My 42nd Birthday

On my 42nd birthday, I was recalling all my great memories, but there were too many to hold on too and they were overflowing my memory bank. I've been so blessed.

It was a breathtaking moment when I felt the love God had poured out on me. My heart started to swell and tears began to flow . But Why have I been given all this, I asked Him.  I don’t deserve any of it. 

I truly feel like Ephesians 3:20 describes my life; He has blessed me beyond measure and He has done immeasurably more than I could have ever asked or expected. I see what I've been given, His love, peace, and joy, security, and a wonderful family to top it all off. I want to throw my arms up in praises to my Father in heaven who gave all this to me. I want to do my best to honor Him and make Him proud of me.

Then God reminded me that He has blessed me with so much for a reason. I’ve been given all this and God expects me to do something about it. Jesus said to his disciples in Luke, to whom much is given, much is expected. I want to do something in return for the favor He has shown me.

In my travels abroad I’ve seen incredible poverty in India, Cambodia, Thailand, even in Australia.  Not just material poverty, but also great emotional poverty.  Too many innocent children without hope, lost and desperate for love. They didn’t do anything to deserve that life.  I didn’t do anything to deserve mine.  There’s no reason, it isn't fair.  I know that life will never be fair until Christ returns and the world is under his authority.  That’s my hope and joy which gives me great peace in this fallen, broken world.

I want to spend the next 42 years honoring the GOD whom has given so much, and whom I love so much.  I hope I can make Him proud, I don't want to disappoint Him.  

My new motto is: My labor for God is prompted by love, my work is produced by my faith, and my endurance is inspired by hope in the Lord Jesus Christ. (I Thess 1:3)

Being Nostalgic

A friend of mine was writing a book, compiling different stories from expats and she asked me to recall my initial account of my arrival to India. It got me so nastalgic I had to post it in my blog.
We went to India because my husband's dream was to bring his young family back to the country that had impacted him so deeply as a young college student. Steve had incredible stories of his time in India that had us laughing with tears. He loved the smell of sandlewood (which I hated) and introduced me to exotic foods. He got me so enchanted with India and gave me this huge desire to see it for myself. So we convinced his international company that they needed us in Bangalore for a short term project, at least five months.
I didn't feel we needed a "look-see" first. We decided to find a home once we arrived and depend on my my husband's recollection from when he was in Bangalore as a college student 25 years ago. 
I wanted to be prepared for what lay ahead so I watched documentaries and the movie hit Slum Dog Millionaire. We ate at local Indian restaurants, and read tour guide books. However, nothing can prepare you for the realities of the sensory overload or culture shock you experience once you are there.
I thought I had set low expectations, thought I knew what to be prepared for, but I distinctly remember my intial reaction the first night we arrived at Bangalore. We were sitting in our muggy hotel lobby at three in the morning waiting to be checked in to our room. I was feeling woozy from the thick smoke from sandalwood incense, wondering why the hotel had high "security", smacking away the onslaught of mosquitos and thinking "Forget getting sick from food poisoning, we're all going to get malaria! What in the world have I agreed to?".
India was a full on assault of my senses, exaggerated by the warm, heavy air, the noise and smells seemed almost too much to bear at times. I recall my husband saying with sadness and disappointment that Bangalore hadn't changed in the twenty-five years since he'd last been there, still the same corruption and chaos, only with more people and less trees. As a young man he'd thought for sure India was on the cusp of great changes when he was there over two decades ago.
I didn't want his disappointment to affect my perception, I wanted to make up my own mind. I could take Bangalore in small daily doses and often would retreat to the quiet confines of my bedroom or rooftop terrace where I could meditate and read (which I never did in the States). Friendships and strong sense of humor became essential to my survival in India. 
Despite the challenges we faced, we renewed our visa three times and 18 months later I couldn't imagine leaving India and returning back to my sterile, boring life in America. It was so hard to say good-bye to my beloved maid and driver who had become like family to me. I depended so much on them and had learned essential relationship truths from them, we visited their villages, and met their children.
Even after being separated over two years, India has become a dear friend of mine. Hardly a day goes by when I don't have something that sparks a fond memory. I often light a stick of sandalwood in her memory. I love that smell.