This pilgrim life…

Our life journey continues…

In late 2015 Sheba and I were led to step away from 12 years of community in the city of Thane, Maharashtra where we had been serving with people living with HIV/AIDS.  We were delighted to see so many lives changed, and humbled to witness eternity enriched and local churches welcoming people with HIV into their families. 

Ever since we moved to the Mumbai area in 2001, we would take time to pray and reconsider at roughly 3-4 year cycles.  Over the previous dozen years in Thane, each such exercise gave us the same basic message: be faithful, stay put, carry on.  But this time around a specific verse spoke to us: “blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage” [Psalm 84.5].  We knew it was time to move on.

Moving on meant uprooting and being replanted in Lalitpur in Uttar Pradesh – right in the centre of India and part of the drought-prone Bundelkhand region – 13 districts straddling northern Madhya Pradesh and south western Uttar Pradesh.  We were deeply privileged to serve with the HBM Hospital family.  These past 3.5 years were deeply challenging, and also a great blessing as we have seen God’s grace operating in so many ways, and are again aware of how much we need to be shaped more and more like Him.

At the end of March this year Sheba and I were privileged to spend some time together in prayer.  Our parent organisation had spelled out what their strategy for the HBM Hospital was going to be and we needed time to reflect and hear God’s words to us.  We read and prayed through “The Calvary Road” by Roy Hession and came away with a clear leading to move on.  We thus gave our notice to our leaders that we would be leaving come June 1^st of this year.  And we did.  We are currently wonderfully open to wherever God will have us next.  Deep breath. Blank canvas.  Big God.

It’s our year of Jubilee and we want to experience the Sabbath rest, the Shalom-presence of the Lover of our souls.  And so we are on a journey.  A continuation, a series of further stages in our pilgrimage.  We have 116 boxes of our things packed away in a friend’s home in Lalitpur, awaiting shipment to our next resting place.  Where they will go we still don’t know, but we have already had the deep joy of two and a half amazing weeks of travel and meeting so many precious people.

Will you join us in our journey?  In this blog (untouched for many a moon) we will be highlighting some of the amazing places where wonderful people have asked us to consider joining them in the remarkable work they are doing.  We know we can’t serve everywhere – and so are listening and learning – wanting to hear which is the yoke that our gentle-hearted, humble and kind Jesus has shaped for us (Mat. 11.28-29).  In the mean-time we are just blessed to be with folks who are the salt of the earth.   People doing destiny-shaping work, far from the razzle-dazzle spotlights which we (secretly at least) yearn for.  Just being with them is such a blessing.

The next 3 months will be truly pilgrim worthy.  We travel down to Chennai tomorrow to spend time with Appa and Sheba’s brother Peter and family.  Then I take Enoch back to boarding school in Mussoorie.  We hope to visit another potential site for serving, and need to meet the good folks at the US Embassy in early July.  Why you may ask?  Because our dear Asha is slated to start college at our beloved Taylor University in Fall.  Amazing grace that God has provided an unheard of combination of scholarships and a wonderful supporter family to cover her costs!

Sheba and I are hoping to join Asha on a US trip from the last week of July to early September.  Our current plan is to come in and out of Chicago.  Stops planned include a visit to Sheba’s sister and family in Arizona, friends in Colorado, more family and friends in Indiana before dropping off Asha for her orientation on August 20^th.  That leaves us with a final 3 weeks of jubilee and flying back to Bharat on Sept. 10^th during which time we also hope to meet up with my sister Premila

Let’s see how the cookie crumbles.

So please join us on our travels. We need your prayers and advice.  Any thoughts for our next steps are of course most welcomed.  And while we know we cannot meet all of the galaxy of amazing people who have loved us, we do hope to at least bump into a few of you on these journeys. 

It’s a wonderful life!

50

Today I complete a half-century.  In two days Sheba joins me at this milestone.

Add that together and we have a full 100 years between us.

Wow.  Amazing.  Grace.






50 is a good year.

In the Bible, we see that the people of Israel were told to observe the 7th day as a day of rest. And their land was to be left fallow on the 7th year - as a year of rest. And after 7 such years of rest had passed - the next year - the 50th was called the "Year of Jubilee." A year where all debts were cleared. When bond-servants were freed. When land that had been mortgaged was returned back to its original owners. A big reset button was pressed

50 is a good time to press that big button,

Sheba and I are also 20 years into our journey together.  And what a road we have already travelled since we started off together as a pair of 30 year-olds, a fortnight before the Millenium.

