The past two days have been great. Totally uplifting, encouraging. Everyone from the trip made it back together for a little rendezvous in Vashish. We ate. We watched movies. We shopped. We avoided rabid dogs. We ate more Yak milk products than I think I ever want to consume again in my life.
But really, on to the high light of staying in Manali:
There's nothin' like bringin in Shabbat with a little boob graze from a five year old Indian boy who calls you, "White Chocolate".
I know what you're thinking.
White Chocolate? Really? Who calls you that?
Personally, I think White Chocolate a very fitting name. Far better than any of the other nick names I've earned through out the years...as far as originality goes.
And as far as the physical violation goes, it's rather traumatic.
cue tragic violin music
Our team was on the way to a nice quiet Shabbat dinner, and as a few of us made our way to the ATM to withdraw a couple more rupees (to buy souvenirs with, obv)a small child ran up to my, grabbed my purse and yelled,
"hello white chocolate!"
To which I cleverly responded, "No! I don't have any chocolate!" And then shoved him out of the way so that he would get his hands out of my purse.
Three minutes later, we're walking down the road and my "little friend" comes at me at a dead sprint, grabs onto my arm, resting tragically close to my chest region, and ba bam.
That's nice.
So, I did what any one would do. Shook my finger at him and pretended that I was his mother.
"That is NOT OK! Knock it off!"
Then he made a pitiful little face and ran off.
That'll teach him to mess with White Chocolate.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
school these days.
I was prepared for a lot of things when coming to India.
-Diarrhea
-Vomiting
-Being dirty
-Developing the black lung from inhaling everyone else's smoke from their respective drugs of choice
I was not prepared for high school.
Yeah, that's sort of what it's like here. You are either in or your not. You either belong to the clique or you don't. So, you can pretty much put a big L on my forehead because I'm not Israeli, I don't do the drugs, and I believe that Yeshua is the messiah...and I talk about that. A lot.
After spending some time word-vomiting into my journal for a good 45 minutes yesterday, I began to understand the undercurrents of my growing frustration in being here in Dharamsala:
P-R-I-D-E
The past two days or so had been a growing dissatisfaction for not being perceived as I thought I should be. I was getting so irritated and frustrated feeling like everyone looked at me like I was that girl and writing me off like all I did was talk about Jesus.
I began to see the way my heart became indignant and heard this small voice crying out defiantly, "There's more to me than Jesus!"
...what?
Say that again, Rachel?
I mean, no. That's not the truth. At least, I hope it's not. If I really do believe that Yeshua is Lord, the atonement for my sins, the Messiah, my righteousness (hallelujah the list goes on and on) then why wouldn't that hugeness of His Grace be at the very forefront of the way that I live my life, and permeate every other part of my life?
Even if I'm not saying "I Love Jesus!" and carrying a Bible around, what sets me apart?
Here's what I think. Because I'm following the Lord and being made a new creation through Yeshua, my life should look different. I shouldn't be ashamed of the truth that has set me free. And if people could look at me and think, "here comes that Jesus-girl"-- that's an honor. To be so marked and transformed by the Lord that you radiate His love, His beauty?...
Still, it's a struggle. I feel the same as I did in high school. I just want to fit in with everyone and not have anyone know that I'm different, let it leak out cautiously that I love the Lord. But now, a couple of years wiser (fingers crossed) I can sort of see the other side of that.
I can walk in grace and confidence because of Yeshua. And If loving the Lord makes me a nerd, then fine.
I've secretly always wanted to wear suspenders with high wasted pants.
And a pocket protector.
As always, thankful for your prayers.
-Diarrhea
-Vomiting
-Being dirty
-Developing the black lung from inhaling everyone else's smoke from their respective drugs of choice
I was not prepared for high school.
Yeah, that's sort of what it's like here. You are either in or your not. You either belong to the clique or you don't. So, you can pretty much put a big L on my forehead because I'm not Israeli, I don't do the drugs, and I believe that Yeshua is the messiah...and I talk about that. A lot.
After spending some time word-vomiting into my journal for a good 45 minutes yesterday, I began to understand the undercurrents of my growing frustration in being here in Dharamsala:
P-R-I-D-E
The past two days or so had been a growing dissatisfaction for not being perceived as I thought I should be. I was getting so irritated and frustrated feeling like everyone looked at me like I was that girl and writing me off like all I did was talk about Jesus.
I began to see the way my heart became indignant and heard this small voice crying out defiantly, "There's more to me than Jesus!"
...what?
Say that again, Rachel?
