Who’s going to wash the dishes?
Who washes the dishes? I remember when I was in college and my roommate and I would have our guy friends over for dinner. These were the nights when we would go all out and actually buy meat. But, there was one rule: if we buy the food and cook, you do the dishes. In my new apartment in Chicago, we do things the real American way: everyone does their own dishes (for the most part). It’s fair. But in India, it’s not how things are done. The wife, mother, or servants do the dishes. If you are in a cafeteria setting, maybe you do your own dishes, but the boss or person of authority will rarely be allowed to wash his dish.
My friend, Yuvraj is the kind of guy by Indian standards who could go his whole life without washing a plate. That would be very normal. He’s a U.K. educated upper-middle class twenty-nine year-old from a good family. But, Yuvraj is a follower of Jesus. And sometimes when people follow Jesus they find themselves in very different roles than would be seen as normal.
He has recently moved out of his comfortable family house and into a very simple cement house in the slum. Him and his wife now sleep on the floor; carry water in from a hose outside to wash dishes, and share a bathroom with at least twelve people. Why? It’s not easy, and it’s not that they have some weird preoccupation with suffering… They are real; they want nothing to do with hypocrisy. They believe that the Creator of the universe cares about the suffering people of the world, and sent his son Jesus out of love for them. The God of the universe cares about the woman who lives across the gully from them in a three-sided shack with her children. God sees this sweet lady who never asks for anything and whose children get bitten by rats while they are sleeping. So Yuvraj and Mary see her through God’s eyes, and they insisted that she accept a bed from them—so her and her children have a chance to sleep through the night without rat bites. They imagine that if Jesus were living in their neighborhood, he might do something like make friends with her.
But back to dishes—plates. So Yuvraj started this training program in which he goes into a small town or village area and teaches a group of people problem solving skills, has them get into groups and try to think of solutions to real community problems they are facing. And, when he hears the best problem—solution he has a grant that will help them start working to implement these solutions. And, each day of the seminar starts with a time of spiritual reflection. So one day my friend Yuvraj taught devotion about Jesus washing the disciples feet. Most of the participants were Christians and all of the participants were rural Indian farmers. Then they started the training for the day and at lunchtime had a cafeteria-style-wash-your-own-plate-routine. On this day Yuvraj finished his lunch first and after washing his own plate turned to the next man and said, “Would you allow me to wash you plate?” The man blinked, and stepped back, with his month open. You have to understand that Yuvraj is so well spoken in English that sometimes people think he is a foreigner. The third man elbowed him and reminded him of the teaching of Jesus washing his disciples feet. Yuvraj laughed and said, yes, but I’m not going to say like Jesus that you have no part with me, if you don’t let me wash your plate. I am only requesting that you allow me the honor of washing your plate. As the men continued to come up to the sink, some allowed him to wash their plate and others didn’t.
Later Yuvraj brought this up to me, because we were talking about foot washing—which is something I love to do in a worship service, but Yuvraj was saying that foot washing has been ritualized beyond meaning in some contexts. On Good Friday, the priest will wash the communicants feet and it is like receiving a blessing—but the ordinary yet disruptive act of Jesus washing his followers feet has been lost. In Jesus’ cultural context, you would come in the house from a day of walking around on dusty streets and either a servant would wash your feet or you would wash your own feet. It was just a normal thing, like sanitizing your hands after moving around in a crowded place, buying lunch, pouring a glass of water, or washing the dishes in your neighbor’s house.
I am I in Baby Land USA?
For me Baby Land USA is a region stretching from Eastern Tennessee down to Florida with it’s major hub in the Atlanta area. I realized last night that all five of my friends who have had me stand with them as bridesmaids, have 2-3 children. We used to talk about God, traveling, and relationships. Then we talked about God, traveling, relationships and weddings. Then we talked about God, weddings and houses. Then they just started talking about houses and babies and God. When I come around they ask me about traveling and ca
tch up on the drama of singleton vagabond’s life.
I’ve held the babies. I’ve kissed the babies. I’ve brought them outfits from India. I’ve been glad not to have babies. I buckled in the babies. I’ve carried the babies. And, I’ve cried because all of them have babies, I don’t have a baby, and I like babies (and I had PMS at the time).
I like trying to figure out who the babies look like. One of my friends has two darling babies who look nothing like her…I mean if she didn’t go into detail about the awfulness of having her baby boy vacuumed out of her I would have thought her husband gave birth to the baby. The friend I am about to go have coffee with is a 6ft. beauty queen and her husband is at least 4 in. taller than her, so their baby boy is looks like a 3 year old with a baby head (but of course he’s adorable).
A few years ago one of my closest friends made a comment about how she couldn’t wait until I settled down to a normal life. But, I can’t really imagine having a “normal” Baby Land USA life. If I have children someday I picture my kids looking more like Brad & Angelina’s. But the weird thing is that the “most stylish mom ever,” another good friend, that I hung out with yesterday always thought her kids would be from around the world, and they are blue-eyed nearly bald children. Maybe the others will come later. She never thought she would be Stylish Susie Homemaker. Maybe it’s just a season.Will I have a season like that?
I am starting to get eager to travel a few states north where it does not seem as odd for someone in their mid-late twenties to be unmarried and unbabied.
