after a short interlude

I have slipped into an old habit of procrastination . . . and this includes everything. I am procrastinating studying Bangla, procrastinating writing emails, procrastinating writing on my blog.

I thought I could shake it. Alas . . .

This life in Dhaka is not at all what I expected. I knew that the amount of time I would be spending here is equal to the amount of time I spent on my internship in Kolkata, so I should have expected making lots of friends, having lots of experiences, but I just never foresaw any of this. I couldn't have imagined it. I'm glad God gives us one day at time.

This next month is going to be about a lot of transition. At the end of May, we will be returning to Kolkata where life as we will know it for the next three years will begin. It seems like I have been here a long time already, but these four months are only a part of the move. Soon the settling will happen.

This Friday, a couple who Melissa and I have come to know will be returning home to Alaska. They have been here since we have been here. They were our Thursday night plans . . . dinner and games at their apartment. I have been trying not to think too much about their leaving, but today my heart is sad. So begin the good-byes.

I have always seen myself as someone who blends into the crowd--never one who stands out or leads the crowd. Actually, I think it is quite a feat if someone remembers me. However, some of the people Melissa and I have come to know in this city are people of influence, and this I don't understand, little 'ole me from Amish-country Ohio. We can point to the steps of how we came to know the people we have, but when we were at a friend's house Saturday evening, gathered around talking with three people of political influence, all of whom are from different political parties within this country, I had to think, who am I and how did I get here?

I can see God working in the relationships we are building. I often feel like I have nothing to offer people in terms of gifts or influence--so why would people care to know me? Sometimes, I think of how in the States I have no influence or power, I don't eat at fancy restaurants or drive a super-nice car. I am satisfied with all my belongings, but what I have is nothing compared to what they have. I am just a little nobody. What makes me special? And I keep thinking, I have nothing to give but the hope God has given me. And I pray that I can give that away.

Please keep Melissa and I in your prayers, for wisdom, for love. God allows our paths to cross with others' paths for a reason. My greatest desire is to love people as Christ loved us, to be a friend, to be a catalyst for whatever God has in store. I can see strands of hope running through each of our relationships. It's a good view.

Always with hope . . .

"We still live in the unredeemed world, but we may walk with our heads held high; we know that the kingdom is coming because it has already come. We live within the creative tension between the already and the not yet, forever moving closer to the orbit of the former. We Christians are an anachronism in this world: not anymore what we used to be, but not yet what we are destined to be. We are too early for heaven, yet too late for the world. We live on the borderline between the already and the not yet. We are a fragment of the world to come, God's colony in a human world, his experimental garden on earth. We are like crocuses in the snow, a sign of the world to come and at the same time a guarantee of its coming."

- A Spirituality of the Road, by David J. Bosch

ami tomake biye korte cai

I received my first marriage proposal this week . . .

At school, which is our home, there is a large class of Japanese volunteers (semi-equivalent to the Peace Corps—but better, from what Melissa and I have heard) who have been doing an intense language class for the past three weeks. I have not interacted much with them since I have not been around a whole lot this past week.

However, one day while walking through the hallway, one of the Japanese students suddenly starts asking me all sorts of questions in Bangla. Haltingly, I answer in Bangla, and then he returned to class. It was an abrupt, odd conversation, but not unusual at the school.

The next afternoon while Melissa and I are sitting in the drawing room waiting for class to begin, this same student who had talked to me in the hall came out of the bathroom and announced to Melissa and I that he had diarrhea. Immediately, we start laughing . . . along with all the teachers in the room. This guy was quite the ham. He sits down on one of the couches and proceeds to tell us all in Bangla that Japanese women are the most beautiful women in the world, but in the next breath, he says that he wants to marry an American. Hmmm . . .

Someone then proceeded to ask him if there were any girls waiting for him in Japan. He said there were. Well, how many? 99.

We all laughed hard, and then this Japanese student left to go play futbol.