We began our becoming-one-life at a mission hospital in Jharkhand.  A year and a half later - with our baby Asha in tow - Sheba and I took a big step of faith.  We were convinced that God was telling us through His word to go to Mumbai and work with people living (and mainly at that time dying) with HIV.  Our initial 2 year term ended up being 14 years in Mumbai-Thane-land all told.  

Our Thane years were bookended by Enoch being born just after we shifted (Sheba saw HIV patints till the day before Enoch entered the world) and with our foster son Yohan spending the last 1.5 years with us there.  Rich years. Ones where we were deeply challenged by living and working with people with HIV, and seeing the miracles of lives being restored.  We were also deeply blessed to be grow as part of a group of house-churches.

And then in 2015 we had another call, to up-and-go back to the North, and to seek to be the fragrance of Christ in new areas.  This led us to rejoin EHA and pitch our tent in the very centre of India - and be part of the HBM Hospital and its attempts to live out Jesus' love in the amazing part of Bundelkhand that Lalitpur district is.

These last 3 years have rushed by in a whoosh!

Asha has just finished high-school and stands at edge of college.  She got admission at Taylor University in the US for fall 2019.  Will it be possible for her to attend there?  With God all things are possible, so we have a good opportunity to trust.  Or should she study here in Bharat?  Lots of questions.

Enoch has finished his class 10.  He and Asha are in Thailand for a month - hoping to help at the River Kwai Christian Hospital near the Myanmar border.  My amazing college mate Dr. Jen Tan and his lovely wife Liz and daughters have opened their home to our 2.  We are grateful for the lovely young man Enoch is becoming.

Yohan is being cared for at BTC in Badlapur, outside Mumbai.  We don't understand fully why the authorities did not allow him to come with us, but we have to accept many grey areas in life as we move forward on our pilgrimage.  Yohan's future is not clear to any of us, but we know that Jesus has Yohan in His hand.

Our time here at HBM Hospital as been one of great joys and wonderful experiences - as well as some of the deep challenges that are part of the rocky road we are called to walk along.

We are currently in the last two months of our time here at HBM Hospital and are actively listening to the Lord for guidance about our next steps.  We want to move forward with *Joy*.  We want to live out our lives to the fullest.  Each day is precious and having completed 50 sun-spins, we realise this more and more.

It's been said before, and we will say it again.  We don't know the future, but we know Who holds the future.

As Sheba and I step into this Jubilee year, we are on a journey of a lot of changes.

Looking back, we can only say "thank you Lord" for all the amazing things that He has done for us - and through us to some extent.   I was thinking last night about our many colleagues and friends who we have had the joy of serving with over these years - and who are doing some amazing things in very hard places.

At the same time I also have to say "I am sorry" as I look back.

Sorry for the many opportunities lost.  Sorry for my hard and proud heart.  Sorry for my laziness and self-centered way of drifting through large portions of these past years (yes I seem 'busy' but much of that is sham).  Sorry for people whom I have hurt by my actions - whether intentional or not being immaterial.

Sheba and I had a prayer retreat in Mussoorie at end of March and were deeply blessed by praying through "The Calvary Road" by Roy Hession (we read a 'simple English version' of it).  How vital it is for me to bring my cup to be filled to the Lord, every single day.  Revival is not a luxury.  It is and should be the normal way of life for the follower of Jesus.

So on my 50th B-day, in this Jubilee year, it is re-set time for me.  For us.

Time to step back and get the basics in place.  To enjoy the Lord.  To love deeply and from the heart.  To allow a fearless moral inventory and plead with the Holy Spirit to scrape out anything that is displeasing to Him.  To trust more and worry less.  To keep short accounts and ask forgiveness over and over again.

Today is a great day.  A day to be so very thankful.  Sheba and I are just so grateful for all who have invested in us so far - and all who are walking with us on this journey.  Especially in this year of Jubilee.

Blessed are all who fear the LORD, who walk in obedience to Him.   (Ps. 128.1)

Jesus said that if we love Him we will obey his commands.  Walking in obedience is not doing so out of fear that something terrible will happen if we don't, but rather a love-walk with our beautiful Lord.  Thank you for coming along with us on this journey.  5 decades are over.  How many more we don't know (Oma is 31 years ahead of us).  And then we will be translated and live in the heart-stopping glorious reality of forever!

What hope, what joy is ours!

Come away with me...

I carry tiredness in a little knot somewhere in my chest.  I carry tiredness behind my eyes, which at times blossoms into a headache.  I don't want to admit to it, but back in there somewhere, there is a constant dull inner throb which has been with me since..?  For a brace of decades at least... maybe longer?

Needless to say,  though I don't want to admit it (what me?) I am permanently tired.   I fall asleep at meetings (have done so since university days).  Constantly.  Unless I am speaking, and even then, there have been the occasional podium dozes too.