I mean, no. That's not the truth. At least, I hope it's not. If I really do believe that Yeshua is Lord, the atonement for my sins, the Messiah, my righteousness (hallelujah the list goes on and on) then why wouldn't that hugeness of His Grace be at the very forefront of the way that I live my life, and permeate every other part of my life?
Even if I'm not saying "I Love Jesus!" and carrying a Bible around, what sets me apart?
Here's what I think. Because I'm following the Lord and being made a new creation through Yeshua, my life should look different. I shouldn't be ashamed of the truth that has set me free. And if people could look at me and think, "here comes that Jesus-girl"-- that's an honor. To be so marked and transformed by the Lord that you radiate His love, His beauty?...
Still, it's a struggle. I feel the same as I did in high school. I just want to fit in with everyone and not have anyone know that I'm different, let it leak out cautiously that I love the Lord. But now, a couple of years wiser (fingers crossed) I can sort of see the other side of that.
I can walk in grace and confidence because of Yeshua. And If loving the Lord makes me a nerd, then fine.
I've secretly always wanted to wear suspenders with high wasted pants.
And a pocket protector.
As always, thankful for your prayers.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
the beginning of dharamsala.
I think I am in a much better place today than I was a mere 48 hours ago. Which feels like an eternity ago, btw.
I'll try to paint a better picture of Delhi, because I don't think that I was really doing it justice.
Delhi is dirty. Delhi is crazy. Delhi has flies everywhere. Delhi is smelly. I actually have clothes and a sleeping sack that still smells of Delhi. Delhi has chewed us up and spit us out and I am so thankful.
I think that coming off of 24 hours of traveling and then watching two team members get a bad case of something nasty from ICE CUBES, the eminent goodbyes to our friends, and the fact that we had a 16 hour bus ride ahead of us put me into a less than optimistic mood.
Now though, the air is sweet. And I did some shopping. So, life rocks.
Dharamsala is incredible. We're situated in the Himachal Pradesh region of India, almost to the foothills of the Himilayas...but don't let the "almost" fool you. Our guest house has the most exquisite view. We're tucked into a mountain and look out over several thousand feet at small villages below. There's a waterfall in the distance, and the snowline is a five hour hike north. This place is incredible.
I will say this about dharamsala though. There's a darkness here. I imagine that it's all over India, but it's this palpable yearning that the people seem to have. Like, they light up but are already looking for the next high. I can see that some feel full of life after some super spiritual experience, but they seem to droop within hours, wanting more.
So, prayer requests? For boldness. For wisdom. For joy. For delighting ourselves in the Lord and trusting that He's at work even if we can't see much beyond the smoke from the backpackers' temporary high.
I'll try to paint a better picture of Delhi, because I don't think that I was really doing it justice.
Delhi is dirty. Delhi is crazy. Delhi has flies everywhere. Delhi is smelly. I actually have clothes and a sleeping sack that still smells of Delhi. Delhi has chewed us up and spit us out and I am so thankful.
I think that coming off of 24 hours of traveling and then watching two team members get a bad case of something nasty from ICE CUBES, the eminent goodbyes to our friends, and the fact that we had a 16 hour bus ride ahead of us put me into a less than optimistic mood.
Now though, the air is sweet. And I did some shopping. So, life rocks.
Dharamsala is incredible. We're situated in the Himachal Pradesh region of India, almost to the foothills of the Himilayas...but don't let the "almost" fool you. Our guest house has the most exquisite view. We're tucked into a mountain and look out over several thousand feet at small villages below. There's a waterfall in the distance, and the snowline is a five hour hike north. This place is incredible.
I will say this about dharamsala though. There's a darkness here. I imagine that it's all over India, but it's this palpable yearning that the people seem to have. Like, they light up but are already looking for the next high. I can see that some feel full of life after some super spiritual experience, but they seem to droop within hours, wanting more.
So, prayer requests? For boldness. For wisdom. For joy. For delighting ourselves in the Lord and trusting that He's at work even if we can't see much beyond the smoke from the backpackers' temporary high.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I'll admit it. Walking off the plane I was feeling pretty good about the whole being in India thing. Then I walked into the bathroom and was only slightly fazed by the smell and thought, "you know? I can do this! What's a little bit of bad smell?" Then I got into the cab. Which took us to Paraghange.
Not ok.
I never thought I was high maintenance until this trip when I started washing my face and brushing my teeth with bottled water.
We're Splitting up in an hour to leave for our respective destinations. My group is going to Dharmsala. The other groups are going to Manali and Ley. Am feeling really sad about saying goodbye to everyone, but can't wait to meet up again.
8 days till then.
Will update more soon. Pray hard people.
This country is nuts.
Not ok.
