pass the plate

One way to mark our time in India is through meals.

There were slow mornings that ended with stomachs full of milky, sugary coffee and buttered toast. There were lunches where our sweaty bodies filed off buses and into local restaurants. There were dinners around long tables, or seated on floors, with no time frame and deep, good conversation. There were hours of chai time and snacks.

One of the first things we learned was to eat with our hands. Abbi, one of our tour guides, described it this way: Indians like to experience life with all of their senses.

To see. To smell. To hear. To taste. To touch.

When you eat with your hands you engage a little deeper than you do with a sterile fork and spoon. You get to play as you use your fingers to mix together rice, sauce, and protein. You feel the heat. Turns out our hand makes an excellent spoon if contorted correctly. Think of your four fingers – on your right hand, of course – as a shovel, and your thumb as a broom. Your fingers touch your lips as your tools deliver each bite. Add to that the experience of hot, buttered naan. The swirling and folding of the warm bread through the sauces becomes a sort of dance.

Most of our meals were delivered family style. Little bowls of sauces peppered the table between large bowls of rice and heaping plates of naan. Eating family style is a game of compromise and communion. You must take into account those who don’t eat meat or certain grains when ordering. You must think through which dish might be a favorite and make sure to order enough. You must share. Sometimes someone will take the last bite that you really, really wanted.

But the understanding and grace is this: there will be another meal with these friends as you continue the journey. Next time, orders can be switched up and someone else can be served first.

There was a point in the trip where the western, individualist in me got tired of the communal nature of our meals. I just wanted to order the dish I wanted and not have to share with anyone. Maybe that’s the only child in me as well. I also really wanted to use a fork. Eventually there were times when we did just order for ourselves. But, as the trip went on I found myself seeking out others to split dishes with me again. And my fingers found themselves covered in sauce.

There is something about the discussion and the sharing that solidifies the meal.

We move beyond utilitarian nourishment when we eat this way. We touch the life on our plates and the life sitting next to us with a little more thought and care. 

on the road

We may be lost, but we are seen. We are known. We are loved.

There is something about getting in my car and driving with no GPS. The hills and farms that surround Waco are good places to explore with no agenda or timeframe. I spend some afternoons doing this. There is something comforting about being present in a space when only God knows where I am. 

Getting lost teaches me to pray with expectancy.

India is a great place for this practice.

My sense of direction is lacking. If I should go right, my inclination will always be to go left. In India, and in America, I typically rely on others I trust to lead the way and notice land marks.

Sometimes the people I am with and the people I trust don’t know the way.

We wind through the alleys and streets of Jaipur, India – The Pink City. The alleys are narrow and full of life. Shops open. People bathe. They worship. Cows wander. Motorbikes speed past. I pray. My nose fills with dust from the artisans crafting statues and gods. My nose fills with fragrance as people burn incense and welcome the day with devotion.

People stare as we wander through their street. They stare just as I would if unfamiliar people walked through my yard or took up the space that was usually available for my morning commute. The staring can be unnerving. So I smile at the women and children while doing my best not to make eye contact with the men. I trust that my friend – walking a few paces behind me - is embracing his role and watching out for me.

We have a map but it is too small and doesn’t show our meeting place. We find ourselves in a roundabout that we think should be our final destination. Cars, rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, camels, dogs, food carts, and humans. So much sun. So many noises. So many smells. I’m out of water. My buddy shares. We don’t see the rest of the group and it’s getting close to the time to meet. We climb the stairs of a tall temple and look out over the scene for familiar faces, bags, or clothes. No luck.

As we come down the stairs we ask someone for directions. He doesn’t speak English, but a nearby teenage boy does. He overhears us and says he is going that way too. So, we follow him. As we walk he tells us about the shop where he works and how close it is to where we are going. We reiterate that we must meet our friends. We walk and talk.

I chat with God as we walk and am thankful for this young friend whose presence is an answer to prayer. And then I think…what if he isn’t actually a friend? What if we end up further from where we need to be? But I choose to trust and continue following.

My trust is in my God who sees me and cares for me intimately.

We find our friends; much quicker than if we were alone. We thank our new travelling companion and talk a while longer. Sometimes getting lost allows you to find others and really see them.

Throughout my time in India I was continually struck by how lost I always am. It is easier to overlook my dependence on God’s mercy and provision with GPS, when help is always a cell phone call away, when I speak the same language as everyone around me.

I feel in control and safe within the city limits of Austin, Waco or College Station. I forget that I exist within my Father’s sight and care – and not because of my own effort. India reminds me that there is nothing wrong with using tools, with relying on friends and neighbors, but these people and things are worth thanking God for because they are a form of mercy and provision.

I need to be reminded that I am lost because it gives me space to be grateful that I am also found. I am seen, I am known, I am loved. 

no power

Do you know what you can do in 2014 with no power? Your phone will probably die. You can’t make morning coffee. You put your makeup on in the dark. The meat in your freezer will begin to rot. You can’t dry your hair. Your alarm won’t work. No internet. So what can you do? Be a little more resourceful. Rely on friends who do have power. Get in your car and find somewhere with wifi. 

Inconveniencing? Sure. Another good reminder that I don’t really need or deserve these things? Absolutely.

I’m home from India. I’m sitting at Starbucks because our power went out last night and hasn’t come back on yet.

My friends and I sat in a fair number of coffee shops over the course of 5 weeks. We soaked up free wifi and fueled our caffeine addictions as we took breaks from the Indian heat. This moment doesn’t feel much different.

While last night and this morning was an inconvenience overall my perspective has changed. 

People want to hear about India, and I want to tell them. I want to tell you. But, how do you speak of 5 weeks of your life? How would you sum up your past 5 weeks? So as I look you in the eyes – if I have the privilege – I will share. I will tell you of meaningful moments and people that I love. I will tell you of the way a night in a train station strengthened my faith in God and humanity.

But, I can’t say it all in one sitting. So, I am also going to share here. A little at a time. As I process and piece together life before India, life in India, and life now. I won’t ever be able to say it all. But I want you to know as much as you want and as much as I can give.

Journey with me if you’d like.