Scan through pictures of me over the last years, and you can often see those narrowed eyes of chronic tiredness...

So last week I had an experience of a life time.

A few months ago, the partner agency who is the major funder of our community development work sent an email saying I had been selected for a programme in early March.

There were few details about what this event was going to be, but I said I would be interested in going, and then shelved it away in my mind.

The intervening weeks have been rather strained for various reasons (maybe one day we will delve into some of them).  Cue early Feb, when some of my inner turbulence was peaking, and that 'shelved away' programme came to life.  I was told that the event was not going to be in cold Delhi as I had assumed, but that the eclectic group selected was been flown to... (deep breath) Goa.  

No way!

Sím Senhor!  (Portuguese via google translate)

And so I found myself pinching myself as I took the red-eye flight from New Delhi with the first of the eclectic bunch of fellow travellers... and a few hours later found myself looking at this:




Amazing.

Amazing Grace.

Five days of paradise.

The agenda?

Finding rest, building resilience, learning to accept deep, deep love of God to me.

Soul work.  Time for silence.  Time for talking.

And a whole lot of beauty.



I came with a lot of baggage.

Not the stuff that I physically carried to Goa (it  all fit in a purple day pack).  But the inner bits  being lugged around.

At onset I charted out what I hoped to get:

Personally - a renewed delight in Jesus.  A true sense of Him as my portion.  Something deeper and fresher than the last few years.  Further up and further in.

Family - a sharp ear to hear what God is saying to us about our next steps.  Totally crucial at this time.  A huge responsibility as we hinge on multiple potential changes.

Work / Ministry / Call  - a rediscovery of the pearl of great price.  The ludicrously amazing core of what we are looking to do, the thing that fills with joy to the extent that everything else can be stripped away, sold, disposed of, with the deep-rooted assurance that what is to come will brilliantly outshine whatever has gone before.

And so began the week in paradise.

I was not alone.

A small eclectic band of eclectic fellow-travellers were there too.  I knew 7 of my 11 fellow participants from the criss-crossing of our lives.  But here was an opportunity to go deeper.

And we did.  Talks and prayers.  Walks and conversations.

Early morning swims in the embrace of the Arabian Sea.

Late night heart-to-hearts.

Prayer alone and together.

Early on I had to face the big G question

Guilt at 'having it so good' while.... 

my dear Sheba is far away in the cold of a mountain winter ... 

my colleagues are sweating it out in Lalitpur trying to get the annual community-based organisation meeting together before Modi announces his election dates...

the sheer incongruity of a bunch of change-agents who work with the poorest and most marginalised, are being pampered in the luxury that the 1% wrap themselves in...

I don't believe in riches, but you should see where I live...  (said ye olde U2 chappies many a moon ago)

I don't think there is ever a fully satisfying answer to the big G question this side of the New Jerusalem.

Things are so shabby for so many.  Yes we are trying to change lives, to be with the poor... but every single day I retire to my beautiful home, and eat my healthy food (with left-overs that sometimes get binned), and have the massive creature-comforts (such as this computer I am tapping away on).

And so there in Goa the question wrestled with my conscience - can I enjoy all this when...

I think that the pricks have to continue - but I realised something too: I was and am a recipient of grace.

No matter what I do, how hard I try, I don't deserve to be in Goa.  Why me?  I don't know.  Really

But I also know that the best response to love and beauty is gratitude.  Acceptance.  Rejoicing.

I don't want to go through life po-faced.  I want to accept the love that as been poured out to me, to us as a family, to the broader body...

And so plunging in and saying a big THANK YOU to God and all His beloved children who were and continue to minister to me is the best response to so much goodness.

I take away a deep gratitude for being loved.  Of realising that we were taylor-made for work and worship and rest.  And receiving and revelling in love.

The G question will continue to nag, and I welcome the tension and necessity And want to give this sabbath-gift to others.

Taste and see...



Jesus knew a thing about operating in the crucible.  And yet He also took time apart.  Early mornings of solitude with Father.  Nights of prayer.  A night garden used so often as a place of prayer and worship with his disciples that the betrayer knew exactly where to bring a darkness-roaming goonda-mob.

And yet we know that our Lord experienced exhaustion too.  Mark records that He was sleeping on a pillow on a storm-tossed boat.  There were times when work crowded in so much that He and His followers did not have enough time to eat.  We see a man of sorrows, acquainted with griefs.  A man who truthfully told someone that He did not have a place to lay His head.

Which is why He told His followers: "come away with me..."

