Reflecting on Bethel

I will honestly miss Bethel. As I am presently sitting on a train headed to Bangalore, my mind keeps reviewing the faces and the the stories that I have been privileged to encounter over the past week. I was brought to the train station in a car that was arranged for me by Dr Kanagaraj.  We arrived and found the appropriate waiting area. After about 20 minutes, I received a phone call from one of the students, he and another were there at the station! They had come to say goodbye. We sat and had tea there at the station and they remained with me until the train pulled away. What a wonderful group! No doubt, I will miss the people the most.

It has been a marvelous week of sharing in stories and experiences. Dr. and Mrs Kanagaraj were wonderful and made me feel right at home, or at least as if I were staying at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the week. I think I have been to just about every major project on the Bethel campus, talking with directors and staff people, getting to know who they are and how they minister. I was able to teach the first two days of “Introduction to Communication,” which was a lot of fun. This morning I spoke in chapel, which was also a good time, but most fulfilling of all was the time simply spent in conversation with the students. Perhaps one of the most memorable experiences will be the time that I spent in the villages last Sunday, walking from place to place, trekking through fields, and seeing the places that the students minister.

Yesterday Jacob took me through the farm and fields. He explained a bit about where Bethel came from. It all started with a large plot of land that was given by Danish missionaries to be used to provide resources for the villages and to train the villagers how to farm and make a living. From there the farm grew, and diversified. Before long there was a hospital, and a school, an orphanage, a home for children, and eventually, a bible institute for training rural missionaries. Jacob was a product of this place, and he showed me around with a comfort and familiarity, I could tell that he was home.

I hope that I will see some of these students again. Possibly even at APNTS. Jacob is planning for Master’s work, and he would prefer to do it internationally. Andrews is also thinking about possibilities in graduate education. Whatever happens, I believe Pamela, the wife of Dr. Kanagaraj, put it best, “Lord willing, we shall meet again.”

Perhaps one of the most wonderful and distinctive things about this experience was that I had the opportunity to be in the dorms, attend classes, eat the same food as the students, and eat it in the same way--hands only. Everyone seemed to have so much doubt at my ability to stomach all the local foods with their spices, exotic seasoning, and indigenous methods of preparation. I was offered to have prepared special food that would be more agreeable to my stomach. Many doubted that I could handle it. That is why I told no one about vomiting in the bathroom of the Baby home. I figure, somethings are best left unsaid... at least for the sake of my pride. :-)

This week has also afforded me the chance to explore new and exciting forms of relieving oneself. I am proud to announce (especially to my dear brothers and sisters in the Philippines) it has been more than a full week since I have last touched, seen, or otherwise interacted with a piece of toilet paper. Beyond this, it has been another good 6 days since I have made contact with a toilet bowl. I think I need not elaborate. For many of you reading this right now, you are scratching your heads, wondering what I am talking about. That is fine. Don’t worry; don’t ask. Others who are reading these words may find themselves laughing out loud, knowing exactly what I am talking about. As for me, I type these words with a quiet pride. This is a true milestone for me. Perhaps one of many to come. So, take it as you may. I write these words with my head held high. I may have quivered with the cuisine, but in the bathroom... I was victorious.

It all seriousness, the week was unforgettable. Tedious at times, but nonetheless unforgettable. I am humbled by the wonderful hospitality that I have been shown, by the friends that I have made, the culture and cuisine and dynamic learning of which I have been placed in the midst. I have learned much, and look forward to the things that are still to be learned ahead.

It is now nearly six o’clock. The day is cooling as the evening sets. I have another two and a half to three hours till I arrive in Bangalore. I have made contact with Santosh Gnanakan, a former student from APNTS who minsters in Bangalore and is the host of a Radio program on one of the local radio stations. I am told to give him a call when I arrive. He texted me that there is dinner and a bed waiting for me when I arrive. Once again, I am humbled my the hospitality and sense of welcome that has been given to me ever since I have arrived. Tomorrow will be a new city, a new culture, and a slightly cooler climate, I am told. I look forward to see what I will find at the end of the train track.

Meet “Jacob”.

