Out of the Ashes

I feel like the Father always speaks to me through my own life experiences. Some would probably say I over spiritualize, but I just feel He is always speaking, and there is always things we can learn, even from every day life. He makes me smile in that I can always find glimpses of Him and his voice in my day-to-day life. Today, I stood on a bus and realized I was the only white person. While I was in the capital city of Delhi, filled with thousands of westernized Indians I still stood out. I looked around and from the corners of my eyes I could see that in every direction people were watching me. In the last week alone, multiple people have told me I look Indian. I think this is a compliment, and I take it as one that I am doing my part to fit in, fit the role, and blend in appropriately as a Western American. There are days I could certainly try harder, but in general my goal is to blend and not stand out. I realize that though I try as I might, even in my most modest salwa

The last few weeks have been really difficult.  I moved into a house that needed quite a bit of work. I have been working with plumbers and carpenters and more.  I know what’s needed, and in American I could just buy the supplies and do it myself. Here either I don’t know where or how to find the needed supplies or I simply can’t do it on my own.  I am dependent- dependent upon men who don’t speak the same language as me, and who live in a world where they don’t have to care about the women’s opinion.  Yet I am the one paying for their services.  As they say here, Kya Kare, which means, what to do? The Hindi I do speak hasn’t covered words such as leaks, screws, level measuring, etc.  These are not words in my vocabulary, so try as I might, I feel the carpenter and I are on different pages.  I tell him what I want and he tells me how he is going to do it.  My opinion means little to him.  I walked in the room, and he explained the wall was too weak and the shelf had fallen off of the

A sweet friend shared with me last year about a father figure in his life who would always give freely and openly to all who asked. As long as he had it, he gave it-   whoever asked, whatever they asked, he gave it. I heard his story and thought it was foolish to some extent.   How can anyone really live like that?   There are always people in need.   There is always someone asking. ALWAYS.   How is that possible? Generous giving is something I am familiar with.   My mother was always one to give to those in need.   She was prayerful and considerate. I have learned to be a giver, and a joyful giver. I have learned the blessings of giving, and even giving when it causes me to feel the stretch of my wallet and comfort. Unfortunately, I have to admit I have always been one to give within my moderate comfort.   In the past, I have not been one to give when it would cause me to go without.   My giving was calculated and precise.   This past year my team and I have talked a lot abo