Rest is not just running away from the challenges.  It is not a coping mechanism where you flee from the hard bits that life throws your way.  One of the themes we explored was resilience.

We go through hard knocks.  Lots of them.

One of the exercises we did was map out our lives.  We rolled a long strip of paper starting in 1955 and taking us through to 2019.  And on it we stuck our life mile-stones.  The big events.  The happy events that fill us with warmth when we look back at them.  And the times that were rough.

It was sobering to see our lives rolled out - charted along an axis.  And to see that some of our big life events took place before others were born.  To see that our days are shared with others too.  That the 'red boxes' of our hard times are also echoed by red boxes that others have gone through too.

The 1955 was the year that the oldest person in the room was born.  I realised that my parents years have now slipped into the past.  1937 and 1941 have come and gone.  My 1969 was now one of the older ones, and the late 1970s and early 1980s heavily populated.

Time's arrows quest forward.

And one of the core competences of our lives is being able to work through the desert times. Through days that are dark.  Through nights that are long.   Scripture says that tears may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

But how to keep going when there is darkness at noon?

Some of the most joyful people I know have also seen the depths of despair, but amazingly are still standing. In fact they are thriving.   

One thing that I am realising is that many of my mountains, are actually more like mole-hills.  But that doesn't make my experience just a silly waste of time.  It's more a question of needing to gain a better perspective on the terrain of the soul, and the journey-path that we are wandering along.

What better way than to have others walk along with you.

These days offered some of that.  But also allowed me to look back and be so thankful for those who we have talked to over the phone over the last few months.  For their prayers with us late at nights.  For love received.  

I am particularly grateful for the brave and generous woman Sheba is.  And how much she has helped point me in the right direction.  Over and over again.

The ultimate need of every soul is the Lord Himself.  He spoke these words to Moses, many millenia ago, but they ring out to us today with a freshness...

One of my desires is not to walk alone.  For us to experience again the new overflowing presence of the Lord Himself.

To experience His love in a fresh way.

To be imitators of God as dearly-loved children.  For all the faults that I have seen and know about my parents, I do want to be like them.  Because I have experienced their love.

Life is too short for bitterness.

I carry some wounds still with me, and healing is certainly a process.  But I am so grateful for the amazing grace that has washed into me over the past 3 weeks.

The Goa time with God in solitude and in with fellow strugglers was such a blessing.

I told the main organiser that I sensed that it was as if the whole programme was made just for me - and that the other 11 were receiving collateral blessings!

Obviously each other person was full-brim-overflowing blessed.

And so here I am back in Lalitpur for a bit longer at least.

Sheba and I are in a season of prayer where we seek to hear afresh guidance - as we have heard in past years.  We seek the pearl of great price and are willing to do whatever it takes to live out such a joy-filled life.

The Goa days are a precious gift for me, and I bear the rest within me.  I seek to share the precious lessons learned with my family and others and bear Shalom and rest to them too.

The end of each day marks the beginning of the next.

On the last day we wrote down what we were taking back with us.  

Our facilitator for the session invited us to place all the 5 different small paper slips on our open palms.  And then asked us to blow hard.

A small snow-storm of paper ensued as everyone's resolution papers were blown to the ground.

"You will be stepping back into storms" he said.

What we had written in our 5 day retreat was clearly going to be rattled and shaken by the hard knocks of life.

Then our facilitator gave each of us a big paper clip.  And invited us to pick up the fallen pieces of paper and secure our 5 decisions in the clip.

"God knows what will take place" our facilitator told us.  "He is bigger than the situation, and is a firm fortress for us and our dreams."   

"Put the clip and papers on your hand - and now try and blow hard.  What happens to your papers?" he asked.

The papers rustled in our blowing, but the clip anchored them and they did not fall off our hands.

"When you are back in your places of ministry, remember that God has gone before you.  He is around you and is holding on to your dreams.  He knows the storms that are ahead and is with you in the boat."

I have this little clip of resolutions on my table next to me and a heart full of gratitude for such a beautiful gift to me.

Sheba and I look forward to living this year as a jubilee year, one where the sabbath joy of Shalom is deeply experienced by us and shared with those we are walking alongside!

Enoch at 16

Dearest Enoch,

I am starting this note to you on 11.04 - on the night before your first paper of your 10th standard board examinations.

You are fast asleep, having reviewed your English language for tomorrow, as well as your English literature which you will do on Monday and a bit of Hindi for your Tuesday test.

I am still awake, looking back on the day and saying a small prayer for you as you step into another rite of passage.