I would like for you to meet Jacob. Jacob is what they call a “Bethel Boy.” At the age of seven, he was brought from his rural village to Bethel by his single mother. He has grown up in the home for boys, studied at the matriculation school, and is now entering his second year of college at Bethel Bible Institute. He is an outstanding young man. Just the other night I sat with him in his room looking through old papers that he had submitted at the school. I have to admit... he put me to shame. His work was meticulous, everything was well-researched, cited, with full bibliographies and stated in nearly perfect english. Did I mention that he was only 19? Did I also mention that all of this papers were done without a computer? Paper after paper was hand-written with numbered footnotes, organized original sources, and evenly-measured margins. He told me that it often took him several tries to make the paper just right. After seeing those, I didn’t even think to tell him about my habitual negligence to proof-read my papers that have been word-processed and automatically formated. He told me that he wants to continue through his Masters and Doctoral work so that he can be a New Testament professor like Dr. Kanagaraj (the man whose house I am staying in). I would certainly assess that he has what it takes.

It’s wonderful to understand where this boy, and many others like him, have come from. They have been provided with a nurturing (albeit, firm and disciplined) christian environment. His tuition and living expenses have been paid by a foreign sponsor church, which the school has provided him, that he keeps in contact with regularly. He remembers his sponsors from early in his life, often sending letters and grade cards to them, and receiving gift from them at Christmastime.

We have talked and shared quite a bit over the week that I have been here. He loves talking about culture and theology and is a little nerdy when it come to Greek (obviously, we get along wonderfully). It is the people like this that have made my stay here most memorable. It is beautiful to see how God can work in and through the lives of his people.

Sunday Morning Review

Good morning, and happy sabbath. We (the Kanagaraj’s and I) have had an early morning this morning. Church starts at 7:30, I understand, so we have been up with the dawn to get there in time.

I have been asked to say a few words this morning in church, mainly about who I am, where I come from, and why I am here. So, before I do that. I thought that it would be good to write a bit of that down here.

In part, this trip is an internship for my degree in Intercultural Communication. The plan is that I will travel around (backpack, really) to meet with Nazarene, Evangelical or otherwise Holiness Missionaries who are in Tamil Nadu and other parts of India. The goal is to learn as much as possible about what sorts of things God is doing, (and perhaps trying to do) in this region, among the various people in ministry. It is, in part, a kind of reconnaissance mission, as well. I am looking at these various ministries and seeing what, perhaps, we (APNTS) could do along side of these ministries, how could we work together, and what potential might there be for partnership? This is the second part of the mission, asking how we might be able to interface, partner, assist, or otherwise join-in what God is doing here, or even being something new.

I honestly hope that something could work out. The community-focused mission and drive of a the Bethel campus as a whole is a beautiful and honorable undertaking. I believe that their mission and passion would almost seamlessly mesh with the mission and drive of APNTS. Whether we work together by means of sending our students for internships and teaching or they send their MA-bound students to us for further education, or some other way of working together... some sort of relationship would be wonderful to see.

However, there is some doubt as to how much longer a project like Bethel can last, due to rising prices and decreasing foreign support. Tuition and fees per student, per semester are at about 30,000 rupees (~$700). Although, this is not a bad price to ask for this area, it is still difficult for such a school to be self-supporting without outside support. The hope would be to either find a better way of generating income for basic operating budgets or finding additional and reliable outside support.

Bethel Matriculation School

Today I met a “very dynamic woman.” At least, these were the words used, on several occasions, to describe her before we actually met. After meeting one another, I found the words to be quite fitting, indeed. Her name was Mrs. Nganaraj and she is the principal of the Bethel Matriculation School.

Now, a quick paragraph for those of you (like myself) who are not fluent in Indianized Britishisms (and, yes I did just make up that word), a “Matriculation School” is something like a boarding or preparatory school where the students are brought up in a highly regimented manner and usually live together on or near the school’s campus. So, it is something like college in the states (but minus the regimented lifestyle, of course).

My day began at 9:15 sharp in the office of Mrs. Gnanaraj. She was a robust but elegant women, beaming with self-assurance--but in a positive way. She was the kind of woman who, when you stand in her presence, your posture becomes a bit straighter, and you are all of a sudden aware of things like whether or not your shoelaces are straight and if the line of the buttons on your shirt is askew from the buckle of your belt and the zipper on your pants. She wore an bright and regal silk sari with a grand-patterned sash that whipped in the wind as she walked. I have to admit that I had equal levels of fear and respect for this women--she was good at what she did.

