Camille, RIP :(

Camille Emme

(01/14/11 - 08/21/14  )

Camille waiting at Vodafone office.

I cried like a baby two nights ago over Camille. For the past two months I've been telling Libby that if she lost that doll it was going to be her fault. I was, however, alway taking care of the doll. Libby would leave her at the restaurant, or in the hotel restrooms, or at the pool... but I was always keeping track of Camille. The day I didn't, we lost her :(

I felt guilty even tough I knew I wasn't responsible. We know we left the hotel with her, but once we were ready to leave the Vanilla Place, we couldn't find her. I want to say she is there, somewhere. I keep asking Libby and she says she didn't drop it from the auto. I feel like going back over and over, but maybe someone took her if Libby actually dropped it. Anyway... I'm surprised that Libby didn't really cry. She asked where Camille was for a couple of days, but she knows it's lost.  But she wasn't crying. I kinda wanted her to cry so that I could tell her that it was going to be okay. 

The whole hotel staff was concerned about Camille. And I mean EVERYBODY. These people have become our family after living here for 25 days. We know their names, their faces, and I'm sure they really care about us. We might be guests, but they care. 

Street Snack

Cows on the streets

Dreaming ;) 

Mr. Sugumar brings my children chocolate milkshake (chocolate milk) every single morning -every single morning- without me asking. I don't even have to ask for my filter coffee anymore. They know that Mrs. Emerson is going to ask for it. Miss Monika is the beautiful girl with the blue saree that welcomes people at the hotel. She comes to talk to us every single day when she sees us. She was the one asking me about church. She's Hindu, by the way, but she likes going to church. Then go crazy, Miss Monika. I'm sure you'll hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. I don't have to convince you of anything. 

I once heard ndy Stanley say this: Poeple who were nothing like Jesus liked Jesus because Jesus liked people who were nothing like Him. I want to be that person. God is teaching me to shut my mouth and listen more. I'm listening more, really - which surprises even me. And that's how I am getting to love these people so much. I really am. Because I am getting to know them, and knowing what they care about. 

Eating at our favorite restaurant

The point is that the whole hotel was asking Libby the next day if she was doing okay about Camille. As much as I cried (for my own guilt) I told Libby that we knew Camille was a doll that we wont't be ever able to replace (darn you, Cabbage Patch dolls), but the true blessing here was that Libby was surrounded by people who loved her and cared for her. Everybody was asking about the doll. Everybody was alerted on the hotel to look for it! 

Miss Monika, Mr. Raja, Mr. Santhosh, Mr Gopinath, Mr. Sugumar, Miss Aakriti, Mr. Ganesh, Ahim, Didham, Cheff Partha, to name a few, all asked about Camille... Good thing is that we have to mourn Camille. I don't think it will help my daughter to have another doll right away. I think too much about stuff like that, but I don't want her to think that you can replace things like that just because... But Grandma Azu offered to send her a replacement for Camille once we had an address, and I'll take her on that soon :)

Grocery store

Nuts

There's your cupcake aisle, America ;) 

It seems that we don't do a lot every day, and we really don't - ha! But in a way things here go slowly. In Houston I was never very busy to start with. You know, my children didn't go to play school or anything, and we did have a schedule everyday, but our day wasn't packed. Even though that was our life, I feel that being here, we are taking it even more slowly. I am spending much more time with my children. Like just with them. I think I have that feeling because I haven't cooked a single meal in over two months, and I've been eating at restaurants, and my laundry has been done and folded (first by my awesome father-in-law, now by the hotel laundry department). 

Having breakfast

My mom was feeding my children or taking us to lunch. And I haven't cleaned or vacuumed. So all that time has ben used in spending time with them. For my sanity, we have watched more TV lately because in Chennai there is not a lot to do if you have little children. It is hot outside to start with, and I haven't found any nice places to take them and play. 

The place a lot of people have told me about is the Vanilla Place, but they charge you 5 bucks per child (3 dollars from 9 am-11 am). I mean, it's nice, but only for a little while. I guess it's great if you a have an infant who's crawling and getting to move, but Libby is too old now for that equipment, and they jumped up and down, but got bored pretty quickly. I'm not paying five bucks once or twice a week for that. There are not real playgrounds like the ones they were used to in Cypress. There are playgrounds, but either they are inside a private club or they are inside apartments. I'm not paying a membership in an expensive club just to please my children. 