1985 was when I did my 10th boards.  They were quite different - with a written section - and then an oral portion for some tests.  The setting was the Deutsche Schule Bombay (German School Mumbai) where I was capping off 5 years of German-medium schooling.  On the day, I limped into the oral section with crutches and a bandaged ankle from a rock-climbing accident the weekend before.  How my parents allowed me rock-climbing before my boards is a mystery.  But then each generation of parents have their quirks, don't they?

We have already had our own little bit of genteel adventure here in Mussoorie in the run up to your boards.   Mummy and I decided that we would spend our annual leave time with you as you start on this 5 week set of tests, which is why I traveled up with you to Mussoorie, arriving on Monday.   To be here at Shanti Kunj in winter is something new for me - and to have you 'out of boarding' is a special treat.  You know that as parents we have been starved of your presence for the past two years...

You turned 16 the next day, the day that you were to report to school to pick up your hall-ticket for your ICSE exams.   Your dear Oma prayed you a birthday prayer at the crack of dawn.

We left bright and early, but the clouds rolled in, making the beauty of Mussoorie go monochrome.

The now trusty Eicher scooter (Black Beauty 2) brought us to Wynberg Allen well in time.  And then the hail fell.  And with the hail, snow.  Pretty soon all the ground around your school was covered with bridal-sari white.

After an hour you came back and told me that school had been cancelled.  We waited for sometime and then decided to push back as the hail and snow had stopped falling.  As we slowly drove the scooter higher, we found more snow and more slippery roads.  You wisely got off at the bottom of Mullingarh and I continued fishtailing up the hill for far longer than I should have.  Guardian angels watch over the Eicher men don't they?

We finally had to park the scooter outside Doma's restaurant and walk the last 3 kms cutting through snow with sopping wet toes and frozen fingers.  Thank God for the warmth of the Shanti Kunj bukhari!

Studying next to a wood-fired heater has its own joys - even on an unusually cold winter in Landour!  

Your preparation for these exams have been a joy for Mummy and me as we had you with us in Lalitpur for the past 2 months!  

Quick question, Enoch:  where did the years go?  Why is it that we seem light years away from your childhood in Thane?  

And who are you becoming, our wonderful son?  As I look at your examination hall ticket which we successfully got yesterday, I can see a bit of the future.  I see the subjects that you will be tested on over the next few weeks, and I can see that you can fly.  You can step into multiple different directions using the God-given talents that you have.  You are good at math, and your English is excellent.  It's only too bad that the curriculum does not have a subject on English Premier League football! 

Blessed son of ours, 

You have given us so much joy over these 16 years.  When you are in boarding school, and your name comes to mind, I inevitably break out in a grin.  

And over this last year I have noticed some new elements emerging.   A wonderful sporting spirit to start with.  You have always been fascinated  by sport, especially professional games, even  though we did not have a TV in our home.  Becoming a sports commentator was one of your earliest "serious" careers that you expressed  an interest in.  Did Mummy and I pour too much of a bucket of cold water on that idea?

Your current idea of architecture has much merit to it.  As your uncle Stefan told you the other day, applied design is an exciting way that you can do things beautifully and help lots of people too!

I love your calls from earlier last year where you told  us about competing in debate competitions at school, or in the speech contest, and the choir contest.  You talked about how much you enjoyed taking part in these competitions. You told us that you had not won first prize in such a cheerful way.  Instead of sulking, you were so positive about having been a part of the different competitions in the first place.

And you did manage to get into the soccer team at school (I still am puzzled why at your school they call it "soccer", when 99 percent of our countrymen - and women - use the worldwide standard name of "football").   Well, you told me that this evening.  Practice, practice and more practice with your friends.  Plus you ran in half-marathons.  I get tired just thinking of you and the other boarding boys getting up early for your cross-county runs every single day during the running season.  Amazing! 

When you were small, you and your sister were so competitive in board games that many of our games ended in tears.  Today those childish ways have evaporated.  Our series of 'Settlers of Catan' with Mummy over the last 2 months have shown that loud and clear: Mr. Enoch is able to some of the rough with the smooth.  That's a building block for maturity.

And when will you stop growing physically dear Enoch? 

At Shanti Kunj on your 16th birthday, next to a painting of Opa that Stefan uncle did.

Already people are asking me if you are taller than me.  Till now each time we measure I seem to be just that little bit taller, but its only a matter of time before you become the tallest Eicher in India (for some time at least (remember you have a lively cousin who will turn 14 at the end of June!).

Are there still areas of your life that need shaping, refining, moulding?  Of course.  As your father, I can see a number of places in you where God needs to do His amazing work of inner transformation and re-structuring.   As a son who has personally received much love from my parents, how much I also need to be constantly reshaped and remoulded.  Please keep us in your prayers.  As much as Mummy and I are praying for you that you will live up to your name with means 'dedicated,' we would also like you to pray to Jesus on our behalf.  I need to practice what I preach, I need to continually be cleansed from within.  You have seen how angry I have been over this past year, your Daddy wants to give all of this back to King Jesus and live the joyous life He wants from me.