On Being a Foreigner
I am a foreigner. To call someone a foreigner in the U.S., might be rude. It is at least politically incorrect. We call people from other countries, “internationals” or we call them by various labels such as “Latino,” “Asian,” “European,” “Middle Eastern” or “African.” Sometimes the descriptor is correct and sometimes it is not. We don’t seem to notice. But in many places in the world if you do not look like the dominant population, you are deemed a “foreigner.”
As I have lived in India, I have become comfortable with that title because every day I am aware that my surroundings are foreign to me. The feeling of people pushing me each other to get to the front of what I used to thingk should be a line (or Q) to get on a metro train, the smell of masala, onions, and garlic being heating in mustard oil, and the sound of the language I have to strain and guess to understand remind me that I am the foreigner.
When I am in the U.S. there is a sense in which I am still a foreigner. I look an American, I sound like an American, I smell like an American, but I don’t always feel like I fit in. Some things in the U.S. seem foreign to me. Everyone seems to have a car, technological gadgets namely GPS and phones that go online, white babies, houses, and green grass yards. I don’t have any of those things (and I’m not sure I want all of them).
But, the truth is that I have always been a foreigner. I guess that is why, when a little girl who had just moved from Hungary and didn’t know any English joined my third grade class, the teacher sat her next to me and asked me to help her. At that age I had heard the stories about my country, I knew that we were different. I knew I would never fit in.
The country that I heard about was not Korea or Italy or even the “good ‘ol days” of America, that so many evangelical kids are raised hearing about. The country that my parents talked about as the homeland was a far away place. Though I couldn’t remember being there, we were from a place were every child was loved and lived and danced and played—and taught the adults to do the same. In our country we didn’t need a president or congress or anything like that, because Jesus was the King and that met that everything went right. It is a place where everyone was healed and every tear was dried.
And the secret that my parents reminded me of everyday was that that country–that Kingdom that was so different from America was coming–coming to here. In fact that country actually existed in us. And, as we lived that dream of the Kingdom to come–praying for the sick, loving the poor, writing to people in jail we were a part of that invasion.
All these people (the ancient people of the Bible) were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers of earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. –Hebrews 11:13-17.
Dating American 101
Many Americans date and pursue marriage in a poor manner. There have been times in my life when the dating process has seem like a strange set of traditions to observe…they have seemed foreign to me…until I have been face to face with a new set of values and behavior observed in regards to determining who to marry.
High School Senior Formal (Dustin was never my boyfriend--just my date a few times)
Dating in America is something that every kid looks forward to. Usually, for a boy it involves getting up the guts and asking a girl to the movies, mini golf, the mall or a dance. Before and even after one or two such events the boy and girl start talking on the phone and emailing, sending SMS. Sometimes people call this “talking to someone.” After a few more dates or a few more weeks of hanging out, the guy and girl might start calling this “seeing each other” or “dating.” Some one can talk to or see more than one person at a time. They are still not a couple until they have the D.T.R. (a conversation to define the relationship). At this point, one of the parties (traditionally the guy) expresses is feelings by saying something like, “I really like you,” or “I dig you,” or “I’m really into you.” And, if the girl feels the same way, or wants a boyfriend, she will also confess her feelings, they might kiss and from then on they are considered “going out,” “boyfriend and girlfriend,” “a couple.” Most of the time at this point it is agreed that the guy and girl will not “see anyone else” or even “talk to anyone else.” It doesn’t mean that they do not have friends of the opposite sex that they talk to, but it means that while they are going out with each other, they will not enter into other relationships like this one. From this point the couple hangs out a lot, both with other friends and one on one. They get to know each other, they get to know each other’s friends and family. After few months or more into it, if things are going well the boy or girl will get up the guts (once they are very sure) to say “I love you.” People I hang around call it the “L Bomb.” It is a big deal. It means you are serious. It means that (depending on your age), you might be heading toward marriage. But at any point (1 week, 1 month, 1 year, 3 years, or 5 years), the boy or girl might decide to end the relationship—to “break up.” No one likes to break up, but most people experience it. And, breaking up is by far better than divorce. If the youth of India want to adapt dating…as a means to love marriages the “break up” is essential.
From what I understand about arranged marriage the families to the hard work of finding out if this guy or girl is really the best for you. They think about family, education, religion, career, and hopefully if this other person would do a good job of loving and taking care of you. In many more modern families in cities, the boy and girl then meet and if they are agree then the marriage is “fixed.” It is a good system if you have a great family.
Dating is essentially a different route to trying to figure out if the boy or girl in front of you is the right person for you to marry. Instead of basing the evidence of whether or not this person is right for you on a CV, photo, and information about a person in dating the evidence can only be build up over time, through experience with a person. If my parents do not want me to marry I person I choose to date, it will be not because of information about him but because of experience with him. So, a good first impression is key (Think “Meet the Parents”). Dating must begin with both the boy and the girl being interested in one another, but both the boy and the girl must be unsure of the extent of his and her own feelings. Many counselors suggest that a couple date for a year—go through all four seasons together before deciding to get married. If they last that long, then it might be time to consider marriage but not before. If the couple is not very compatible (if they do not get along), if the girl and guy bring each other down, or are not going the same direction, then the best thing for them is to break up.