I never thought I was high maintenance until this trip when I started washing my face and brushing my teeth with bottled water.
We're Splitting up in an hour to leave for our respective destinations. My group is going to Dharmsala. The other groups are going to Manali and Ley. Am feeling really sad about saying goodbye to everyone, but can't wait to meet up again.
8 days till then.
Will update more soon. Pray hard people.
This country is nuts.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
uhhhh....
I got peed on today.
I was walking through Florentine, thinking about how good it was to be alive and in Israel, walking around- an independent woman, and then I was stopped to be asked where the nearest grocery store was.
Nevermind the joy in understanding what he was asking. Nevermind my elation in being able to give legitimate directions to the grocery store. Passing by at that very moment was a pug (oh the irony, seeing as we've been singing the Abramson children's 'Hug a Pug' for the past two weeks).
And then, the flood-gates of that small bladder opened as the dog is walking and peeing. On my foot. On my foot!
Poor Shy, the guy that was asking for directions, because mid-sentence I yelp, "The dog just peed on me!"
The man walking the dog turned around and offered an apologetic half smile...probably was more smug that his dog has the uncanny ability to urinate while walking than was sorry that my poor foot had been showered.
The Lord has a sense of humor. I had just been thinking about how i needed to add a post to the blog but wasn't sure what I should even be writing about...voila! Pee on foot.
And an opportunity to share the gospel with Shy. As we walked together towards the AM PM, I shared my faith and why I believed what I did. Shy was polite and listened, and even asked some questions. At the end of the walk, where I would turn towards the Hostel, Shy asked if I would like to continue the conversation.
....wait a second.
Continue the conversation? I pulled out the litmus test that all women should know when doing evangelism:
"You know, I can't guarantee that I'd be the one to call you, but I know some people who will be in Israel longer than me who would be able to explain all of this better, and probably be able to answer your question better than I."
Shy looked at me. He wrote down his e-mail and as he handed the paper back to me, he said,
"You know, I'm interested in you and not your religion..."
RED FLAG.
You better believe that I was wishing him well and high-tailing it out of there.
But I will continue to pray. And I think it'd be great if you guys prayed too. His heart, though momentarily confused, is definitely being pursued by the Lord.
Don't worry, I washed the pee of my foot.
I was walking through Florentine, thinking about how good it was to be alive and in Israel, walking around- an independent woman, and then I was stopped to be asked where the nearest grocery store was.
Nevermind the joy in understanding what he was asking. Nevermind my elation in being able to give legitimate directions to the grocery store. Passing by at that very moment was a pug (oh the irony, seeing as we've been singing the Abramson children's 'Hug a Pug' for the past two weeks).
And then, the flood-gates of that small bladder opened as the dog is walking and peeing. On my foot. On my foot!
Poor Shy, the guy that was asking for directions, because mid-sentence I yelp, "The dog just peed on me!"
The man walking the dog turned around and offered an apologetic half smile...probably was more smug that his dog has the uncanny ability to urinate while walking than was sorry that my poor foot had been showered.
The Lord has a sense of humor. I had just been thinking about how i needed to add a post to the blog but wasn't sure what I should even be writing about...voila! Pee on foot.
And an opportunity to share the gospel with Shy. As we walked together towards the AM PM, I shared my faith and why I believed what I did. Shy was polite and listened, and even asked some questions. At the end of the walk, where I would turn towards the Hostel, Shy asked if I would like to continue the conversation.
....wait a second.
Continue the conversation? I pulled out the litmus test that all women should know when doing evangelism:
"You know, I can't guarantee that I'd be the one to call you, but I know some people who will be in Israel longer than me who would be able to explain all of this better, and probably be able to answer your question better than I."
Shy looked at me. He wrote down his e-mail and as he handed the paper back to me, he said,
"You know, I'm interested in you and not your religion..."
RED FLAG.
You better believe that I was wishing him well and high-tailing it out of there.
But I will continue to pray. And I think it'd be great if you guys prayed too. His heart, though momentarily confused, is definitely being pursued by the Lord.
Don't worry, I washed the pee of my foot.
Friday, July 9, 2010
bringing up baby
WARRNING: seriously rambly post. read at your own risk.
Alright, a new post. And I don't actually have a clear idea of what exactly I want to write about---so what you're reading now? Those past two lines? Will probably have been deleted and rewrote in an effort to sound more pithy, charming,entertaining, etc.
I'm sitting in my room at the hostel right now, listening to the shabbat service of a messianic church that is taking place downstairs. The best part? The chorus of tiny children singing "Yeshua!" over and over again.
Faith like a child.