Anyway, after a short introduction we started out across the dusty schoolyard into the ranks of schoolchildren, at attention, standing shoulder to shoulder, about 2 feet apart. We crossed into the dead center of three troops, all facing one another. As the principal proceeded forward, I began to hold back--slightly intimidated by the phalanx of children that I saw before me. Seeing that I was falling behind, the principal gave a brief wave of her hand and uttered a quick, “Come, come!” So, I sheepishly proceeding forward into the ranks. I stood before them, just a few feet behind their headmaster. She called the children to order, and the ranks suddenly became a bit stiffer. Following her call, she maintained a piercing silence, which lingered in the air as a dagger, threatening any deviants who might dare to fall out of line or break the well-honored stillness.

She gave a short introduction of who I was and what I would be doing there. She demanded that the children “show him how we behave around here,” and I believe that both the children, as well as myself, knew good and well that this was a loaded statement. Following my introduction, the day began with hymns sung in Tamil, and a warm singing of happy birthday to one of the girls who wore a long-patterned red dress instead of a uniform as the others were wearing. The principal placed her hand on the shoulder of the girl and lead the crowd in singing “happy birthday” followed by additional verses of “God bless you, dear child” and “long life to you, dear one.” After the sweetness of that moment, the principal gave another quick wave of her hand accompanied with a firm, “get back in line,” and the birthday girl scurried away.

Apart from learning a bit about Matriculation Schools and the Indian/British school system. I got to see the greater function of the school in a context such as this. This school is the nurturing ground for the children living in the Children’s home, and the school of the babies and toddlers from the orphanage. The school gives strong christian (although, strict) upbringing and nurture. Behind the firm hand and high expectation are loving hearts that are working to create well rounded, with a firm understanding of who they are as christians.

Bethel Hospital

The Bethel Hospital has been in operation for nearly 30 years. It functions to bring comprehensive medical care to the people of the village of Danishpet and its surrounding communities. It used to operate free-of-charge to its patients; however, in recent days, it had been forced to charge for its services, due to lack of support.

I met with Dr. Angelina who is said to be one of the hospitals most committed Doctors. As I walked with her through the hospital I got to hear stories of the hospital's golden days. She told me of a full-fledged medical staff of doctors and surgeons who would faithfully work to care for the great influx of patients--sometimes even forfeiting meals to do so. Sadly, that was not the hospital that I saw today. I passed ward after ward of empty beds, now gathering dust. We passed an ICU, and a fully-equipped radiology lab, a cardiology lab, laparoscopy and endoscopy rooms, and full Operating Rooms equipped for major surgeries, but nearly everything seemed to lay quiet and empty.

This was not the case with the dental clinic. It seemed to be the office that was still alive and active in seeing patients. Since most people only visited the dentist when something was seriously wrong, the gums and teeth that they examined were usually beyond repair. I got to be present during the examination of one patient. Nearly all of this particular patients teeth were mobile. They were black and brown with neglect and her gums were red due to bleeding and because of staining from "beetlenut", a kind of rural tobacco found in South-east asia, which is known to cause many kinds of oral cancers and, of course, tooth decay. It was interesting that the poor dental care of this woman was not because she lacked money. I was told that, in fact, she was very wealthy, and own many acres of land here in the village. However, they believed was that dental care was a kind of vice and that the money would be much better spent on jewelry and ornamentation. Instead of going to the dentist, people would commonly go to "quack" doctors, who would give them injections of things, in hopes that the pain from the patients rotting teeth would go away.

Dr. Angelina explained to me that much of their work began at the level of basic education. Teaching how to your teeth, and how to prevent from gum disease, and the worth of investing in oral health. I spent quite a bit of time there talking to the dentists and technicians about how a ministry like this operates, what kind of patients they see, and how a missions hospital such as this had developed. It was clear to see that a hospital such this held great importance.