And so dear son Enoch, here's to an amazing year that stretches out before you.  Grab each day and live it to the fullest.  Spend time listening each day to Jesus speaking to you.  Talk to God and make conscious decisions that express God's character in your life.  That's what dedicated means.  To be set apart for a special task.  To be set apart to be used by the Master in whatever way He wants too.

Your Mummy and Daddy are so very thankful to God for you.  We know that you will be providing life-long joy to us and to many others.

The board examinations that are now just a few hours away.  They are just one small (but of course important) step forward for you.  And you have shown that you are super capable in various different ways.  

Our prayers will be with you as you write the papers, and the prayers of the many others who love you too.... God is so good.  And one proof, is that He has made us (also a sign that God has humour).  and is making everything beautiful in His time.  

Thanks for the joy that you are to all of us,  Enoch.  We really pray this year will be a golden one for you, where you are full of joy and share this joy with so many others.

Lots of love,

Your  Daddy and Mummy

Landour in Winter

Landour in winter. 7000 feet up in the Himalaya. Recipe for coldness to reign.

But so very often it is 'warmer' in Landour than in Delhi.

The reason is that Delhi winters are smoggy foggy afairs.  When you have cars of this magnitude you are not surprised that days go by without brother sun or sister moon being seen.

The above picture is at 11 AM - hardly rush-hour by any stretch, and yet enough vehicles to finance a small Gulf state's annual oil selling targets.

And then you add Delhi's cold concrete cake of houses where you would be lucky if any sun hit the street level, you know that you are in for a cold, miserable set of months if you live in our dear capital of a city.

But we still have to make the case that Mussoorie can be warmer in winter.  And make it pretty convincingly, since it seems a large number of folks pack up and head down to the plains when December ticks around...

The key to winter in Mussoorie is where you are on the hill... and how many clouds come in. 

If your home is in the shadow of the mountain - on the northern side, or on the top of the ridge, well then you are in for a very cold time.

And then there is the question of clouds.  If there are clouds, you know its going to be cold.  And then if you have clouds which have moisture, and they decide to hit Mussoorie, then you have a winter wonderland.  Like what happened at Landour two weeks ago (picture from Mum's window at Shanti Kunj):

It doesn't snow often in Mussoorie.  Maybe 2 or 3 times a year max.  But when it does, it makes up for the lost time.

You can hardly believe that you are still in India when the snow comes down silently and blanket everything.  Oak trees, pathways, houses, monkeys (well they go somewhere during the snow at least).

You almost expect to have one of the Pevensies wander by, or maybe haveTumnus the fawn call you to his cave for a cup of tea and a tale of the sorry state Narnia is under - always winter and never Christmas....


Yes gentle reader.  When it snows in Mussoorie, it is rather cold.  And then you have also the electricity lines going down and so no power for 2-3 days, and when it comes back it is rather intermittent.   Those who have the luxury of being able to stay indoors use their little electric heaters, or if they have, use iron bukharis heated by wood that was stored away many a moon previously.

But thankfully, this is India and not the Artic Circle.   We have a fine friend called the sun - and he shows up pretty soon.  A day - maybe two - max three.  Then our dear friend Ravi shows up and does his magic.

The monochrome world takes on the hues of green again.

And pretty soon the pristine whiteness which covered the landscape with powdered sugar, is reduced to some slushy bits that linger on for some weeks on the shadow side of the hill.    The snow-tourists have of course rushed up from Dehra Dun and points south (including those chattering away in Delhi who want to throw snow balls).  Usually by the time the tourists are here the sun has melted away the snow.

We weren't able to speak much with Mum over the previous 10 days.  We knew it was snowing in Landour because of the steady stream of pictures Mum sent over whatsapp (of which a few have been shown and the odd email giving updates.  Phones and mobile connections between Landour and Lalitpur are spotty at best - and in the time of our mini-blizzard in Mussoorie are operationally nil. 

So yesterday when I was in Delhi, and I read in the paper that more snow is expected next week, I really did not know what to expect.   Especially as Delhi lived up to its reputation of a dismal cold grey city in winter (the bright orange of the Kinu oranges on sale by the roadside being almost the only splashes of colour).  Asha was due in boarding school to start her final board examinations for her 12th class on Wednesday.  Would we be stamping our feet in the snow?