Climbing

Pool of balls

The library is nice to go to, but you cannot checkout books, and that's something Libby liked doing. We can still go and read, tough. And there's a system here, where you pay a yearly fee and they bring you books to your house. Still, it's like 6 books at a time, which Libby will devour in a day... but we are learning about things to do here and there. Once we move and get to know our neighborhood, I'm sure we'll come up with more things to do. Plus Libby might benefit from going to a little play school so she can get to run and play with children her age. 

We have been going to the pool, and we actually went to a small gathering the hotel had for India's Independence Day. It wasn't anything big, just some appetizers, and sodas. The sweets here are to die from diabetes!! 

India's Independence Day

BSF was awful last week. Libby threw a whole tantrum over a toy that Enzo had - a toy she wasn't supposed to play with in the first place. They were very subtle and sweet with me in approaching my ways of educating my children. They didn't question me or anything, more than anything they were pretty respectful because they had no idea about me or my stand with God, and how I was raising my children. I ended up having a heart to heart conversation with the Children's Supervisor about many things, and the way I discipline my children. So at least now, we are on the same page.

Anyways, I had to stay there for a while until she calmed down, but I decided to take her out. She didn't want to be there, fine. But Enzo stayed. Libby wanted me to take Enzo out, too. But I explained to her that Enzo was enjoying his class, and that she needed to wait until his class was over. Blah, blah... I don't wanna write the whole speech. But pretty much I explained to her that the world does not and will not revolve around her. It's not all about her.  

Trying new things

Swimming on his own

Handsome :)

Enzo has been talking a lot more. Ever since we came here he is repeating almost every single word we say. Since we got to the hotel he was very shy, so shy that he seemed rude. We were actually making him shake hands, and stuff. We had been reading devotions here and there, and there was one about being a porcupine. If you are not kind to people around you, the truth is nobody will want to be your friend. So whether it was the devotion or just the fact that he's seen the people for more than three weeks, he is warming up. He is shaking hands with everybody, blowing kisses to the ladies, etc. Actually, we went to the mall the other day. As I was walking I saw a group of ladies hovering around Enzo, but made nothing out of it. When Libby and I turned around Enzo was surrounded by a group of teenagers who had asked Emerson permission to take photos of Enzo. Sure, why not?

Indian Beauties with my Mexican-American

So after a long of time of hotel living, my queenship is coming to an end. As of yesterday, we are the happy leasers of a beautiful apartment near the beach. The beach is kinda ugly, but it is the beach. Emerson and I cannot agree on why I am so happy that we live close by. He thinks it is nice enough to go up to the terrace and see the beach. I, on the other hand, think that if you have the sea right there half a mile from your house, why wouldn't you go sit in front of it? Different perspectives, I guess. I'm not saying I'm going every day with my children, but I mean, at least once a week... hopefully. They cried yesterday as they saw the ocean for the first time, so there's no way to know how it will go.  

View from our terrace

First Encounter with the Sea

Anyway, Emerson took a picture during the weekend, I think. It gave me a lot bittersweetness if I'm making sense. I was still sad and grieving Camille in a way this morning while I was writing this post. Libby was sad, I think, but the photo shows her taking care of Nemo now. She began taking Nemo everywhere as she was taking Camille before. I made sure to mark Nemo with a permanent marker, phone number and all, with a message that said RETURN IF FOUND, ha! 

Today we spent all morning after breakfast in the room because I had to check on Libby. She bumped her head - her forehead- yesterday because she fell off the bed while jumping. She remained on the mattress that was on the floor without moving. Emerson and I think that she passed out for a moment because she was woozy, and not herself when she got up. This morning you could see a purple bruise on her forehead, and wasn't acting like herself. We couldn't tell if it was because there was something serious going on or if it was too early when we woke her up. But she is her old self right now. 

After being inside all morning I was ready to get out and take a walk. I really wanted to go look for Camille. We lost her on Friday morning, and Emerson went to the place on Friday evening, too, but nothing was found. I had been asking Libby if she had dropped Camille on the road, but she said she didn't. I was sure, almost sure, Camille HAD to be in the Vanilla Place. But Emerson said I couldn't be sure. So I told Libby that we were going to look for her one last time. I, the mom, needed to make sure Camille wasn't there. I think Libby was over it, but I wasn't. 