The day after that, right after my class, while the Japanese students were having a break, this same student sits down close to me and begins by asking me if I have “done marriage” yet. After I tell him that (according to Bangla culture) marriage “happens” to women, I inform him that, no, marriage has not happened to me. He then declares (all in Bangla, mind you), that he wants to marry me.

I doubled over laughing. My two female teachers were shocked. The other students who were able to understand him began to listen.

Somewhere in this conversation (it was quite a blur), after the proposal, he asks me if I have a boyfriend in the States. Because I did not know the word for boyfriend, I had to have help from the teachers to understand. My two female teachers were making eyes at me trying to tell me to tell him I did have a boyfriend, but I could not lie. So, when the bell rings and the students have to go back to class, I ask him what his name is (Yoshi . . . wasn’t that a character in Mario Brothers?), and he tells me, “You better remember your boyfriend’s name.” Ha!

As Bangladeshis, my female teachers were quite aghast at the audacity of Yoshi. As an American, I just laughed . . . and was kind of flattered when I was told that over the last week he has been asking about me. I think I was supposed to find that scandalous.

Yesterday, he plopped down beside me and declares that I am the most beautiful girl in all the world. What girl doesn’t want to hear that . . . after the same person says that Japanese girls are the most beautiful? Sadly, I am not Japanese, so I cannot be the most beautiful, so I told him I did not believe him. He acted hurt. This guy was pulling out all the stops.

Don’t worry, all you folks at home; I did not agree to marry him, and today the Japanese class is finished. As fun and flattering as it was to know Yoshi, we must go our separate ways.

In a world where I am always hot and sweaty and gross, it is nice to be told I am beautiful . . . even if the guy is just a tease.

back again

Nepal treated Melissa and me wonderfully. When we first arrived, we found that exam week for the students in class 10 was happening, so the load-shedding schedule was at a minimum (as in, we had electricity the majority of the day). Also, the weather was much cooler than Dhaka. Although Nepalis would say it is heating up, Melissa and I were happy.

We spent Saturday in Kathmandu with friends old and new (a new British friend we met in Dhaka and our Nepali co-worker). The afternoon was spent in a garden called “The Garden of Dreams,” which actually lives up to its name—a beautiful oasis in the middle of a busy Asian city. On Sunday we took a bus to Pokhara in search of the mountains. The three days we spent there were very restful. On Tuesday we rented bicycles and rode out of town a ways. Getting on the bicycle felt like freedom. It was very good for my heart.

Wednesday morning as we were arriving at our bus, I saw what had eluded me up to that point: a clear view of the Annapurna mountains. It was incredible. Pictures do not do it justice because it doesn’t convey the enormity of the highest mountains on earth. And, still, what I saw was blocked by buildings. Someday I will come back and take a trek . . .

Yesterday Melissa and I went once again to the Garden of Dreams where we were pleasantly surprised to see our co-worker and her fiancé. Again, the garden lived up to its name.

As I sit in the airport looking ahead to arriving in Dhaka, I find mixed emotions. Nepal and Bangladesh are very different countries in terms of people, culture, and religion. While I am here in Nepal, I feel like my guard is down, but I know that that is because most of where I have stayed in Nepal is where the tourists stay. I have not begun to know the Nepali people like my co-worker has; I have not begun to feel the pain and brokenness of this country. Nepal might not be quite as abrasive toward me as a woman, but that is only on the surface.

I am ready to take on the last two months of language school. I am ready to get back to the friendships Melissa and I have begun. When we left Bangladesh to come to Nepal, I began to feel the pain of leaving . . . a premonition of what will be in two months.

Before I came over to Asia, I did not take into account that I could and would form deep friendships in Dhaka. I didn’t think about how I would in four months have to let go once again of a beautiful community. Now I am beginning to see what is ahead. There is a little apprehension to the next two months because of what comes at the end. There is this tension of knowing I will be heading to K-town where I meant to come in the first place, but knowing that I have to leave dear friends behind in Dhaka.

This is life. One day at a time. I will enjoy each moment I have now, and when the day comes to say good-bye, I will say good-bye. Please pray that I will take it as it comes, as God gives the grace.

Always with hope.