I'll be real, these past five and half weeks in Israel haven't been some cake walk. My friend David was laughing at me as I was trying to articulate in a not-so-whiny way that I was sick of being physically, emotionally, or spiritually challenged.
"Well what did you expect Rach?"
...to which I shrugged my shoulders and grunted (in a delicate way, of course) to say that this is in fact what I imagined more or less. Less falafel at least.
Here's my heart, blogosphere: I've been confronted, maybe for the first time in a large-scale way, to own up to my faith. To stand firmly on what I believe. To holdfast to what is True and not be tossed about by the wind, by peer pressure, by the flighty-ness of my emotions...and I think that I often adopt the mindset that I'm in this all by myself and that I've got to have everything figured out before I can come and worship the Lord.
Yet, Jesus was no stranger to suffering. He resisted the devil in the wilderness, he experienced the pain of losing friends and family that he loved dearly, he was beaten, bruised, kicked, nailed to a cross and then hung paying a price so great that we cannot even fathom it- a life without God? He felt that. How Deep the Father's Love has a line that says "the Father turned His face away"...
We don't have to feel that.
Woah.
So when we--or I, or you, or however you want to think about it-- have these heart-gripping, attitude wracking, anxiety bringing doubts, about who God is, and what we're doing here, I don't know...can't we look at what happened at that cross and think, "hot dang! this love is real!"?
Yeah, we can.
And then everything begins to make sense. This is why God is Love. This is why we go to the far corners of the earth to share our hearts and the beauty of the gospel. This is why we're plauged with fear and doubt- because tricky Satan wants to deceive us to believe that we're crazy for believing that God would love the world so much, that he would provide redemption to pay a price that calls for more righteousness than we'd ever know.
Makes that other line, in that children's song, "I stand alone on the Word of God" pretty powerful stuff. We stand only on the Word and power of God because when the hard growing stuff comes, then comes fruit.
Faith like a child. Encouraging.
How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocing voice,
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that helf Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I knoww that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast inJesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
Alright, a new post. And I don't actually have a clear idea of what exactly I want to write about---so what you're reading now? Those past two lines? Will probably have been deleted and rewrote in an effort to sound more pithy, charming,entertaining, etc.
I'm sitting in my room at the hostel right now, listening to the shabbat service of a messianic church that is taking place downstairs. The best part? The chorus of tiny children singing "Yeshua!" over and over again.
Faith like a child.
I'll be real, these past five and half weeks in Israel haven't been some cake walk. My friend David was laughing at me as I was trying to articulate in a not-so-whiny way that I was sick of being physically, emotionally, or spiritually challenged.
"Well what did you expect Rach?"
...to which I shrugged my shoulders and grunted (in a delicate way, of course) to say that this is in fact what I imagined more or less. Less falafel at least.
Here's my heart, blogosphere: I've been confronted, maybe for the first time in a large-scale way, to own up to my faith. To stand firmly on what I believe. To holdfast to what is True and not be tossed about by the wind, by peer pressure, by the flighty-ness of my emotions...and I think that I often adopt the mindset that I'm in this all by myself and that I've got to have everything figured out before I can come and worship the Lord.
Yet, Jesus was no stranger to suffering. He resisted the devil in the wilderness, he experienced the pain of losing friends and family that he loved dearly, he was beaten, bruised, kicked, nailed to a cross and then hung paying a price so great that we cannot even fathom it- a life without God? He felt that. How Deep the Father's Love has a line that says "the Father turned His face away"...
We don't have to feel that.
Woah.
So when we--or I, or you, or however you want to think about it-- have these heart-gripping, attitude wracking, anxiety bringing doubts, about who God is, and what we're doing here, I don't know...can't we look at what happened at that cross and think, "hot dang! this love is real!"?
Yeah, we can.
And then everything begins to make sense. This is why God is Love. This is why we go to the far corners of the earth to share our hearts and the beauty of the gospel. This is why we're plauged with fear and doubt- because tricky Satan wants to deceive us to believe that we're crazy for believing that God would love the world so much, that he would provide redemption to pay a price that calls for more righteousness than we'd ever know.
Makes that other line, in that children's song, "I stand alone on the Word of God" pretty powerful stuff. We stand only on the Word and power of God because when the hard growing stuff comes, then comes fruit.
Faith like a child. Encouraging.
How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocing voice,
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that helf Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I knoww that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast inJesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
Saturday, July 3, 2010
a different kind of adventure
"Blah blah blah blah blah malaria blah blah blah blah malaria..."