Nemo

I also made perfectly clear we were not going to play at the slides, we were on a mission. She had to look for her doll. I also told them that if Mr. Rama wasn't there to take us on the auto we wouldn't go. But long story short, we went after dealing with autos that want to overprice us. Mr. Rama had become like our driver, but he wasn't there. But a honest driver took us there, waited for us outside the place. We asked again about Camille. The security guy said Emerson had gone on Friday, I agreed. I said Libby wanted to look for her doll one more time - I lied. I wanted to look for the doll one last time. I go in and ask for Camille. The lady says they didn't find her. But then, another lady talks to her in Tamil...

They ask me how the doll looks like, and I describe her as a soft doll, with a big head, big cheeks, awful black hair, very dirty... you know, Camille. 

I've found out Indian people are not very touchy. Some are really touchy, tough. Mrs. Paccai (which you pronounce Pachee, /ch/ like in church, /ee/ like in bee), carried Libby and gave her hugs and kissed her all over the place on Sunday. Mrs. Paccai is the lady that works at the building where we are going to be living. She is always there, so Ramia is her granddaughter, and she is there to help us with anything. Ramia is nine years old, but looks older. She is my translator, but I cannot really trust her translations, ha ha ha!!

Our new home :)

So Paccai tells me to sit, and offers me a chair. 

- No, no, we have to go, Mrs. Paccai.

-[Tamil. I'm sure she said sit. Offers the chair again]. Milky. Tea, tea. Milky.

- Oh... tea. With milk? Uhm, sure. Why not? Thank you.

Paccai brings tea and begins talking like I understand Tamil. Asks about Emerson.

- Oh, he will be back. He will drink his tea, don't worry. So, Ramia, are you related to Mrs. Paccai?

- No.

Later translations reveal Paccai is Ramia's grandma. In the meantime, we are talking. Ramia somehow tells me she is learning English at school and she is going to the 4th grade. Paccai gives Libby a bobby pin for her hair, and wants to give her a hug. I give Libby the look and speak Spanish to her. Dale abrazos a Paccai, ahorita mismo, y deja que te abrace. Te quiere como si fuera una abuela. Let Paccai hug you, hug her back. She loves you like a grandma. So there you have Libby hugging Paccai, and Enzo is drinking my tea, that is as sweet as Diabetes Mellitus. Emerson is not coming back, and I'm beginning to feel awkward, but I never felt not welcomed. If anything I'm not used to people to serve me. People here have a servant's heart, and I'm not talking about them being servants. They really want to serve you. Probably not all of them, but most of the ones I've met. 

Mexicans are not like that. I mean, everybody around the world talk about our hospitality and how warm we are. We are not, at least not ALL the Mexicans I know, and I know quit a few. Tamilians are just over the top kind. By the way they also introduced me to Carolyn, who would babysit for the children, and can be of any help by cleaning the house, or just regular housework.  

All this to say that some people are not very touchy...

Mommy's heart knew it!!!

Rag doll?, they ask at the Vanilla Place today. Yes, yes. Rag doll, I say. They speak Tamil among them again. Then the lady goes into a room, and opens it. The place is also a play school. So she goes in, and I'm so excited that Camille might be there, but I'm afraid of being disappointed. And then she comes back with Camille!!!

YAYYYYYY!!!! 

I jumped and hugged the lady, and said thank you, like a thousand times. She must have thought I was kind of crazy for being making this over a rag doll, but I knew Camille HAD to be there. Libby was like whatever... Anyways, I hugged the lady and she was not like Paccai, but it doesn't matter. We found Camille, who as of now has on the back of her neck the next legend: PLEASE RETURN CAMILLE IF YOU FIND HER. CALL LIBBY AT xxx phone number. And my email address.  

We came back to the hotel. The auto charged us 50 rupees, instead of 200, like the other guy wanted. I gave him 70, he was very happy with that. We went to the hotel restaurant to celebrate Camille's return with ice cream. I'm just waiting for Emerson to open the door pretty much. We missed him today, a lot, but we are very, very happy. Of course, we made sure Miss Monika knew how happy Libby was about the doll. Mr. Gopinath is working the night shift at the restaurant, so we got to see him today. We'll try to find Mr. Rama to tell him Camille is home. After all, he lived that crisis with us on Friday.

Oh, I registered for a race on December. I'm training for it. I sweat like a pig in this weather, but I'm very happy I am able to run. We have BSF tomorrow. I'll let you know how it went :)

Chocolate ice cream to celebrate :)

   

   

Allah, Ganesh and Jesus...

I write this... humbled - I guess. I am not feeling cocky, like most of the time when I talk about how amazing my God is. Of course He is, but lately He seems different. Not Him because He never changes. I mean my perception of Him. 

