Where in the World is Sudie?
On June 1st students returned to Christava Mahilalayam, filling the corridors with the familiar, smiling faces I so greatly missed during the holiday. While the school’s reopening brings with it the less-loved aspects of teaching (after the first week, my voice is a bit tired), I am thrilled to return to my community and my routine. Yet, amid the joy of this reunion, conversations often turn to my quickly approaching departure and the task of saying goodbye.
After school I have been visiting the home of one of my students. This particular student used to live near U.C. College and, therefore, shared my bus stop. Because of her family’s close proximity to my apartment, I spent many afternoons at their home – enough that I began referring to them as my ‘pseudo host family.’ Recently they moved out of Aluva, increasing the commute from a five-minute walk to a half-hour drive. Thus, I now reach them by school bus. As I talked with my student and her parents over tea on Monday afternoon, the topic turned to my remaining days in India. We discussed our time together and the upcoming task of saying goodbye; by the end of the conversation, I found that my ‘host mom’ and I were both on the verge of tears. Two months suddenly feels so short.
A couple weeks ago I had to say my first goodbye: a friend from the Mandiram Society (Becca’s site) left for Utter Pradesh (UP) where he will be serving as a missionary for the next year. Just next to Delhi, UP is a two-day’s train journey from Kerala; they have different food, a different language, a different climate, and a different culture . . . In many ways, my friend’s year of service within his own country is comparable to mine in a foreign land. The weekend before he left for UP, my friend invited us (the other YAVs and me) to his home. We spent two days visiting with his family, eating delicious and exotic fruit (much of it straight from the back yard), and playing in the rain. On Sunday we worshipped with his home church and were able to celebrate in his commissioning. As I participated in the congregation’s prayers and watched them say goodbye, my thoughts drifted back to my own commissioning last August. At that point I was experiencing a mix of emotions - excitement, fear, sadness, anticipation. India was a great unknown, but I was coming with the support of a loving family and faith community.
Now it seems I have returned to that place of mixed emotions. I am excited to return home to friends and family, most of whom I will have not seen for eleven months. I am excited to begin the next phase of my life at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary and The University of Texas at Austin’s School of Social Work. And, yes, I am excited for my skin color and my native tongue to be signs of belonging rather than signs of foreignness. Yet coming home means leaving another loving and supportive community and relationships I have come to truly cherish.
Last Sunday was Pentecost, a day when we celebrate the Spirit breaking down barriers and reaffirming our oneness as God’s people. Though a tongue of flame has not yet rested upon my shoulder enabling me to speak Malayalam (I’m still waiting), I have taken great comfort this year in a certain universal language. Hospitality and welcome, smiles and laughter, the wonder of children and the waves of strangers are all things that transcend cultural divides. These are the things that have helped create home in a foreign land.
Read comments (0)For one week of May, John and I (along with some Malayalam-speaking friends) joined Ariel at her site to host a camp for her Lower Primary students. These children, many of whom come from the nearby Dalit community, attend the C.S.I. (Church of South India) Kallumala School where Ariel teaches a few days a week. We spent our mornings with the children reading stories, singing ridiculous English songs, playing games and (my favorite) doing arts and crafts. In the afternoons we visited the homes of children and teachers in Ariel’s community. Although the India YAVs live within 100 kilometers of each other, share common challenges of cross-cultural living, and act as a support network as we navigate life in Kerala, the nature of our site placements allows for great diversity of experience. Each of us will certainly come home in August bringing memories of a YAV year that was entirely our own. Though I have visited all the sites, Ariel’s is the first I truly experienced. It was wonderful to participate in the life of her community, meet her friends, and see how Ariel and her site have embraced each other.
[Playing Red Rover!]
[Some of the girls working on their paper-bag puppets]
[One of our campers showing off his puppet]
[All our campers with their puppets]
[John, Ariel, and me with Salama (one of the teachers at the Lower Primary School) and her Grandmother]
[Bijo helping one of our campers with his painting]
[Story time with Sudie and Prajod]
[The ants go marching 2 by 2 hoorah, hoorah . . . ]
After a surprisingly pleasant forty-eight hours on the train (we traveled in AC) the six of us arrived in Delhi. Sue and David Hudson, who are living in Delhi while they serve as the PC(USA)’s regional liaison and coordinator for South Asia, offered to host us during our stay. Having embraced the practice of Indian hospitality, the Hudsons welcomed us into their home with hugs, delicious (sometimes American!) food, and lively conversation. We were extremely grateful for their boundless generosity, especially when a bout of food poisoning caused us to cancel our trip to Rajasthan and recover on the Hudson’s couch. As Ariel, John, and I lay on our deathbeds, we could not have asked for better honorary parents.
