August 2001

Dear Saints and Aints.

Shalom. May you live forever!

Awakened by the sound of rain I peek through the creeper-covered window into the garden to have a look at the world. In the cascading rain the picture presenting itself to my old eyes can only be described as – dismal. About to “turn the other cheek” and continue my sleep, my attention is drawn to the rosebush and its neighbor, a big breadfruit tree. Too close to the tree the bush lies at an almost 75° angle straining away from the tree trying to escape its overshadowing, oppressive boughs and leaves. Then, at a reasonable distance the branches again point upwards and – bear beautiful roses. The triumph of hope over oppression ... From somewhere in that mass of green, a bird attempts to sing. It sounds to me more like a complaint about the weather – something I can definitely identify with ... Roses triumphing over oppression; birds complaining about the weather – it is time to get up and splash some cold water on my face ...

The earth mirrors the dreariness of the tattered clouds that in all hues of gray cover the sky. All pervasive pools of water, mud and unchecked growth of grass cover the ground. The playground looks muddy and the tufts of grass around its edges – which daily come closer to the center – give it an unkempt look. Of course it doesn’t prevent the kids from playing. But then, when they have a football to kick about and lots of slush to slide around in – who cares about esthetics ... ? Walking down the road is often a tossup between stepping into a pool of your choice - rather than none. The road in front of my place turns into a rivulet or minor stream during and after heavy rains such as we just experience. The thongs, that most of us wear, have the annoying tendency to flip splashes of mud on the rear portion of your anatomy, which adds nothing to my appearance or mood.

The roses and other flowers look lackluster in the gloomy surrounding. Even the trees look “scruffy”. Maybe, initially glad for the showers that revived they now look to me almost despondent. May be I am transferring my own mood to them and they might actually be glad for the rains. Though I cannot imagine them breaking out in joyful song ... Occasionally they shake themselves – or it is the wind – and it usually happens when somebody walks beneath their boughs. Coincident?

The big dorm, with all its glass gone in the windows, looks like an ancient ruin. The walls, once pristine white, look anything but. The floor is covered with kids huddled under blankets. Clothes in varying degree of “wet” are strung along the “pane less” windows. But clothes simply don’t dry in this kind of weather. I often thank God for my skin. As long as I keep my mouth shut, I am waterproof and, it goes without saying, “Trouble-proof” ...

Moving between the various buildings inure to the cascading rains - “We need washing machines and dryers,” I muse beholding the scene with dismay. We need ... Looking at the buildings: New doors in some of them, window panes in others ... But we need so many things that it is almost useless to enumerate them. God, in His time will supply all we need.

Then, thinking that all I survey came out of two suitcases – all I brought with me in 1976 – I feel encouraged. Who knows what else God has hidden in these two “magic” suitcases yet to be extracted ...? The dining hall? A new dorm? For a moment I have the wild illusion of seeing a big black hat into which a hand reaches in to bring something out ... descending from the sky ... I quickly shrug my head at the irreverent thought. If there be any “magic” in this -- it is the “magic” of God’s immeasurable love.

Still thinking about that big black hat, I grin. My mood changes. After all, life is still great “cascading” rains or not, mud and slush and scruffy looking trees in spite. The big dorm is still an immensely wonderful building. Come October/November the place will look different more cheery, cleaner and, maybe a miracle will fix all the window panes overnight. Why not? With God, we live in a realm where without the least hesitation we can expect the unexpected. The miraculous is but around the corner. The word “Impossible” has been banished from the courts of Heaven. God cares for his people. He answers prayers.

My visa is one of them. Thank you so much for all your prayers. After a tense two months and two tiring journeys to Delhi, helped by wonderful friends - I met with the right person in authority and was granted a one year visitor’s visa which can, on a yearly basis, be renewed within India. A non-renewable visa was turned into one that can be renewed – the impossible becoming possible. Another “wall” yielded to the Power of God. Against all odds, against all predictions – God kept me in India – and that for 30 years.
Who like me His praise can sing?

Recently a minister from the Government of Maharashtra came to our place for a small function in her honor. She was impressed by our setup and the “wonderful” well disciplined kids. Speaking to the kids she pledged: “I will come and eat at this place after Bhaisahib gets his Indian citizenship.” Her statement was printed in one of the local language papers. She will work towards that and so are others. Even Mrs. Sonia Gandhi, the leader of the opposition, has taken an interest in my case. You probably wonder why at this late stage I still should bother. But to me, my call to India is like the marriage vow: For better or worse, in sickness and health, for poorer and poorer – till God do us part.” A nonnegotiable contract! Furthermore, as I want at least some of my ashes to be scattered over Indian soil - our playground - those ashes might as well be “Indian” ashes.

Another wonderful thing is Yohan’s impending marriage. When he showed me her photo my heart instantly concurred with this – ‘this is the right person for him’. She is from his tribe, a Christian and she is educated. Twenty years of looking after him is enough! Now I found another “baby sitter” for him ... As I wrote to some of you, what puzzles me, he wanted to grow up to be his own boss and now -- he wants to marry ... While taking their photos in our garden (at their second meeting) he turns to me with a grin. “Listen to that! She already tells me what to do.” As some claim: “Love is a dream and marriage the alarm clock.” But I am sure they will “wake up” to a relationship that even outdoes, in beauty, the “dream” ... I am thrilled.

At the same time I am also relieved. Do parents ever want to have a life of their own? I sort of begin to feel that way even if there are still a 1000 kids about ... Always being on demand, always the center of a million requests gets, after some time, a bit wearying. Though I am not sure if I will ever be able to stop that. The wish list of my kids is endless and I, fool that I am, try to put "fulfilled" at the bottom of each one even if I have to mortgage my mansion in Heaven. I better be prepared to take a tent along ... I guess one day God will say: "Come home big wheel, you've gone in circles long enough."

Before that “Life of my own” can become a reality comes the hassle of arranging for the wedding and the reception. Yohan expects some 4000 people in his village - some 650 km from Nagpur - where the actual wedding ceremony will take place. He looks after the arrangement and I -- pay for it ... In Nagpur, for the reception, I will invite between 500 and 700 people which is not much as far as these things are concerned. I would like to invite you to both events except that in his village he has only one room: It is big, it is airy, has a very high ceiling and the lights are magnificent – if it is not cloudy ... Whatever -- consider yourself invited. If you are not fussy – we will manage.

As for me, I spend less and less time outside with the kids. When I do, I always marvel why it should need two people to pick up a piece of scrap paper: “But they don’t see it and I can’t bend down to pick it up.” I help Yohan with the correspondence, writing up projects for submission to the Government, write up job description for the staff and some such things.

I also speak about 7 to 8 times a week. The morning devotion which should be for a maximum of ½ hour turns into 45 minutes and more as we struggle through the various issues that confront Christians everywhere. The major one is -- how to be good?

Our little assembly is doing well with some 70 people in attendance. We started a Sunday school and the lady’s group is functioning well and the house groups are also well attended. The Youth Group has yet to get off the ground.

I have turned to writing. A local paper printed one article and a Christian magazine paid me Rs.200 about $8.00 for an article I wrote; I was delighted. Now I will spend more time “splashing” my fertile imagination on paper and like some modern piece of “art” leave it to the reader to figure out what it is. When you reach this far in your reading, you understand what I mean ...

Let me bid good-bye with the usual heartfelt Thank You for the wonderful friends that you are; providing continuously, selflessly for our needs.

“Blessed are they who consider the poor.”

In His great love.

Frank, Yohan and Saintlets.