Yesterday was my first BSF class. Getting there I was under a lot of stress. I couldn't leave the room because either I was forgetting the money, or the key, or the directions for the driver. By the time we were out of the hotel it was already 9:30 am. We still had lots of time, but it usually takes me up to ten minutes to get an auto (a driver, specifically) who doesn't want to take advantage of how not-from-Chennai I look. 

Paper work

Play ground

One wanted to charge me ₹100, and I said no. Then others didn't want to take me there. Finally one agreed. I was sweating like a pig already because it was hot and humid, and all Libby was saying is how much she didn't want to go. Once we got there, we were received by Shobana, the class administrator. She recognized me, and hugged me. She took me to my children's class. Going upstairs, Libby and Enzo began crying, and I didn't know what to do. On one hand, I knew all this is new for them. On the other, I knew I had to make them feel secure, and confident. God was there, we were at a place where God is. God is everywhere... but I wanted to tell my children, Mommy will hang out with women who follow Jesus in India!! Please, stop crying. Let me go and talk about Jesus, please. I need this. I need this. You have no idea how much I need this. 

Pony tail. He was sweating.

But I didn't tell them that. I hugged them, and I felt bad about them. This is new, it is difficult for me, I am guessing it is difficult for them also, right? Their teachers let me get inside the room, since I've never seen it before. Also, they wanted me to reassure my children that everything would be okay. So I went in. Everybody was very nice. It was kind of a big room with a curtain in the middle. Very few toys on the floor. A song written on the board for Libby's class. 

I am a C

I am a C-H

I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N

Out on the rickshaw

You've probably heard it before. I learned that one when I was a teacher at Grace. I knew this was not what they are used to, but I knew they would be safe. I knew God would take care of them. I just needed them to feel that. I prayed in my thoughts, I guess. So quickly. I don't even know if it was a conscious prayer, but I just wanted them to stop crying, and have peace about it. They sat down. Suddenly they weren't even looking at me. But I hadn't say good bye. So as I went out, I just said, "Bye, see you later, guys. Have fun!"

So anyway, I get down. Shobana introduces me to my group leader. I sit down on a chair. Quick look around. 150+ women, all Indian. I am the ONLY non-Indian. They look at me, and they smile. The song starts and all of us are singing in English a hymn, that I know very well by heart, because we sing it in Houston. Suddenly, I start crying. One tear, two, three... many tears coming down my cheeks. Continuos crying. I feel fear, and anxiety. And I just want to sit down. I don't even know why I am crying. I mean, nothing is wrong. I guess I had been tense or something for the last two weeks. But I felt like crying like a baby. I think it was just stress. I was finally there. I was finally in a safe place. I felt safe. I thanked God for that. 

Nihar's Birthday Party

at Madras Club

Getting cookies

Excuse me

I felt thankful that I was worshiping God in community with a bunch of women who looked different than me, but had the same Savior. I felt thankful that my children were being taken care of. No playground, no pool of balls, no fancy toys for them, but they were absolutely being loved, and taught the truths about a God who loves them dearly.

No AC for me. No cushioned chairs. No auditorium. Ants and spiders on the teacher's microphone as she was talking, no toilet paper in the bathroom, no soap. But God was there. I knew my children needed little, but even more now... we can be so blinded by the commodities that we lose perspective. Specially in the US. There is so much freaking money and stuff. I know for sure preachers preach always about this, but America is so freaking rich. Everybody is rich there. Everybody.

Give money to the church, you, guys.

I felt so blessed to be so far away from what I consider home, and still be in a ministry that was founded in San Antonio, Texas. So please, be faithful. Story after story of how these women got to know the Lord, and I'm in awe of this, because I had never, ever been in that kind of situation, you know? 

Anna Centenary Library

Reading

And I might sound stupid or even ignorant. But I've only met one Indian guy, who was a pastor in Ohio. Other than that, my little Christian bubble had always consisted of American suburban families and I always felt safe there. Never expanded my bubble. Ever. If I talked to somebody outside the bubble, I normally would go back to my bubble feeling "afraid". And the bubble is fine. I'm not judging the bubbles, we are supposed to be all in bubbles, but cannot stay there forever. 

But this Sunday we went looking for houses and the realtor was Muslim. And he paid for lunch, and was a nice gentleman. And we never talked about Islam. He told me about the caste system in India. He also talked about how all men are equal according to the Holy Book, but still in India, people have levels, you know? There are people who are never going to marry other people because of the status they have.