Our time in Delhi, Agra, Mussoorie, Dharamsala, Amritsar, and Goa was a wonderful (and intense) discovery of India’s diversity. We witnessed new people, religions, languages, and landscapes, all of which contribute to the country’s rich and multi-faceted culture. As with our visit to Andhra Pradesh at Christmas, this tour highlighted Kerala’s relative development and offered new insight into the desperation of many of India’s citizens. For instance, in Kerala beggars (mostly adults who have lost an appendage or the ability to walk) frequent train and bus stations. Yet, in Delhi, beggars line street corners waiting for traffic to stop so they can approach auto-rickshaws and car windows. Many of these are children bearing the scars of abuse and mutilation - scars that will theoretically attract the sympathy of passengers. These people are evidence of a country that is becoming increasingly polarized; much like in the United States, the gap between India’s rich and poor is only widening.
Agra, the home of the country’s most majestic monument, was a striking example of the discrepancy between rich and poor. After an early morning visit to the Taj Mahal, Team India decided to scrap the city’s remaining tourist sites and visit ‘the real Agra.’ At this point we were traveling with Pulkit, my best friend from Miami University who is currently living in Delhi with his parents. As a Hindi speaker, Pulkit was able to explain to our auto-rickshaw drivers that we were traveling on a budget and preferred not to pay a fortune on entrance fees. Thus, they gave us a non-traditional tour including a riverside farm with a view of the Taj, a local Hindu temple, and a couple craft shops. This revealed a crumbling city full of laborers who have likely never been inside the gates of India’s main attraction. Yet the nation’s signs of poverty stand against a backdrop of immense natural beauty, rich history, and vibrant culture. India is a land of contrast.
To view my pictures from our ‘All India’ tour, visit my web album.
Because April begins India’s summer holidays, the six India YAVs leave today for our ‘All India Tour.’ For those who would like to follow our travels, I have included our itinerary below. I will be back with stories and pictures at the end of April!
Wed 01 April TRAVEL ALUVA => DELHI
Thu 02 April TRAVEL
Fri 03 April ARRIVE in DELHI
Sat 04 April DELHI
Sun 05 April DELHI
Mon 06 April AGRA
Tue 07 April DELHI
Wed 08 April MUSSOORIE
Thu 09 April MUSSOORIE
Fri 10 April MUSSOORIE
Sat 11 April MUSSOORIE
Sun 12 April MUSSOORIE
Mon 13 April DHARAMSALA
Tue 14 April DHARAMSALA
Wed 15 April DHARAMSALA
Thu 16 April AMRITSAR
Fri 17 April DELHI
Sat 18 April JAIPUR
Sun 19 April JAIPUR
Mon 20 April JAIPUR
Tue 21 April JAIPUR
Wed 22 April TRAVEL => GOA
Thu 23 April GOA
Fri 24 April GOA
Sat 25 April GOA
Sun 26 April GOA
Mon 27 April GOA
Tue 28 April RETURN
For those of you have been wondering about those mysterious graduate school applications, I have news!
Upon returning from India I will pursue a Master of Divinity/Master of Science in Social Work dual degree. I begin courswork at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary this coming fall, and then will enroll at the University of Texas at Austin’s School of Social Work in the fall of 2010. I am extremely excited about the next 4 years!
To help explain this new-found sense of call, I have included a little snippet of my autobiographical essay for APTS:
My favorite childhood book was Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney. I strongly identify with this story of a girl whose grandfather tells her she must travel the world and make it a more beautiful place. When Miss Rumphius returns home to focus on making the world more beautiful, she plants lupines throughout her community. My idea of beautifying the world leans toward other methods of planting seeds - through active commitments to social justice, advocacy for the marginalized, fostering relationships, and service. This compulsion finds root in the gospel and now seems incomplete without a theological education. During my time in India, I’ve used my abilities to listen and wrestle with the world’s complexities, my gifts of energy and empathy, and my willingness to share in other people’s experiences. Now I have come to realize that God is leading me in a certain direction, one that utilizes my passion for social justice and my commitment to faith. Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, especially through its partnership with The University of Texas at Austin’s School of Social Work, provides a space for theology, scholarly theory, and practice to converge and will give me the tools to follow this path. My greatest hope is that I can live this calling, being authentic to myself in claiming a vocation that feeds both my passion and my soul while allowing me to contribute to the world’s need.
