-electric power from the Himalayas freezes in the winter months thus not much "hydro" to be had). It would be cost prohibitive to heat the house with electricity. People don't heat with wood. Wood is precious. At the highest altitudes there are no trees. To burn it for heat would be wasteful. Gas is available to use in small amounts for cook stoves and heating geezers, but it would be very expensive to heat a home with it. I understand that in some places they burn dried yak dung, but that would not be the norm for the type of structures that are the homes in small towns in the Himalayas. So yes, it is very cold outside tonight - and every night. I'm sure I would make use of a hot water bottle and thick wool rug-like cover for the mat intended for sleeping.
If I were living in the Himalayas, I would probably NOT want to sit around in my comfy pajamas all day...I would be wearing layers, instead. A bottom layer of long johns and a couple of layers of warm shirts and my coat. Since it is too cold to take a shower more often than every week or so (or longer), and I would not want wet hair for sure, I would wear a stocking cap...inside and outside, around the house and in the bed. As for watching TV, I could do that when the electricity is working...but it would not be all English and it would be mostly old shows, if I could get any. I could watch a DVD on my computer - but the locals really don't have much of an opportunity to do that. Most of them, if they have a computer, would have to visit an internet cafe and pay a pricey amount to use the internet.
As for cooking a big pot of vegetable soup, I suppose that would be possible. I would have to visit the market and get the vegetables I needed - of which most are small and poorly grown. After going through a cleaning process, I would have to cook my own tomatoes and would need to learn to cook with a pressure cooker for best results. If I chose to have meat in the soup, that would require visiting the market to purchase it from a slab that is hanging in open air and probably has not been butchered in the cleanest of situations. But vegetable soup is very tasty.
Going nowhere would not be a big problem. There is nowhere much to go...no malls, no amusement parks, no indoor activities...just home. I have already addressed the piles of clothes that are necessary for survival and not an option. Now about transportation...the most common form is at the end of my legs. If I must get out, walking is the only option. That is true for most - both tourists and locals. The Himalaya towns and villages are not easy to traverse. The roads are made of dirt with potholes and the streets are too narrow for traffic. There will be an occasional car or delivery truck that will make its way through the winding hilly township, but for the most part walking is the way to get around. So - no worries about waiting for the frost covered car to warm up.
As I was considering all of this, I became more and more grateful for these cold winter days. And more and more grateful for insulation, electricity, heat, hot water, clean prepared food, coats and hats and cars. It is cold - tonight, but I live in a place where it will probably be warm by the weekend - even in January. This comparison brings to light how spoiled and blessed I really am. Bring on the cold night! I really think I can "tough it out" now.
*By the way, as it turned out, my daughter did very little actual trekking while living in the Himalayas, but she did experience the harshness of those long cold winter days in a small village town. She lived a difficult life during that year and a half, and I am proud of her courage just as much as if she had faced a tiger and won!
Monday, January 27, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
A Big Blue Bus and Suckers
I was 14 or 15 years old when I began riding on the big baby blue re-purposed school bus as a part of the Children's Bus Ministry of First Baptist Church in Paragould, Arkansas. I don't remember a lot of the details of how I began working the ministry, but it significantly impacted my life in several ways.
I worked the ministry initially with the family of Benny McDaniel. He had a small team of drivers who were way past their prime, his wife and small children, and a couple of teenage girls as his team. We would meet on Saturday mornings in the church parking lot and wait on the bus for everyone to arrive.
On the front seat of the bus was a box of penny suckers. They glimmered in the sunlight like glass on a stick. We would stuff our pockets and hands full of them as we descended the stairs to the ground after parking at the end of a chosen block, hoping to find takers with whom we could share our bounty. Benny paired us up - a teenage girl with an old man and perhaps a small child tagging along - to go door to door.
Our goal was to find children - many of them unsupervised and neglected - who would like to ride our big blue bus and attend church with us the following Sunday morning. Benny believed that we should be blanketing the small town in which we lived, providing a means of church attendance for every child and a hope for their salvation by doing so.
Benny would scout out the streets and neighborhoods that seemed to have a lot of children and families that we could reach. We prayed for the children and their parents and homes. We knew that many of the children would never be understood or accepted within the traditional church setting but Benny fought for them. The church was uncomfortable with these dirty little street urchins and it wasn't long until a "Children's Church" format was created so that they could attend without disturbing others. It was a good plan for the time and so the bus ministry went on.