One thing that was especially impressive was that many of the people on staff were those who were called, "Bethel Kids." This distinction generally meant that these kids were a successful product of the Bethel Institute. Many of these workers, had literally begun as an unwanted baby, in the Bethel Orphanage, they had been raised and gotten a proper education at the Bethel school, received professional training in nursing or medicine, and then decided to return to work as a part of the hospital. One "Bethel girl" working at the hospital has met another "Bethel boy" and was now starting a "Bethel Family" while working as a Pharmacist at the Bethel Hospital Pharmacy. In fact, many of the people left at bethel hospital had been there for 20+ years--they were the faithful few. The Bethel institute was the world that they knew.

However, Dr. Angelina has a lot of concern for the sustainability of a ministry such as this. Bethel hospital, for the most part, is empty. It is becoming increasingly difficult to sustain a regular staff of doctors and nurses to work in a rural community, with very little pay. The hospital is supported by the modest fees that it collects for its services, and slowly diminishing foreign support from the US and Netherlands. With so much equipment, potential and such a history and mission, it is a tragedy to think that something like this might not be able to last.

Arrival in Danishpet

I had a long night on the train. I slept, but the sleep was unproductive. I awoke 2.5 hours before my stop and fearing that I had gone past my destination, only to realize that the clock on my phone was still set to Manila time, and I was only about 2/3 of the way through my journey.
After a few more hour and a few more brief naps, I stepped off the train in the town of Salem. There I met two men from Bethel Bible Institute from the school where Hanson's father was president. I rode with the two men, in a silent and sleepy daze. After about 45 minutes, we arrived into a very remote village known called "Danishpet". We entered the Bethel campus and I was surprised to see that it included far more than I had imagined. There was a hospital, a church, a Matriculation school, an orphanage, and a bible institute which served as a training center for rural indian missionaries. The car finally stopped at the house of Dr. J. Jey Kanagaraj. Where there was room prepared for me to live in during my week-long stay in Danishpet.

The day was sleepy, yet productive. I attended a chapel service and a class on Indian Philosophy. Morning tea, Lunch and dinner were spent with the students talking and getting to know them and their calls into ministry.

Meals have provided an interesting experience. Almost everyone seemed shocked when I asked to eat the same food as the students in the dining hall. I was repeatedly asked various questions about my digestive health and if I had eaten Indian food before. I would usually reply something to the effect of: "yes," my stomach can digest a brick, and "no" I had not really eaten much authentic indian food in my life. So... eating would be a bit of a step of faith. Apparently they were asking these questions because, it is a common occurrence that "white people" will come, decide to "go native" and end up spending the remainder of their trip with painful stomach cramps and diarrhea. After all of that intro, I have to admit that I did have some mild concern, but I ate with them anyway.

Meeting and eating with the students has been wonderful. Sharing in a common meal something very necessary anyone who falls into the category of "human." And for me, it's never really about the food... but more about the sharing. I believe that there is something almost spiritual about sharing a common meal. There is a amazing sense of "leveling" that takes place when people eat together. This is what I think is so powerful in the symbolism of the Lord's supper. It is a catalyst and symbol for community, union, and fellowship. This is why I believe that it is so important to share in the SAME meal, eat from the SAME pot, and eat it in the same way, because it strongly communicates something about who we are as "people" and bypasses, if only for a moment, all of those things that seem to hold us apart.

Through meals and tea times, I have had the opportunity to get to know the hearts and callings of several of the students. Bethel Bible Institute caters to training indian missionaries and ministers for work in a rural contexts. Many of the students are coming from rural farms and provincial settings throughout Tamil Nadu.

Conversations with Dr. Kanagaraj have also been enjoyable. We got to share afternoon tea together and talked about the school and what drives him forward in this endeavor. He fondly remembers teaching at APNTS and hopes that there could be some constructive ways of connecting in the future. I was also impressed to see how active Dr. Kanagaraj has been in the Academic community, even on an international level. On his desk sits a full-commentary on the book of John bearing his name on the cover, and another commentary is on the way at the request of the publisher.

Tomorrow morning will be spent at the mission hospital here on the Bethel Compound. However, before I go there... I plan on taking a much needed, full-night rest. Good night.

Where's in Tamil Nadu is Hanson Kanagaraj?