A couple weeks ago storm clouds rolled into Aluva and the sky opened up for the first time since November. My rain-loving self immediately ran outside to play, but Honorary Grandpa, Philip, promptly called me inside for fear I’d catch a cold. Thus I pulled out my camera to document the event and enjoyed the sound and smell of the rain from a dryer spot on the porch of Chacko Homes.
The summer rains (or ‘Mango Showers’) have returned a couple times since, bringing with them the promise of cooler mornings. In the midst of Kerala’s hottest season, such times are welcome moments of relief from the heat and humidity and offer the possibility of NOT sweating at 7:30 am. However, there is a much more important reason to welcome the rain . . . With insufficient rainfall during the last monsoon season, a water shortage has affected Kerala for the past several months. Although I have gone relatively unaffected, other YAVs have shared stories of getting into the shower to find they were missing an essential ingredient, or have lost water mid-bath (they resorted to water bottles). A few weeks ago, Lindsey’s school sent students home because there was not enough water to support everyone. The rain is certainly needed.
Such stories have made the global water crisis blatantly apparent. At home I was able to ignore this inconvenient truth; yes, I turned off the faucet while brushing my teeth and opted out of car washes, but the length of my showers went unchanged and I washed clothes when they weren’t actually dirty. The drought in Atlanta a few years ago did bring water concerns to the forefront, especially when I talked with my brother and sister-in-law about their attempts at conservation, but it was still business as usual in St. Louis. However, the view from the other side of the globe looks a bit different.
March 22nd was World Water Day. To mark the event, “The Hindu” (India’s English newspaper) had been running some articles pertaining to the water crisis. One discussed a free market system in Chile that allows multinational corporations to purchase water rights. As a result the public loses access to this basic necessity, and towns dry up with their water source. Reading this reminded me of a similar situation here in India, one I learned of from a documentary we watched with Achen soon after our arrival. Some of the country’s villages are facing problems of severe water scarcity. These do not come from insufficient rainfall (although I’m sure this doesn’t help), but from Indian subsidiaries of Coca-Cola whose bottling operations over-exploit and pollute water resources. Like in the towns of Chile, corporations here have left the people of forgotten villages thirsting for water.
As I learn more about the social factors affecting India, there is one thought that finds constant expression: the people of this world are deeply interconnected. Though we carry different passports and speak different languages, we are all members of one creation - a diverse community bound by common hopes, needs, and experiences. Yet, in our brokenness, we have lost sight of this connection, making decisions without knowledge or consideration of how they impact others. Right now we face the shared crisis of depleted water resources. For some this goes largely unnoticed, for others it is a daily reality. But as stewards of God’s creation, caring for the earth and all its people is a task of our global community.
In a many colored garden we are growing side by side,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
With the sun and rain upon us, not a row will be denied,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
We will rise like the ocean, we will rise like the sun,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
In our may colored fabrics made from strands of common thread,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
- From “Common Thread,” a song we sing at YAV retreats
Barrionuevo, Alexei. “A Chilean Town Withers in Free Market for Water.”
See also Srivastava, Amit. “Communities Reject Coca-Cola in India.”
On February 27th I left for Sri Lanka with the other five volunteers; by nature of the Indian tourist visa, all non-citizens must leave the country every six months. Thus, having arrived in September, we reached our limit on March 4th, and were off for a weeklong vacation in our closest neighbor to the south. Here is an overview of our trip:
Days 1 & 2: The City
We arrived in Colombo on Friday morning and immediately made our way to the guest house that Chenoa, a former India YAV and employee of the PC(U.S.A.) in Sri Lanka, had reserved for us. With a gracious hostess, an eclectic art collection, and impressive views of the city, our accommodations proved quite welcoming and we spent the majority of our first day in Sri Lanka resting and enjoying Colombo from our apartment balconies. We did venture out for meals with Chenoa, one at ‘The Cricket Club’ where we fed well-developed cravings for hamburgers and French fries.