The children in the poorest parts of our town got to know our big blue bus quickly. They would run to us, run along side us, and wait for us. One small boy would climb on board with us at the end of his street, stuff his pockets with suckers and get off at the end of the street. We were ok with it. Benny would go to the homes on the block and talk with the parents when he could. Many of them were incapable of holding a conversation - either were still in bed or were too wasted to make much sense. It was a time when there wasn't so much of a threat of child abduction and we weren't perceived as a threat - really we were welcomed because we would be taking the children away for a few hours on Sundays. Free child care was all the parents cared about and so they willingly sent their children with us.
The sights and smells of the broken down neighborhoods and homes are still in my mind and nostrils. There was a family that was on our radar for some time. There were ten children and the oldest was a girl my age. In fact, we went to school together. We were 15 years old. They lived in a condemned house in the edge of town. Benny wanted me to go to the house with him. I saw the worst human conditions that I believe exist in the US that day. The house was a very small ply-board house with no electricity or utilities. Remember, it was a condemned house - they didn't pay rent, nor have permission to live there, and there were not even proper windows and doors. As we entered the front doorway, the most rancid smell of urine hit my nose that I had ever smelled. I wanted to puke. Benny had warned me about the bad conditions and I knew that I could not react in a loving way if I didn't just physically block my nose by holding my breath. We were in what should have been the living room but there was no furniture. In the corner was a huge pile of clothes. It was obvious that the children slept on them, probably peed on them, and then would get up and find something from the pile to wear. I think I lost my innocence that day. We picked the children up for church the next morning - all of them. The baby was filthy and wearing a soppy wet cloth diaper - and that was all. Joy (name change for her protection) was carrying her on her hip. I knew the nursery would not be ready for this, but Benny was ready to meet the challenge and didn't bat an eye. We picked them up several times and even traced them down to pick them up when the city evicted them. Joy's belly began to bulge and it became very obvious that she was with child. She was not only with child, it was her father's child. Oh, the depth of shock my little heart felt when I was told this truth. I had never even entertained that such things happened. And here she was, my age and pregnant by her own father. Yes, I definitely lost my innocence on that big baby blue bus. I also found a compassionate heart.
There were many experiences that I had and still carry today that help me understand the depravity of man and the love of our Father in Heaven. I watched anxiously from the safety of the bus and in the care of my old man friend bus drivers one Saturday morning as Benny rushed to break up a violent fight in-between two women. The police were called and we were urged to continue on. I told about Will, our little street rider, who rarely actually came to church with us but sure did love our suckers. He lived at the end of a dirt path in a one room shack with some old man. I always thought he was his dad, but probably not. He always wore overalls that were dirty and too small for him. He always traded hugs for suckers. There were some children who attended who made professions of faith. One of the little girls was raped. I don't know what happened to her.
We met at the church on Sunday mornings bright and early and went to the streets that we had converged the day before, driving slowly, hoping to see children waiting to get on the bus. Some did. We would greet them and sit with them. We would sing and talk to them. It wasn't hard or uncomfortable. We would help them find their Sunday School class and then meet them on the bus to take them home. Of course, when they got off at home, they were given a hand full of suckers. They would smile and wave and we would shout good-byes and remind them we would be back next week.
We enjoyed our time together, Benny's family, the old men bus drivers and the teenage girls who went along. We would sing and talk and pray. The teenage girls were ok that the old men would sometimes back into a pole, or swerve into a small ditch or start off when we weren't quite seated and ready, hitting every possible bump in the road. They were committed and consistent and loved the opportunity to bring children, who otherwise would never get the chance, into the church to learn of the love of Jesus.
I was involved with the bus ministry for two or three years during my teen years. I don't know the long term effect that the bus ministry and our suckers had on these children of extreme poverty, but I know what it had on my heart. I will always treasure the opportunity to serve the Father and have never regretted my time spent on the big baby blue bus with others who loved it the same.
I worked the ministry initially with the family of Benny McDaniel. He had a small team of drivers who were way past their prime, his wife and small children, and a couple of teenage girls as his team. We would meet on Saturday mornings in the church parking lot and wait on the bus for everyone to arrive.
On the front seat of the bus was a box of penny suckers. They glimmered in the sunlight like glass on a stick. We would stuff our pockets and hands full of them as we descended the stairs to the ground after parking at the end of a chosen block, hoping to find takers with whom we could share our bounty. Benny paired us up - a teenage girl with an old man and perhaps a small child tagging along - to go door to door.