Just in front of the airport, I found a taxi and two very kind gentlemen who gladly charged me 3 times the normal price of a taxi to take me where I needed to go. I knew that it wasn't the proper price, but they were very helpful and even searching for the nearest internet cafe. In the Computer shop I was able to catch up with Hanson as well as hear from Santosh in Bagalore. Hanson and I decided to meet together in an hour at the Egmond train station--this would require a bit of travel on my part.

I left the Computer Shop and entered into dusty, bustling streets of urban Tamil Nadu. Walking to the train station I found myself immersed into an eclectic mix of modern and traditional, east and west. I encountered elaborately dressed women in silk saris, sikhs wearing turban and beard, beggars, Indian Businessmen in very western looking suits, holy men wearing loin cloths and sandals, and small herds of schoolchildren walking home after school--and all of this was just outside the Computer shop! I didn’t entirely know where I was going, but I did have a strong feeling that the train was somewhere down the road that I was traveling. I asked a shopkeeper if I was going in the right direction. By the confused and wide-eyed look that I received, I judged that my lacking in the Tamil language was going to be a small problem. I went for plan “B”.

“Subway?” I asked.

Nothing.

“Metro?” I tried again.

Also nothing.

“Rail road... Railway?”

“RAILWAY!” the man responded and quickly pointed the way down the road that I had been traveling. With a slight bow and a “thank you” I continued along my way. A few turns, a flight of stairs, a bridge, and another flight of stairs later, I found myself in front of a ticketing window and in the midst of several trains.

The “metro” was not exactly what I had pictured, but it was nonetheless very useful and did the job of getting me where I needed to go. The trains were large and simple, with doors that permanently remained open. The lack of doors actually turned out to be a nice feature, as it cooled the train quite well. Many passengers would stand in the doorway or even hang out of the train, allowing the moving air to cool them down. This looked so enjoyable that I tried it myself, and I would personally suggest that all tropical metropolitan cities follow suit.

Following my train adventure, I met with Hans just as he arrived at the station. We talked for a while at a small restaurant across near Compassion International where Hanson works. We talked about how APNTS has changed and the various ministries that he has been involved in since he graduated. I described Step-up, which is a project that our school has begun in order to help to fight human trafficking through training out-of-school youth in marketable computer skills. As I described the program, and asked if it was something that he might be able to use in his ministry, his face seemed to go limp and he simply responded, "talk about divine appointments...”

After lunch we continued to his office and discussed plans about meeting with his Father, Dr. JJ Kanagaraj. Apparently his father, who was the president of a small rural missionary training school, was hoping that I would be able to spend a full week at his school in a small village called, “Danishpet.” We decided that my onward journey would be simple if I continued from Danishpet and I could still adequately make the connections that I needed to in Bangalore and back in Chennai before I had to leave on the 22nd. So, I booked my train tickets and my tentative schedule was set... at least for the next few days.

That brings me to now....this evening at 10:40 I will board a sleeper train and try to get some rest (finally) as I make the 6.5 hour journey into Danishpet. Hope for a shower before then and some toothpaste.

The Flight... and Its Following Exhaustion

The flight from Singapore was exhausting, and not only for the fact that I had not slept all night. It began with a group of several belligerent indian gentlemen who refused to remain in their seats, causing some what of a commotion on the airplane during taxiing and takeoff. Beyond this, a mysterious unclaimed bag had been found aboard the plane which seemed to cause the flight attendants some visual concern. The attendants moved the bag to the rear of the plane and seemed to forget about it. Following this, one man from the group of belligerents stood up during take off--once again causing a small commotion. He did so to retrieve a large cell phone from his bag, which he held low in his lap, turning it and fingering the buttons. At this, I began to gauge his every move, assuming, of course, that his phone was the detonation device for the bomb inside the bag that had been found. Thankfully, either there was no bomb inside the bag... or the bomb didn't work Either way, we landed safely and I was nonetheless exhausted.

The second source of my exhaustion was due to a discovery that I made as I was looking over my flight itineraries. I discovered that, on my two returning tickets, I was scheduled to arrive at my connection in Singapore nearly a full day after my connecting flight back to the Philippines had left. I had no way back to the Philippines. I would have to tell the airline as soon as possible once I arrived in Chennai.