[Ariel and I on our balcony in Colombo]
[Our apartment in Colombo]
[At the Buddhist Temple in Colombo]
[At the Buddhist Temple in Colombo]
[At the Buddhist Temple in Colombo]
Days 3, 4, & 5: The Beach
By the time Sunday rolled around, the six of us were ready to trade in Colombo for the beach. We caught a bus to Hikkaduwa, a town south of Colombo that obviously caters to the tourist population. Here we capitalized on the ‘typical beach vacation,’ splitting our time between the ocean and seaside cafes (some of which had ‘real’ cappuccinos!). We spent two days in Hikkaduwa before heading even further south to a quiet and pristine beach at Marissa (between Weligama and Matara).
[The beach in Marissa]
[Marissa at dusk]
[Ariel after a day in the ocean]
Days 6 & 7: The Mountains
After a full day on buses, we found ourselves at the base of Adam’s Peak, a mountain located in Sri Lanka’s Central Highlands. A footprint-like rock formation near the summit has won this peak a place in all Sri Lanka’s commonly practiced religions: Buddhists believe the footprint belongs to Buddha, Hindus attribute it to Lord Siva, and Muslims see it as evidence of Adam’s first step on earth. Because of its religious significance (particularly to Buddhists), Adam’s Peak has become a pilgrimage site; devotees begin the 7 km trek at 2 am in order to reach the summit by sunrise, and then (many) spend the early hours of the day in prayer at the mountaintop shrine. For our last day in Sri Lanka, the six of us couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
As we hiked it became increasingly evident that this was a perfect activity to mark the YAV-year midpoint. I know I’ve previously used the ‘mountain metaphor’ in attempts to both visualize and explain this journey and, after experiencing the uphill climbs and pleasant views of our first six months, this image continues to feel appropriate. Adam’s Peak offered me an opportunity to frame this entire year within one 14+ kilometer hike.
I met the gradual incline of the hike’s beginning (September, October) with excitement and energy; I think all of us were (superficially) aware of the trail’s difficulty, but possessed a spirit of confidence that was stronger than any desire to turn back. A few kilometers up the mountain (November) the doubts started to set in. I had begun the hike with reckless abandon and my legs and stomach were now putting up a violent fight, threatening to fail me if I didn’t give them a chance at recovery. (A banana and some of John’s electrolytes proved a suitable remedy). Like they did during retreats and phone calls in November, fellow YAVs came to the rescue here on Adam’s Peak and provided some necessary reassurance and support that encouraged me to keep on trekking . . . And then it only got steeper. With the trail turning into one long staircase (December, January), I was beginning to wonder if I was crazy to even attempt the climb. Yet, at this point, we could look behind us to see a path of lights curving off into the distance, marking how far we’d come. The struggle melded with a feeling of accomplishment that motivated me to keep going. The final steps (February) felt like they were taking us closer and closer to the stars that still shone above, and the excitement of reaching the peak overshadowed the challenges we had faced to come this far. Of course, watching the night turn into day from atop the mountain reminded us that the climb was indeed worthwhile. Though I have only begun the downhill trek of my metaphorical journey, I imagine it will be something like my descent from Adam’s Peak: the pain will probably set in for brief moments, but it will be a time to take in a newly sun-lit landscape and rejoice in both the challenges and accomplishments of the experience.
[The sunrise from the summit of Adam's Peak, Take 1]
[The sunrise from the summit of Adam's Peak, Take 2]
[The sunrise from the summit of Adam's Peak, Take 3]
[The YAVs (sans Lindsey, ze Photographer) at the summit of Adam's Peak]
[Adam's Peak from the trail]
[Monkey Sighting! These are becoming increasingly common, but they are still exciting.]
I’ve been a bad blogger. I apologize for neglecting you, my faithful readers, and for putting my parents and siblings in the position of explaining my absence. In my defense, a chain of events (including a ripped cable that denied all of Asia access to my blog, the Christmas holiday, my family’s visit, and a January due date for one graduate school application) did make it rather difficult to write. But that is really no excuse; I shall try to be better from now on. Although, I do not make any promises about my blog activity until I have completed another application . . . The posts starting with ‘My Aluva Family’ from December 8th should update you on the last 2 months. They are dated for the day they were written or should have been published.