We need not have worried.  As the rusty (and not very trusty) Ambassador taxi trundled up the winding roads to Landour, Asha and I were greeted with this sunburst of a welcome at 8 AM on a sunny winter morning. 

When we arrived at Sisters Bazaar, we stepped out into the crispness and exhilaration of the eternal snows wearing a lovely new layer of whiteness. The twin peaks of the magnificent 'Bandarpunch' stood out in their glory, welcoming us back to Landour arrayed in early morning white.




As we walk down to Shanti Kunj there is narry a drib or drab of snow to be seen (on this sunny-side of the hill of course).  Instead, our eyes are fed with plenty of green, with the sun illuminating the world as if it were just born.

The breakfast table is already basically laid - with food for the body and spirit laid out and waiting for us to finish our hugs and get down to working on our vittles.

Ahem, did I mention something about this sun?   As this morning wore on, we were blessed with the radiant orb giving us a good dose of vitamin D.

Net result of all this solar brilliance?  So much joy to the soul to see so much beauty all around.  And though we were not walking around in shorts, it certainly was very unwintry.

After the haze of Delhi, to see the unreally cerulean blue of the Mussoorie sky just takes your breath away.  You feel close to space.  The air is thinner and the sky a darker share of blue than we see in the plains.

So there we have it.  A few days after everything was white, it almost looks like summer in the hills.

We are of course still bundled up in layers.  This is Mussoorie, and we are still in winter.  But Landour in the cold season clearly has its charms.

After dropping off Asha at her sparkling new dormitory at Wynberg Allen School - it was time to savour the remains of the day. The golden wash of sun from the East is always a treat.

And what a better way to end a Landour winter day than a still clear Himalayan snow vista - with our dear Mum very much in the foreground.

Winter in Landour can certainly be more than gloomy chill.  Thanks to the sun (and being on the sunny side of ye olde Pahar) it can be a joy.   I wish I didn't have to go back down to Lalitpur tomorrow night!

Signs o' the times

And now for something slightly a bit lighter...

Some of the signs that I saw over the past few months of travel (mainly between Lalitpur and Delhi with a dash of Mussoorie and Mumbai thrown in). 

We start at the public facilities at Lalitpur Railway station.  I had passed them many times, but recently looked up and there was the old urdu-style word for women still in use: "Zenana" (the men's side used "Mard").  The lady in the accompanying plaque helpfully points in the direction of the ladies loo.  Her facial expression seems to indicate that she may be unhappily waiting in line.

We move next to the bright lights and big city of Mumbai - and that too the the posh n plush suburb of Powai.  At the heart of the Hiranandani mini-city is a shopping complex.  We had gone shopping and I had misplaced my wallet (it was later found safely at home).  Thinking that I may have dropped it, I was retracing my steps when I looked up and saw the following shops cheek-by-jowl.

It seems most likely that a family that was running a successful electronics shop had some kind of a fight, and one faction decided to open up a competing establishment right next to the original.  Or perhaps the first shop with spilt in two - like an amoeba multiplying?

If you want to be successful, you have no further to go than your local coaching centre.  This gem was seen on an early morning walk in Okhla, New Delhi.



I for one do not want to have a failed life!

The idea seems to be that my inherent talent is likely to be stifled and snubbed because I don't know the 'trick' that will unlock the gates of success.  Clearly our friends Vital Math are willing to help you (for a sum of course).

Help is also present in an ancient form of medicine.

In India we still have a form of healing with the gospel writing Dr. Luke most probably practised two millenia ago.  We are talking about Yunani (or Unani) medicine.  Yunani is Hindusthani for Greek.  Dr. Luke was culturally Greek and probably practised a form of medicine similar to what writers such as Galen summarised.  The collapse of the Roman empire meant that most Greek medicine was lost to the western world, but the Islamic writers translated the Greeks into Arabic and it spread East with Islam.

And so though I don't know Urdu, the helpful English phrases helped give me a quick insight into what this Yunani practitioner is staking his (her?) credibilty on.   The poster was stuck on one of the pillars upholding the metro railway near Sukhdev Vihar in Okhla.

I am not sure what "Regimenal Therapy" is (perhaps Regimental Therapy), but the pictures of 'cupping' show that blood-letting is still in vogue in some parts of our country - even in the capital it seems.

The steam bath looks interesting, but what really caught my attention was the advertisement of leeches.  We know that doctors are sometimes called 'leeches' - more often than not by disgruntled patients who have had to shell out a pretty penny for their therapy.  But to see that we still have practitioners putting leeches on people to drain off excess blood is fascinating.

My final sign is one of my favourites.  Just outside Mum's home in Landour.  A sign that rest lies just ahead. 