Our goal was to find children - many of them unsupervised and neglected - who would like to ride our big blue bus and attend church with us the following Sunday morning. Benny believed that we should be blanketing the small town in which we lived, providing a means of church attendance for every child and a hope for their salvation by doing so.
Benny would scout out the streets and neighborhoods that seemed to have a lot of children and families that we could reach. We prayed for the children and their parents and homes. We knew that many of the children would never be understood or accepted within the traditional church setting but Benny fought for them. The church was uncomfortable with these dirty little street urchins and it wasn't long until a "Children's Church" format was created so that they could attend without disturbing others. It was a good plan for the time and so the bus ministry went on.
The children in the poorest parts of our town got to know our big blue bus quickly. They would run to us, run along side us, and wait for us. One small boy would climb on board with us at the end of his street, stuff his pockets with suckers and get off at the end of the street. We were ok with it. Benny would go to the homes on the block and talk with the parents when he could. Many of them were incapable of holding a conversation - either were still in bed or were too wasted to make much sense. It was a time when there wasn't so much of a threat of child abduction and we weren't perceived as a threat - really we were welcomed because we would be taking the children away for a few hours on Sundays. Free child care was all the parents cared about and so they willingly sent their children with us.
The sights and smells of the broken down neighborhoods and homes are still in my mind and nostrils. There was a family that was on our radar for some time. There were ten children and the oldest was a girl my age. In fact, we went to school together. We were 15 years old. They lived in a condemned house in the edge of town. Benny wanted me to go to the house with him. I saw the worst human conditions that I believe exist in the US that day. The house was a very small ply-board house with no electricity or utilities. Remember, it was a condemned house - they didn't pay rent, nor have permission to live there, and there were not even proper windows and doors. As we entered the front doorway, the most rancid smell of urine hit my nose that I had ever smelled. I wanted to puke. Benny had warned me about the bad conditions and I knew that I could not react in a loving way if I didn't just physically block my nose by holding my breath. We were in what should have been the living room but there was no furniture. In the corner was a huge pile of clothes. It was obvious that the children slept on them, probably peed on them, and then would get up and find something from the pile to wear. I think I lost my innocence that day. We picked the children up for church the next morning - all of them. The baby was filthy and wearing a soppy wet cloth diaper - and that was all. Joy (name change for her protection) was carrying her on her hip. I knew the nursery would not be ready for this, but Benny was ready to meet the challenge and didn't bat an eye. We picked them up several times and even traced them down to pick them up when the city evicted them. Joy's belly began to bulge and it became very obvious that she was with child. She was not only with child, it was her father's child. Oh, the depth of shock my little heart felt when I was told this truth. I had never even entertained that such things happened. And here she was, my age and pregnant by her own father. Yes, I definitely lost my innocence on that big baby blue bus. I also found a compassionate heart.
There were many experiences that I had and still carry today that help me understand the depravity of man and the love of our Father in Heaven. I watched anxiously from the safety of the bus and in the care of my old man friend bus drivers one Saturday morning as Benny rushed to break up a violent fight in-between two women. The police were called and we were urged to continue on. I told about Will, our little street rider, who rarely actually came to church with us but sure did love our suckers. He lived at the end of a dirt path in a one room shack with some old man. I always thought he was his dad, but probably not. He always wore overalls that were dirty and too small for him. He always traded hugs for suckers. There were some children who attended who made professions of faith. One of the little girls was raped. I don't know what happened to her.
We met at the church on Sunday mornings bright and early and went to the streets that we had converged the day before, driving slowly, hoping to see children waiting to get on the bus. Some did. We would greet them and sit with them. We would sing and talk to them. It wasn't hard or uncomfortable. We would help them find their Sunday School class and then meet them on the bus to take them home. Of course, when they got off at home, they were given a hand full of suckers. They would smile and wave and we would shout good-byes and remind them we would be back next week.
We enjoyed our time together, Benny's family, the old men bus drivers and the teenage girls who went along. We would sing and talk and pray. The teenage girls were ok that the old men would sometimes back into a pole, or swerve into a small ditch or start off when we weren't quite seated and ready, hitting every possible bump in the road. They were committed and consistent and loved the opportunity to bring children, who otherwise would never get the chance, into the church to learn of the love of Jesus.
I was involved with the bus ministry for two or three years during my teen years. I don't know the long term effect that the bus ministry and our suckers had on these children of extreme poverty, but I know what it had on my heart. I will always treasure the opportunity to serve the Father and have never regretted my time spent on the big baby blue bus with others who loved it the same.
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