I said love is messy, and like in all societies, those rules get broken. Because love goes beyond that. He agreed. THEN, he mentioned his wife was Catholic, but converted to Islam to marry him. That's when I realized he was talking about the Quran when he mentioned the Holy Book. And my brain is speeding in finding ways on how to start a spiritual conversation, "You are not gonna kill us after you show us the apartments, are you? Because after all, we are infidels. Your Holy Book says to kill us wherever you find us..."

Filter coffee

Hot, hot

I didn't say anything. He also invited me to his house. Told me his wife would show me how to cook. Whether simply courtesy or not, he was a pretty normal guy, who I'm sure would've never mentioned religion unless asked. But he did mention his Scriptures -which I don't consider an authority for me- but they have helped him. He said he has suffered much, and I believe that. And I'm sure his faith has helped him somehow. I firmly believe my God has blessed him, but he believes his god has helped him. But who am I to go and tell him he is wrong?

See, I have a long ways to go with humility. I am not humble. I believe I have the truth. I know my God is the only true God. But I've been always been in your face with people about it. And I've been praying that God would use me in these season in India. But I am sure that I will mess this up if I make this thing my own. This is not my own thing. This is God's thing. I cannot go and tell people how wrong they are. Faith just doesn't work like that. They won't believe no matter how much information I give. God has to work in their hearts, to draw them to Him. It's very easy for me to share about God's love, but my approach has not always been the best.

I lack humility.

Family dosa

Another lady at the hotel was very excited about church and stuff I told her about my Bible study on Tuesday. I'll give her information about BSF. I'm not completely sure she is a Christian, tough. Yet another woman told me openly she was a Christian, to which I said, "Oh, really??". I felt stupid after that. Not because they are Indian, it means all of them follow Ganesh, or Parvati, or Vishnu. 

A gentleman at the store gave me a little statue of Ganesh as a nice gesture since I bought clothes. I told him I knew about Ganesh, and how he protected his mother when she was taking a bath. He was surprised I knew about Ganesh. I told him I didn't follow Ganesh, that I followed Jesus. I asked him if he had heard about Jesus, to which he said yes.  He has a wife, and two children (3 years and 6 months old). He is 29 years old. Wife doesn't work, and wears only sarees. He's been married since he was 26. 

Nena is sleeping

Most people I've met say they don't have children when I ask. I am not married yet. That's how they answer. Some are young, others are older. All of them need love, tough. And I'm sure in their own way all of them are looking for forgiveness, and grace, and compassion. For a place to call home, to feel and be safe, for somebody to really be interested in them. To have a place to rest when they feel weary... 

I believe Jesus is what they need. But, like Paul asks, how will they believe in Him? How will they believe in someone they haven't heard about? And how will they hear about Jesus if nobody tells them? And how will they be told if nobody is willing to go, and tell them? I am not saying I am here for that reason... I guess all I'm trying to say is that I'm working hard in shutting my mouth, and let God do the work sometimes I think I must be doing. I'm willing to be humbled, learn from people, actually listen to what they have to say, and love them no matter what. 

I'm sure God will make good use of that :)

Very appropriate for the week

Very appropriate for this week

We are The Nunez, from America...

Yesterday was Emerson's first day at work. We had breakfast with him, and then we saw him go.

Bye, Daddy!

Bye, Enzo!

We ventured ourselves into the streets of Chennai... I want to be as much respectful as I can, but they suck. This is just chaos. I never thought I would say this, but Mexican streets are awesome, and Mexican drivers are very civilized people. Very civilized. Most of them, anyway. 

So we got to walk for a long time. Saw some OBGYN and Pediatrics office. Libby wanted some balloons, to which I said no. They were decorations from the place, but a gentlemen went out of his way to gave them some. Literally cut their decorations to please my children. That humbles you.

Posing with balloons.
Popped them later as they were a hazard to hold my children's hands

I had a filtered coffee on the street, and the children got two cookies. Emerson gave me some money. It was 14 rupees for our snacks, and when I took the bill out, I only had 500 bills. I felt so stupid. I apologized, but thankfully the gentleman had change. Then we rode a rickshaw. They call them auto-auto. Scary ride, but made it safe to the hotel. I enjoy doing those things with my children, walking and exploring. I don't know how much of this they will remember, but this blog is exactly for those things.