I arrived and got through immigration, found my bag and entered, alone, into a new country. I stood before a bustling mass of faces and signs searching for arriving passengers. The morning was heating up and I was already covered in sweat. Although this was all new and exciting, there were two goals that I could not shake from my mind: 1) fixing the return ticket and 2) finding Hanson (my contact in Chennai; however, both of these goals had been frustrated by a very complicated mess of circumstances. In order to change the ticket, I must first talk to the Airline; In order to talk to the airline I must enter the building; however, once you leave the airport (in Chennai) you cannot reenter, unless you are flying out. In order to talk to Hanson, I must either meet him online, or find his number and call him; however, his number was stored in my email, but there was no WiFi and my computer's battery was dead. I wanted to plug in my computer, but my computer does not have the proper plug to connect with an Indian electrical outlet. I wanted to call another one of the contacts that I had written down, but I had no rupees, only Singaporean Dollars and Pesos. There! I thought to myself. That is one task that I CAN complete! Thankfully, I was able to exchange some of my Singaporean Dollars and find a nearby Internet Cafe through which I was able to connect with Hanson.

Toast for the Tired

It is now 5:00am June 8th, 2010. It has been exactly 12 hours since I landed here in Singapore. I am presently sitting in a small food court in the "Buget Terminal" at Changi International Airport. I'm eating something that I have just discovered (which I assume to be a big "thing" here"); its called "Kaya Toast" It consists of small, thin pieces of toast (about the color of pumpernickel break) smeared with, what tastes like, butter, coconut, and condensed milk. Whatever the stuff is, it's good... and it's just what I needed to keep me alive and moving until I get on the next flight and pass out. It's been a long night and I haven't slept in a while.

Today has been tiring and draining, but well worth it. I had a wonderful dinner last night with Doug and Angie Flemming. Doug works for the Asia Pacific Region of the Church of the Nazarene in Singapore and spent 13 years living and serving in the Philippines before that. Interesting additional note: he's from Circleville (my home town) and literally grew up knowing his Mother (small world, isn't it?) Regardless, the three of us met near Raffles Place in downtown Singapore. We had dinner, walked around the city, and got to talk about everything from School to church to politics and missions. It is always exciting to talk to people who are passionate about what they do and who they are.

Apart from the wonderful company, Singapore is an astounding city. It is truly a cultural crossroad in the Asia pacific with a genuine multi-ethnic identity. It was a fast trip--more or less a "pit stop" but provided some great encouragement as a met with a couple of familiar faces and saw some of the ways that they were walking the path on which God had placed them.

My flight boards in a few hours. I have just recently heard back from another one of my major contacts in India. I will be giving him a call once I reach Chennai and hopefully meeting up with him somewhere in the city. I'm still not sure where I will be sleeping tonight, but I'm sure that something will work out. If not, I have been browsing a few cheap Hostels on the internet--and I'm kinda excited to try one out for the night.

Plans are still in development for my eventual trip to the school in the Danishpet, which is a Rural village about 250 kms outside of Chennai. I'm planning on staying a few days on campus, living and eating with the students, and hopefully joining a few of them on an outreach to some nearby villages.

Much is still unplanned or uncertain--nonetheless, I'm excited to see what unfolds!

A Little Slice of Americana.

  Today I was a substitute Spanish teacher at Teays Valley High School in Ashville, Ohio.  On my lunch break, I stopped by the “Cherry Street Diner” in Downtown Ashville.   It’s a quaint little diner which still bears all the furnishings and style of the 70’s and 80’s.   The walls are decked with all sorts of random americana.  Everything from a Betty Boop imitating marilyn monroe, to a clock featuring Elvis Presley with swaying hips.   A sign hangs above the front counter reading, “Prices subject to change according to customer’s attitude.”  Beside it, is a notice from the complaint department featuring a hand grenade with a small number attached to it’s pin. Just below it it reads, “Take a number”.

  I seated myself at a small table just down from Elvis and directly below an old tin sign for Vernor’s Ginger Ale.  The simple upholstered metal chairs and wood-patterned laminate tabletop immediately brought back memories of my great-grandmother.  The steady twangy beat of the FM Country station playing in the background seemed to blend so much into the decor that I almost didn’t notice it until sometime after I had been seated.  

