November 1998

Dear Saints and Aints.

Shalom from Nagpur.

Diamonds set in black velvet, the sky, forms a canopy over my head. Tired of computers and computer games, of writing letters and manipulating graphics, I walk across the now deserted playground. The soft footfall of my sandaled feet, the only noise. At first the three German Shepherds follow me, then they wander off having decided being with me was even more boring than barking at the moon. Lost in thoughts, I walk alone in companionable silence with God. Yet, I find one can not, even in silence, walk with God without being enriched. A sense of peaceful joy steals over me. The hassles and problems of the day fall away. I feel content.

Walking around the edge of the playground, my eyes take in the shadowy outlines of trees and structures. A wall, seven feet high, encloses the southern end and most of the eastern end of the playground. The neighbors complained about the little boys running around naked just before and after their twice-daily baths. Fed up with their complaints, we build the wall. Now they sit on top of their houses to watch the kids. At the northern end, just outside the playground, the water tower rears fifty feet into the sky. It holds some 50,000 liters and supplies the compound with water. The bore well that supplies it is just inside the guesthouse compound that, occupying some about 160' x 120' feet, forms the northern border of the playground. The three buildings within it can accommodate 5 couples or any number of single people in varying degrees of comfort.
Some 8 or 9 acres of cultivated land lie to the east of it.

Blocking out part of the western sky is the big two-story dormitory that accommodates some 700 boys. It is well lit up as mostly the small fry sleeps there and is very airy - as most of the resembles a battlefield - strewn all over hard day's play, study and work. Some lie gregarious souls, like puppies, sleep all consists mainly of shreds of old blankets sleep they do and, judging by the energy displayed the next day - very well. Nestled happily among them are our mongrel dogs which gives rise to the saying: "Lie down with dogs and get up with fleas." A gentle snore seems to reverberate through the building like the sound of a giant dragon sleeping on his hoard. It is my fertile imagination that makes me think I see the building breathing in an out like such huge prehistoric monster.

Windows are broken . . . Inside the floor lie the victims of a strictly alone while other more over each other. Their bedding and assorted pieces of cloths. Yet
Our very own torture chamber, the bathroom, is adjacent to the toilets at the southwestern edge of the playground. There, twice daily, with varying degrees of success, attempts are made to restore to the kids their original, God-given skin color. Eighty taps are provided for that purpose. Our commitment is strictly to total immersion . . .

Was I Superman my eyes would penetrate the big dorm and see behind it the nine-room dormitory that holds some fifty kids. In front of it the stage for and a small ground for the kids to sit and also line up for food. all that, at the southwestern corner of the property, stands the huge room part of it is yet to be completed. their meals and will make a marvelous
dramas Beyond Cafeteria Complex. The actual dining When done, it can seat 1000 kids for chapel.

The present dining hall some 65' by 25', which then will be the storeroom, doubles up as chapel. The kitchen part continues where that hall ends and there, daily three times, plus morning tea, food is prepared that goes into a seemingly, bottomless pits. The sound of clanging of pots and pans means to the kids what Handel's Messiah is to most of us...

As man does not live by rice and lentils alone - two evenings a week and Sunday morning, the dining hall reverberates with the sound of kids singing and praising God. Now it lies dark and silent. The loudspeakers, clay water pots with speakers fitted in their mouths, that fill the hall with music, are muted. Yet, carried on the breeze I imagine to hear the beat of drums, the happy chatter of the tambourine and strong young voices singing in Hindi songs of praise and worship.

From where I stand I can see part of the new office complex almost completed and behind out of sight the technical school along the western edge of the compound.

A road separates our bungalow, that faces the guest house complex, from the playground on its western end. Some 150 feet down the road towards the north is the clinic. A cough and a whimper mark the place for me tonight. Little boys on stone slabs that substitute for beds lie with faces marked by pain; discomfort has wiped off the smiles. Yet, if our medical bills are any indication, we certainly care for our kids.

The big school, some 5500 sq. feet, still further down the road, is on the northwestern corner of the compound. There, budding scholars from kindergarten to grade eight learn that 2 and 2 is only 5 for accountants but 4 for the rest of us. Also that "key" is not derived from monkey and neither is their father. That hive of activities during the day where 700 plus kids compete with each other to be heard, lies now deserted -- wrapped in a silence -- almost unnatural.

The school's big playground that lies between our bungalow and the school looks in the dark like a big black floor mat. The gentle breeze blows over the grass that survived the trampling of many feet as if to heal its hurts.

Surveying the compound by eye and mind, I marvel. Just 16 years ago the only structure a bamboo mat hut 9' x 15'  in the middle of the barren field . . and the only inhabitants some 10 kids and a couple of adults where now -­ some 850 live . . .

I am obsessed with building "care concerned constructions," places providing the maximum care with the limited budget we have. I firmly believe that once things are in place, Yohan and the staff will have an easier time maintaining it and even finding money to feed all the kids.

Somebody said to me the other day, "Aren't you afraid of all your debts?" No, not really. I asked God to pay those before I die so Yohan can start clean." My God who paid the debt for my sins will surely take care of such a small matter.

The debt I owe to our kids makes the debts we owe our creditors pale into insignificance. And that is the debt -- which frightens me, which worries me.
With that thought, the contentment that I experienced earlier suddenly evaporates. Leaning against a tree, overwhelmed by the thoughts of that responsibility, of failure to live up to it, of missed opportunity to do good, aware of influence to bad, big warm, tears slowly trickle down my cheeks. I suddenly wonder, in the last moments of my will I be able to say: "All that I could have said - I said? All that I could have done - I did? All I could have given - I gave?" Disquieting thoughts.

Nagho, a ten-year-old, slightly mentally handicapped Buddhist boy has been with us for three years. He went home to his village to be with his mother Gastroenteritis - dysentery, fever, vomiting. He was in terrible pain but there was no transport to take him to the hospital. That night he prayed: "Father I have never known such pain before. Also my mother is poor and does not get enough to eat. Father take me home."
Shortly after - God did - he is home now.

My sigh mingles with that of the wind. I look into the sky wanting to penetrate the haze of stars to see the face of God and inquire and find understanding, comfort and forgiveness. Then smiling through my tears I realize, I look in the wrong direction. He is right besides me - but there is no answer to my silent questions.

Feeling tired now, I slowly make my way to the bungalow and, using the back door walk towards my bedroom. The soft grass caresses my feet and now darkness, like a cloak, wraps itself around me. Standing there for a moment reluctant to go inside, I bury my nose into a rose that gently swings at the end of a stem as if to hypnotize me to think beautiful and lovely thoughts, thoughts of peace and comfort ere I turn to sleep. God's answer?

Lying on my bed, I think, tomorrow … Then, looking at the clock I realize - today is already tomorrow. My last waking thought is a prayer: "Lord let sleep come quickly and Lord -
morning slowly." My last act a smile.

Lots of love.

Frank, Yohan, staff and kids.