The auto charged me 40 rupees (60 cents of a dollar). I asked at the hotel, and they said people were very honest with me, and I was glad. Thankful that even in those little details God is taking care of us. And it's dirt cheap, but it's not about that. I don't want to be taken advantage of, even if I can pay 100 rupees or more for a taxi to drive me less than half a mile. And today they charged me 30 ;)

People are warm. They stare a lot, they look at us up and down, and most of them smile. They touch my children a lot and kiss their own hands afterwards. At reception they explain to me it was an ancient way to bless my children. I don't freak out, I just don't know what to do. They told me to just smile, and say thank you. Nanri. It's the only thing I know how to say in Tamil. 

Filtered coffee stand

Cookie for 3 cents

Sweet sweet coffee for 15 cents 

Auto-Auto

I tried to learn some phrases, but it is difficult to pronounce, and most of the time I'm more worried about not getting hit by cars, that I don't care about speaking Tamil right now. Sidewalks are very, very narrow. We are not in danger, it is just new and weird. I am really happy I am here. I know God is going to us in some way, I just don't know how yet, or when. I know He has a plan, so I'm not even saying if He will use us. I just want to know when. 

Patience, my love. Patience. 

There is a Turkish lady called Didhem who lives in the room in front of us. His son Nihar is celebrating his 2nd birthday this Thursday, and we've been invited to the Madras Club. Very chic place, as they won't let you become a member if you are not recommended by another member. They ask me about my husband, and how long will we be staying here. What the heck? What if I'm divorced? 

Lunch at New Town Coffee House

I'm getting to read about this culture, and Indian parenting, and just looking around... I don't think my children are behaving badly, actually they have improved a lot during the last couple of days. But I'm noticing that when they are really great, people are pleased. Like there are a lot of expectations Indian people have from their children. It's a very strict environment. 

I read an article written by an Indian girl who said parents expect success. Worldly success. Good grades, a job, make a lot of money. Make it out of India. Be proud of your parents who worked so hard so you would become who you are. At the same time, the newspaper says there are lot of deaths on the roads because parents gave into pestering children who wanted a motorcycle. I think all cultures struggle with he same issues. No matter how strict they may pretend to be, a child has a will of his own. Everybody sins. Everybody lies by nature. Everybody has had bad thoughts.  What might be a "really good child" might be just faking it to please the parents, and keep appearances. I grew up like that. I don't like that. 

Lunch at Cream Centre

There is no PDA's allowed between couples. Not that I knew that, I just found out. It's a very respectful interaction between men-women/women-women. I just want to know where is the heart. I guess I have lots of time to find out. I guess what I'm trying to say is that most of the time I feel bad about myself for not fitting in places. I didn't fit at my first MOPS meeting, where moms looked like freaking models. So fake that a woman with an infant would cook on high heels. I obviously don't fit here, either. I look different. I dress differently. Will wok on wardrobe, though, because my shirts end up soaking wet after a thirty minute walk outside. 

But most people are kind, no matter what.

PDA- Michael Scott

A gentleman stopped the cars today so that I could cross with my children. We all held hands. Other guy approached me because I looked lost looking for the school for Libby. I wasn't lost, by the way. He even offered me a ride, but I passed. They have their own version of English, which is funny, but even word by word sometimes we get each other. Today Libby and Enzo were kissed and touched by a group of ladies, men and children. I had no idea what they said to me. They were talking to me like I would understand. I said English, English. To which they said, No English. All of us looked disappointed. 

They knew bye at least. But what I'm trying to say is that I don't want to hide. I'm happy for who I am. This is who God made me to be, I don't want to change to fit, or to make people happy here. 

Slides @ Cream Centre

I kneel with my children on the streets because they ask me questions (Libby). I kiss them, and people see us, and they smile. I haven't been in contact with a lot of Indian women with children, so maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Will see on BSF. But I don't want worldly success for my children. They are very smart to have it, they will have it if that's my goal.

I want God's wisdom for them. I want them to follow my God by choice, not because I imposed Him to them. 

I want them to love each other, I want them to feel free to explore within boundaries. I want them to know a C+ is fine if that was their very best. I don't want them to kill themselves over an F. I want them to know they are loved and accepted. I want them to know that the God of the universe, the only Creator made them beautiful. They don't have to adorn themselves. They don't have to pretend to be something or someone they are not. I want them to be authentic and not fake good behavior. 

I teach them right from wrong, but at the end it is their choice. There are consequences for every choice, even if the consequence doesn't come right away. I want them to choose right because they want to. I don't want them to fear me. I want them to trust me.

I want them to see God and His saving love and grace in their parents. And somehow I want to project that to Chennai's people while living here. 

Please pray for that when you think about us :)     

This is how we nap lately