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I partially blame my disappearance on what I am calling ‘The January Slump.’ I spent the first part of last month focused on life outside India . . . With the arrival of the Niesen clan, I distracted myself with the comfort of family; then my graduate school application steered me to thoughts of the future. On top of a ten-day holiday for Christmas, this made for a difficult transition back to life in my site. And this was not helped by an increasingly obvious realization that I am not called to be a teacher; while I love my students and my school, I was feeling rather burnt out with the routine. Ultimately these factors led me to be generally ‘un-present.’
For months I have been conscious of my need for self-care and have responded to my exhaustion by making room for relaxation and recovery. However, now I also realize that this sometimes became a convenient excuse for withdrawal. As a fellow YAV recently reminded me, fatigue is a symptom of culture shock (something which is still affecting us whether we admit it or not). The cruel reality is that, by retreating to my room to take rest, I both remove myself from the people with whom I must build relationships and prevent myself from claiming this community as ‘home.’ Thankfully, with this self-diagnosis, I can now make the conscious decision to reengage.
I am (I believe) confidently on the road to recovery. A relaxing and interesting January retreat to Wayanad, one of Kerala’s northern districts, gave me space to both process with fellow volunteers and reflect on my reasons for being in India. As I’ve mentioned before, a primary reason I applied to the YAV program is my commitment to social justice, and spending our retreat time with an organization called T.U.D.I (Tribal Unity for Development Initiative) reminded me of this passion. The staff of T.U.D.I. introduced us to the issues facing the Tribal or Adivasi communities in Kerala; much like the Native Americans in our own country, these people fell victim to waves of migration that both displaced them and forced them to adapt to foreign social and economic structures. As the government takes control of forests where the Tribal people have lived for centuries, their communities become increasingly disenfranchised; they lose all claims to the land and are left without the tools needed to function within dominant society. T.U.D.I. works to give them these tools and to preserve traditional Adivasi culture.
After retreat I was able to make some adjustments to my schedule at Christava Mahilalayam. I believe I’ve restructured my time in a way that will help me stay energized, and will save me from a relapse into the world of burnout. Even if I am not called to be a teacher for the long term, I am for this year. And each day in the classroom does teach me valuable life lessons that will better prepare me for future endeavors.
[The Niesens (sans Rachel) with our friend the elephant]
I am quite the lucky YAV . . . On December 30th my entire family arrived in Kerala (that includes my dad, mom, brother, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister). They were only here for one week (which felt entirely too short in the end), so we packed our time with a trip to Munnar, one night cruising Kerala’s backwaters and Vembanad Lake via houseboat, a visit to Fort Cochin, an afternoon with the elephants, and some time spent at my site. It was wonderful to introduce them to this place and these people; while I do my best to share my experience with them through blog posts and (attempted) weekly phone conversations, there is nothing like allowing them to experience India for themselves. As I struggle to explain this year once I return home, it will be a comfort to know that some of the most important people in my life were able to participate in it, even for a short time.
These photographs capture some of the highlights . . .
[Dad, Kate, and Me in Munnar with some random Malayalees . . . I've found that it is quite popular to take pictures with the white people. Just for the record: the only thing going through my head at this moment was 'venda!!!']
[Rachel in the paddy fields, with the houseboat in the background]
[The Niesen ladies on the elephant . . . ]
[ . . . and the Niesen men.]
[Some of the boys from the Home of Love]
On Christmas Eve Achen, Kochamma, Binu (their son), and the six YAVs arrived at the Warangal railway station; we had survived a twenty-four hour train journey (complete with singing pilgrims), and were now in the state of Andhra Pradesh, Kerala’s neighbor to the northeast. Anu, Achen’s sister (x2 – by blood and by faith) was waiting for us at the station; she has lived in Andhra Pradesh since beginning her ministry with the area’s Parkal Mission and now runs a boys’ orphanage called the Home of Love. From the station we still had two hours left in our journey, so we all piled into the bus to drive the remaining distance.