The diner’s one waitress was named “Kimy”; spelled K-I-M-Y, “KI..MY”--NOT Kimberly, NOT Kim, but Kimy.  She was very clear on that point.  Kimy was as classic as they come, it was as if she was one and the same with the whole downtown diner package.  She always seemed to have a coffee carafe in her hand, which she carried with her as she sped about from table to table, awing her customers with her extraordinary wit, blunt quips, and take-it-or-leave it attitude.   She’s was a real gem.   As she sped around to my table, I quickly placed an order for a real “greasy spoon” 

 

classic: Two fried eggs--over-medium, bacon, home fries, and a cup of that magically mediocre coffee sloshing around in Kimy’s pot.  The order was done and on the table in no more than two and a half shakes (give or take a quarter of a shake).    It was everything I had hoped: a salty and greasy goodness that slid straight down, fulfilling a deep longing for a classic kind of Americana that I had nearl

 

y forgotten.   

  I have never been here before, but somehow, I feel like I know everyone.  This is truly one of those places that knows no strangers--or maybe its just Flo.  I just watched her fish through a big bow

 

l of candy Valentine hearts sitting on the front counter for Valentine’s day.  As she dug through, she would read allowed each heart in an attempt to award her customer with a heart that is most like him.  She claims to be an excellent judge of character and she didn’t even hesitate to tell this man exactly who she perceived him to be.  “He likes the ladies” she announced to the woman sitting beside him--a comment which I am certain was given plenty of attention on the couple’s ride home. 

 As a went up to pay and I handed my card to an obvious “new hire”.   At the mere scent of unconfidence, Kimy burst through the pivoting cafe door and seized her golden opportunity   to take the young fledgeling under her wing.  The three of us walked through the painstaking process of processing a credit card--the right way.   This, of course, lead to several fiery stories of countless run-ins that she has had with customers who have had their cards handled the wrong way.   Slightly ruffled, and with eyes that looked as if they had just witnessed a furious hurricane, the new hire delicately handed me back the card as Kimy continued the force of her story.  After batting back and forth a few playful quips with the seasoned waitress.  I sat back down and finish off that mediocre cup of downtown diner goodness, reflecting on the rich slice of americana that lay before me. 

 

Pondering in Pampanga

I am presently sitting outside of the Diosdado Macapagal International Airport, in Pampanga (Philippines). (I am presently sitting under the tent in the picture to the left.) There is actually a bit of history to this airport. It was formerly a part of the United States air base in the Philippines, which was heavily used during World War II. Entering in here on the bus this morning, I had the opportunity to see a nice collection of Old US fighter jets, which are now decorating a large park outside of the Airfield. I arrived three hours before check in and a full five before my flight--I have a lot of waiting to do; however, this wait is providing me with some much needed time to think about the many, complicated steps ahead.

I am about to begin a very long and ambiguous journey. This present trip is on behalf of APNTS and the School of World Mission, but it is also counting as a part of a cross-cultural internship for me. The current plan is that I will be traveling through various destinations in india (backpacking, really) to meet with Nazarenes and Holiness Missionaries, listening to their stories in order to learn a little but about how they serve and minister and see in what ways we might be able to partner and assist one another in the future. This is the rough plan; however, the details have still yet ti be worked out. By "details", I mean "where I am going to stay" and "who I am going to meet." So far, all I have is a list of several names and email addresses of people in Chennai, Danishpet, Bangalore, and Mumbay (Bombay) who are serving in ministry. Finding these people and getting from place to place--- those are plans that have yet to me made.

I am excited about the steps ahead, but I'll have to admit, I would feel a lot better if I knew a few more details. I have decided that if I do not hear back from any of my contacts by Tuesday evening, I will just find the Cheapest hostel available, and bed there for the night. Tonight should a bit more predictable. I will be in Singapore through the night on a 13-hour layover. I am hoping to meet up with Doug Flemming and possibly some of the people from the Asia Pacific Region Church of the Nazarene. I'm told there is a free ride to the Metro from the Air terminal that I will be arriving at. My hope is to see as much of the city as possible--without paying any money! I'm going to try to see just how far this blind ambition can go.

Throughout my trip, I will be (hopefully) blogging here on a daily basis (I told my Mom that I would do so). So far it is working to my advantage-- this little blogging endeavor has brought me up to 9:16AM, I will be allowed to enter the building in 44 minutes! I'll update in a bit...