So far, all I'm getting from the Emergency Room doctor is that maybe I have malaria. The rest of the words that are coming from his mouth in Hebrew are basically meaningless. Pondering the extreme hilarity of getting malaria BEFORE I go to the Malaria-Headquarters of the world (INDIA)I've decided that things really can't get much worse than this.
Which was my thought until the doctor ordered another round of tests which included another urine sample in a cup that was more like a take-out soup bowl. Oh, yeah. And then a literal crack-addict WALKED IN ON ME in the bathroom, pee-bowl in hand.
Now, dear reader, before you become too alarmed that I'm somehow holed up in a hospital somewhere in Israel, I am perfectly well now. So, you may continue to read with good conscious that your prayers for my safety and well-being are still being answered. PTL.
It all started with a little bit of heartburn. Which turned into a lot of heartburn, and then some acid reflux. Which somehow morphed into heaving and gagging up bile. Which then turned into some kind of chest pain and a lively fever of some degree Celsius. 4 hours later of the emergency room, a sketchy prognosis of "Upper Respiratory Infection- MOST LIKELY" and a presciption of some kind of 17 shekel antibiotic, I was back to the hostel and to bed.
The hospital sort of felt like a circus. People screaming in Russian, Hebrew, Yiddish. Someone needed to be resuscitated-- so Grey's Anatomy. My doctor, the intern, told me that he didn't serve in the army because he was a political activist. Whatever that means.
Last weekend's strange illness seems like a dream now. Really, am back to 100% and so thankful too, because we went South for a three day trip to Be'er Sheva, Ein Gedi, and Masada...a hike that made the trek to Cabin 8 look like an ant hill; the view, so worth it.
I'll be honest- visiting a hospital in Israel is not exactly what I had in mind when I signed up for this adventure. Yet, the Lord's faithful provision never ceases to amaze me. The total bill was 975 shekel. The Lady behind the desk probably watched my face blanch when she handed me the receipt because she quickly said,
"Is it too much money?"
"Uh, well. That's a lot, I think... I just didn't bring that much with me...didn't anticipate spending 1000 shekel at a hospital on this trip..."
"So, you're visiting Israel then? We'll give you the Tourist Discount. We'll take 500 shekels off. We want you to come back to Israel, just not to the hospital."
Fist pump for socialized medicine. Double pump for the Lord's mercy.
Rachel
So far, all I'm getting from the Emergency Room doctor is that maybe I have malaria. The rest of the words that are coming from his mouth in Hebrew are basically meaningless. Pondering the extreme hilarity of getting malaria BEFORE I go to the Malaria-Headquarters of the world (INDIA)I've decided that things really can't get much worse than this.
Which was my thought until the doctor ordered another round of tests which included another urine sample in a cup that was more like a take-out soup bowl. Oh, yeah. And then a literal crack-addict WALKED IN ON ME in the bathroom, pee-bowl in hand.
Now, dear reader, before you become too alarmed that I'm somehow holed up in a hospital somewhere in Israel, I am perfectly well now. So, you may continue to read with good conscious that your prayers for my safety and well-being are still being answered. PTL.
It all started with a little bit of heartburn. Which turned into a lot of heartburn, and then some acid reflux. Which somehow morphed into heaving and gagging up bile. Which then turned into some kind of chest pain and a lively fever of some degree Celsius. 4 hours later of the emergency room, a sketchy prognosis of "Upper Respiratory Infection- MOST LIKELY" and a presciption of some kind of 17 shekel antibiotic, I was back to the hostel and to bed.
The hospital sort of felt like a circus. People screaming in Russian, Hebrew, Yiddish. Someone needed to be resuscitated-- so Grey's Anatomy. My doctor, the intern, told me that he didn't serve in the army because he was a political activist. Whatever that means.
Last weekend's strange illness seems like a dream now. Really, am back to 100% and so thankful too, because we went South for a three day trip to Be'er Sheva, Ein Gedi, and Masada...a hike that made the trek to Cabin 8 look like an ant hill; the view, so worth it.
I'll be honest- visiting a hospital in Israel is not exactly what I had in mind when I signed up for this adventure. Yet, the Lord's faithful provision never ceases to amaze me. The total bill was 975 shekel. The Lady behind the desk probably watched my face blanch when she handed me the receipt because she quickly said,
"Is it too much money?"
"Uh, well. That's a lot, I think... I just didn't bring that much with me...didn't anticipate spending 1000 shekel at a hospital on this trip..."
"So, you're visiting Israel then? We'll give you the Tourist Discount. We'll take 500 shekels off. We want you to come back to Israel, just not to the hospital."
Fist pump for socialized medicine. Double pump for the Lord's mercy.
Rachel
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