Andhra Pradesh is a completely different environment than Kerala. Driving along its rural roads, we passed palmetto trees scattered among fields of cotton, newly harvested red chilies drying in the sun, and farmers riding atop hay bales, their Brahma cows under yoke. This is the backdrop of India’s agricultural center. However, despite the richness of its resources, Andhra Pradesh suffers under an obstinate feudal system that keeps the people of its agricultural sector impoverished. By the end of December we had spent four months in India, and we had certainly encountered poverty more conspicuous than any I have witnessed in the United States. However, this journey was our first exposure to the harsh conditions under which many Indians live, and it offered new insight into the extreme and humbling realities of economic injustice. The Home of Love is located amidst the cotton fields, in the state’s poorest district. A junction lies near the orphanage that boasts the area’s few shops, the church the boys attend stands across the street, and a ten-minute walk down the highway will take you to the Mission’s medical clinic. The remaining space is sparsely populated, with huts made of sticks and plastic sheets lining the roads and only the fields beyond.
Upon our arrival Anu, the staff, and the twenty-five boys living at the Home of Love welcomed us openly; the atmosphere of warmth and joy they had created was immediately apparent, and we were excited to be a part of it for Christmas. During our four days in Andhra Pradesh, we spent our time playing with the boys, seeing a few of the nearby sites (two temples and a lake), and visiting the Home of Love’s sister orphanage about an hour away. Every night we gathered for evening prayer, a time when we exchanged songs and skits and watched the littlest boys nod off to sleep. These evenings together formed some of my favorite memories from our visit. A return to Vacation Bible School days, the six of us reached into the recesses of our brains to find every song learned in Sunday school, complete with actions (which we pulled off with quite a bit of flare, if I do say so myself). Standards such as ‘This Little Light of Mine,’ ‘Hallelujah/Praise Ye the Lord,’ and ‘Father Abraham’ were received with energy and eagerness, and the movements even deterred the five-year-olds from sleep.
When December 25th arrived, it did not feel much like Christmas morning; I was lacking the day’s usual signifiers of cold weather, the smell of coffee brewing, and my sister waking me up at an ungodly hour. But as the day progressed, I realized I had never before experienced a Christmas where Emmanuel’s coming was met with such evident joy. Here we were, sharing in the celebration with children who had lost their family and whose visit from Father Christmas was purely a product of one community member’s generosity. Many of the people who joined us for worship on Christmas morning started their day in huts that couldn’t keep out the evening chill or the snakes, but they sang and clapped to the music of Christmas carols with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever experienced back home.
After joining the boys for worship at the church across the street, we accompanied Anu to a second service in a village a half hour away. We arrived to find a one-room church, beautifully decorated with streamers and balloons of every color, and empty save for the altar and a couple chairs in a back corner. The floor was covered with mats for sitting, and there were already enough women gathered to fill the left side of the room (the men’s side was significantly emptier). Kochamma, Ariel, Becca, Lindsey and I filed in right against the back wall, and the service began. Before long enough women and children had poured through the door to fill the right side of the church as well, and then enough to fill the aisle, and then the comfort bubble between the last row of men and the first row of women. People sat in positions that allowed them to occupy as little space as possible, perching on laps and putting knees at odd angles; the church was packed to the brim. And when the service ended and we stood to exit, I realized that this was where the men were, standing outside the doors for the duration of the service.
I think, in many ways, we live in a world not unlike the one Jesus knew. It is not the Roman Empire, yet we experience a time of globalization that arguably supports Western imperialism. Though the religious institutions wear a different façade than the ones Jesus criticized, we have formed churches that too often reinforce the status quo. And that which is holy now gets lost among the department store racks, like the temple was lost to the market . . . Two thousand years ago God sought out a humble woman of great faith to bear the Christ child, and that child lived with, ministered to, and advocated for society’s marginalized. In this world I believe God might choose to dwell among the farm laborers of rural Andhra Pradesh, relying on an Indian woman who can barely support her family, but shows great faith in God’s promise. After this Christmas I am certain that she, like Mary two millennia ago, would rejoice the most fully in the arrival of a liberating God made human.
(P.S. – It was certainly difficult to spend my first Christmas away from home. However, the tinge of homesickness began to lift as I realized I was singing ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ with a worshipping community in Andhra Pradesh just as my church family back home was gathering on Christmas Eve to do the same. We are always more connected than with think . . . I hope everyone on both sides of the globe had a joyous Christmas full of peace, love, and hope.)
[With some of the boys from the Home of Love]
[Team India, Binu (farthest to the left on the top row), and some of our friends from the Home of Love]
[The ruins of a temple we visited near Parkal]
[A little taste of the An landscape, from the temple]
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