September 1988

Dear Saints and Aints.

Shalom!

Peace joy and the whole gamut of nice and good and beautiful things be to you.

May be this is an inane way to start a letter, however since most people wouldn't know anymore what a letter is, you and I excepted, of course, - I ought to be safe ...

With all the kids back - and a few more and the dust having settled, the total populace on our "farm" is 272 out of which 242 are kids. That permits me a wee bit of "insanity". Initially it is a big headache to get the whole bunch in shape again, acquaint them with water - beyond the purpose of quenching one's thirst; make sure their clothes don't resemble those of the Younger Son in the parable of the "Prodigal Son" - after he returned; "Soap," I remonstrate, does not share the Babylonians' use of clay tablets i.e. - to draw pictures on, but to be applied to their clothes and what frequents them when worn.

Advise the little kids that slates have been issued for the purpose of producing signs and symbols (some even manage wonders) on them rather than as "instruments of war". You ever tried to convince a 6 or 7 year old, to whom it seems incomprehensible, that he can not have the fourth helping ...

Admonish them that gates have not been put there to give little kids free rides. Reason with them why the sharp edges of stainless steel glasses are supposed to be host to lips and not pieces of wood to fashion into a sling shot, nor are stainless steel plates used to dig holes in the ground. "Entertain" them with stories of the whereabouts of the little flies that sit on their food - before they sit on the food - especially when that "whereabouts" was just in front of the dormitory where a little fellow "put" it under the cover of darkness.

Explain also why it is not exceedingly wise to put your plate upside down where little feet walk that just prior to that walked over the outdoor toilet ... Persuade them that those little fingers which traveled all over their little and not so little bodies, have NO place in my glass or on the part of the spoon that I put in my mouth ... Of course, all this is done with a rather "descriptive" terminology as such nice words like "poop-poop", "bad-bad" or equivalents (an inane way to avoid reality) would simply be "poohed" at ... What is no great help is that none of them suffers from either "sitophobia" (abnormal aversion to food) or "mysophobia" (a dread of dirt or filth).

The other day I saw a pair of slippers, upside down, floating in the well. My first thought was, "Somebody is practicing walking on water - upside down". "Oh, what a lovely bunch of coconuts"!

I just made a "lightning" trip to the Mawchi area in our bus which was, to be modest, painful of that part of the body that was more than the others in contact with the vehicle. The mother of one of our boys from the Mawchi area needed hospitalization and we figured it would be best in Nagpur. The way there took 24 hours and the return trip 27...We had innumerable punctures, problems with the gears whatever else could go wrong. But it was good to meet up with old friends again. I had not been there for a couple of years. While the trip to Mawchiland (The official name is Khandesh) was hard, once there the scenery was breath-taking. The red rain-washed tiles of the mud and brick houses provided a colorful contrast to the multi-grey colored clouds that hang low over the mountains. The wind-whipped trees, shelter for cattle and herdsman alike, swayed back and forth as if moving to the wail of some dirge - the sound of rain swishing through leaves and drumming on the ground. Yet the lush greenery, a promise of a plentiful harvest, belied the idea of a dirge, of mourning, of death. Actually we, like the solid mist-wrapped mountains, solemn like judges in their shrouds, and as haughty as remote, had in fact a front seat to a Celebration of Joy, to nature's "Fertility Rite" in progress. A rite of vast dimensions, massive proportions; a titanic demonstration of the power of life - Sky and Earth the partners in this ritual of fertility, of revitalization, of rejuvenation. The trees swayed, oh yes! but not out of sorrow beyond words, but out of ecstasy too deep for song or dance; the kind that the human heart experiences when touched by the Hand of God, the hand of the Beloved ... Ah! Khandesh in the rainy season.

We followed the narrow no-frills road winding its way towards Navapur from Pimpalner till a dirt road leads off towards Kalamba, a small Mawchi village. But for the skill of the driver, the condition of road and vehicle would have precluded success. Yet we made it and, the welcome was royal. Rekya, who runs the Children's Refuge there, embraced me with a big grin on his bearded face asking, "How is the old man?" Long time friends, parents of some of our children, shake hands with me and invariably the questions, "How are the rains in Nagpur? How are the kids?" And then there are the kids, kids all over the place, kids of both sexes and all laughing and talking all at once. One wants to sort of wade through them, tussle heads and, seeing the laughter, the innocent, unaffected glee, one wants to enter into it making it one's own and for a short span of time be partaker of that loveliness of childhood again.

I told the little girls I had come for a wife, preferably two - from among them...and the giggles had no end ... After the inspection tour - the smoke filled, cozy mud hut where a spicy chicken dinner was waiting. It was sort of meal that bore the warning, "Eat now, Pain later", as a missionary friend of mine put it.

Squatting on the floor is, even without any "central protuberance", difficult and my aged bones too afterwards forever to feel normal again. In the evening back to the mission bungalow to the Buhlers, old friends and long-time missionaries in the area, where a nice cup of coffee and - hold your breath - chocolate cake with whip cream awaited me. And after that a foam rubber mattress. The best of two worlds - all in one day ...

Forgive my "meanderings". At times I just feel like writing as it eases the loneliness that is sometimes part and parcel of all our lives. So I started a letter and - you are the victims of my over-active imagination.

The N.T. is nearing completion and the dedication is something I very much look forward to. The fire did extensive damage to the manuscript but, PTL - only to the portion already printed ... And now, the printing of the last few books, signals the end of a long job. After delay, after delay and delay - one of my coworkers is seriously ill and left for the village...Anyhow, it is done! Once the printing and binding is done, by November (a year later than we had hoped), we might or might not take a go at the O.T. though it would be worth a try.

The drilling of that bore well was not as successful as we hoped and, though of some use, only extensive cleaning etc. will make it useful for more than just drinking water. An Indian water development society promised to help us with that.

Apart from feeling my age, I am fine. Maybe I wrote this before, but somebody once told me that, when you are over 50, and you wake up in the morning without feeling some sort of pain - you are dead ... Hence, my aching bones are "good news" - I am still alive...

I should terminate this but not without again thanking you for all those tokens of love you sent our way - some via God in the form of prayers - yet still our way. Thanx! Thanx very much!

I regret that can not acknowledge all gifts as the PAOC only sends me the names of the churches, and no individuals who gave those gifts unless they are sent directly to them by the donor.

Love from the 272 club

Saint Francis and saintlets.