Two lost boys

At our Bible study tonight, which was held Rajesh and Anita's home, we heard two stories of lost sons.  One has ended happily, the other is still open.

The stories came out before we actually got into the actual study - which was on "blessed are the peace-makers, for they will be called the children of God"  (Mat. 5.9).   We were sharing things that we wanted prayer for.  There were the usual prayer requests for mothers who were sick, work related challenges, family members whose hearts need softening to the Lord.

And then Lukash and Neeta shared their stories.

They had gone yesterday to meet Laxmi, one of our support staff at the HBM Hospital who tragically lost her husband three months ago in a road accident.  When they got to the home, however, the place was abuzz about what had happened to a neighbour of Laxmi.

Some six years ago, their young son had disappeared.  He was mentally a bit challenged, and the neighbours looked high and low for him.  No trace.  He was gone.  As the years have crawled by, they gave up hope and considered him dead.  We will call him Sachin.

Last week Sachin returned.

Sachin had somehow ended up in Mumbai.  And at some railway station, someone had brought him to a place of safety, where the boy had been cared for.  Being mentally unstable, Sachin had not been able to tell where he was from, till just recently.  When his caregivers found out that Sachin was from Lalitpur, they brought him here, and found his amazed parents.

"The people were Christians" said Laxmi.  Sachin's family are just thrilled that he is back.  They are so touched that there were people looking after their son. "How could they look after someone who is not their own family" was how Laxmi reflected what Sachin's parents had said.

Lukash and Neeta plan to visit Sachin's family to find out more about what happened.  I have my guess about who it might be - having been blessed by some amazing people in Mumbai.   SEAL Ashram would be my first bet.  Pastor KM Philip and his team have rescued so many destitute people over the years.  Some have died in their ashram, surrounded by love in their last days.  Others have survived, many of whom are mentally disturbed and disoriented.  And then, amazingly, some start to remember where they are from.  The SEAL team then takes them home and reunites them with their families...

The picture below is by the wonderful Indian artist Frank Wesley.  It's called the "Forgiving Father" and is of course a picture of the Father welcoming back his vagrant son.  When I heard of Sachin coming home, this picture came to mind.  The joy of the father reunited with his boy, no matter what had happened.  The son is home.

The other story was also told by Lukash.  This is fresh and still in process...

Our HBM Hospital Community Health and Development Programme (CHDP) organised a meeting between our village committee leaders and government officials today.   One of our stars is a lady we will call Latha. 

Latha is part of a Self-Help Group which with the help of the CHDP has started a store in their village which sells bangles and other petty items.  The store has done so well that the members have gone further and further afield to get the materials.  Amazingly, Latha has now started to go to Delhi to pick up whole-sale items to stock the shop.

Recently she was at the Delhi railway station and was talking to someone when a young man came up to her.  Did he overhear her say she was from Lalitpur, he asked.  Yes, she replied.  Then he told her his story.

We will call him Manoj.  Manoj can't remember exactly where he is from, but he knows it was Lalitpur.  He had been separated from his parents some years ago and found himself on a train that ended up in Varanasi.  There Manoj saw some terrible things and in great fear somehow got onto another train that brought him to Delhi.  From what Manoj told Latha, it seems that he was taken in by a gang of professional beggars, and their conversation ended when a man came up and asked roughly who he was talking to and what he had told her.   Latha sensed that Manoj was not fully in his right mind.

Latha has written down the names of  whose first names Manoj told her about.  He thought that his father was a rickshaw puller.  And now to the real exciting part.  Manoj gave Latha a photo of himself.  A photo of himself as a little boy.  He asked her to try and find his parents.

We are going to see if we can also be used to reunite Manoj with his family.  We already prayed for him tonight, along with thanking God for bringing Sachin home.  Since we just found out about Manoj today, the next step is to get a full written statement from Latha about her conversation with Manoj.  We will probably reach out to the Child Welfare Committee and the police.  If we don't find a likely match with their missing children reports, we may put up the story to the press.

Of course we have to verify and link up with Manoj too.  Is this just a wild story, or is it the terrible reality that so many broken lives testify to in our vast urban wildernesses.  Manoj seems to be another story of a young man who is mentally unstable, but very precious. 

Our prayers on this cold night are centered around a young man in the biting cold of a Delhi night... and for whoever and wherever his relatives are in and around Lalitpur.  May they be reunited.  And may the happy news spill out all over the neighbourhood, with people marvelling at how Manoj has returned against all hope to his family.

The story of the two lost boys is not over yet.  Sachin is home: Praise the Lord for His grace.  We hope that for Manoj his part of the story will end, and continue, in joy.