Nilgiris Tea House - the Tour

Although I've written extensively over the past seven years about the goings-on at the little TH, it occurs to me that I've never really taken you inside to see more than just a glimpse or two of the actual space.

So here are some of the spots I'll remember fondly - I took these pictures in the midnight hours of the last Friday night, after the wonderful Debbie M had cleaned and before the mayhem of Saturday hit ...

The first place everyone's eyes go to as they walk in the door is the fireplace. Mum's and Dad's pictures hold places of honour, as does the beautiful elephant carving - a wedding present to them and given to me by Dad on my fiftieth birthday - resting at the bottom of the Victorian mahogany mantel mirror. People would call and reserve the Purple Chairs for special occasions or just to be comfortable and watch the goings-on in the dining room ...

The table (which you can barely see!) to the left of the Purple Chairs is called Father Time, a nod to the clock Don and Norma presented the TH when we opened. The cabinet - acquired from Rosalie and David - contains, among other things, special little china cups and saucers and tea sets that our smallest patrons delighted in choosing to use for their tea parties ...














The bookcase beckons from between the Purple Chairs and Father Time. A treasure trove of reading material for all ages, as well as games, challenges for trivia buffs and, of course, elephants ...

To the right of the Purple Chairs is a nondescript table - the biggest in the room - named the Looking Glass because of its proximity to the largest window in the room. To its right are two little tables in the bay window: Quiet Corner is on the left, and Hidden Valley is on the right. (Hidden Valley's pet name is the Komorowskis' Table ...)

Hidden Valley is so named because it's tucked behind my favourite spot in the TH, the piano. This beautiful upright grand was given to me - through Bronwyn - from Foothills Alliance Church. Above it hangs a picture painted by my artist sib to remind me that the former things - antique pianos, estate china, Beethoven from my friend Mary, photographs of friends who have left this world and pictures from my own childhood, even me! - will be made new ...










The wall to the left of Quiet Corner houses one of my dearest treasures: pictures of Alex, the boy from South Africa who changed my whole outlook on life.

The story of my encounters with Alex is simple and yet profound. In the providence of God, on our first day of service I was in the group of people who met a woman asking for us to go visit a home where a young boy was "sick in the head." The home was not on our list of places to visit, but the team of home-based care workers from Hands at Work decided that we could go. We got there to see a small boy sitting on a blue plastic chair somewhat apart from his Go-Go (grandmother) and her sister. The latter two set chairs out for us and started to tell us his story: his parents had both died of AIDS and now these two senior ladies were attempting to care for this child, who had been doing okay until he was assaulted on his way to school some months earlier. From then on he began to withdraw into himself until he was unable to talk or participate in any way at school. When he became unable to control his bladder, the teacher called his Go-Go and said that he was "sick in the head" and couldn't return to school. The only thing for him was for his grandmother to beat him until he was able to "behave" properly. 

My sister, our team leader, earnestly spoke to these two ladies who truly wanted only what was best for the boy and believed that the educated teacher must be right. She told them how important kindness and love were to a child, how much better to build him up, how beatings would only drive him further away from getting better. She besought them to love him and not to leave him alone and to stop the beatings.  They listened carefully to her, interjecting now and then with some of their own sad stories. She in turn listened to them, encouraging them in their difficult journeys.

On impulse I wandered off to talk to Alex while this interchange was going on. As soon as I stood over his cowering little frame I realised that of course we wouldn't be able to understand each other through words; so I reached down and, holding both of his hands in mine, gently raised him to a standing position. "U sisekele," I said quietly. "You are so beautiful." These were the only words I could remember from our training, and so I reiterated them as I started walking with him, hand-in-hand, the length of the little house in which the three of them lived. I asked the ladies, through our home-care workers acting as translators, what his name was. Alex was the answer. I picked up a stone, and wrote Alex with it on the wall where I could see that pictures had been previously sketched. He pointed silently to his name. With the strictures of the others about writing on people's walls finally penetrating my consciousness, I turned Alex to the ground and traced around his hand in the dust. Then I handed him the stone and he did the same for me (centre picture). The Gog-Gos became animated - he was responding to something! 

Soon it was past time for us to leave. As was their practice wherever they visited, the home-based care leader asked me to "give a word" before we prayed together and went on our way. I was unable to speak so I just asked if we could sing the children's song Jesus loves me - except instead of singing me we would sing Alex. As I knelt down to his height the ladies surrounded us and began to sing and clap, their love and concern for this child palpable. He buried his face in my neck and I hugged him fiercely, wishing I could protect him, wishing I could do something (top picture) ...

That evening after dinner our team went back to our accommodations and decided to sort clothes and toys we had brought with us for the children we would meet. We had talked about our day and I had talked about Alex. As we went through the stuffed toys that people had donated we suddenly came across a teddy bear wearing a light blue baseball cap. And on his little white shirt was a name in red.

Alex.

The ONLY toy out of all of them with a name on it!

Of course we had to go back - even though a home visit usually occurred about once every two or three weeks, when the home-care workers saw the little bear, they immediately agreed that we would return the next day! When we arrived at the house Alex was by himself in his little chair. He stood slowly to his feet as we approached him, and I held out the toy to him.

Cautiously he reached for it and looked at it, and then a shy smile broke out over his face. He traced with one hand the name. Then peeking up he said, "Aaaaaaa ...," almost inaudibly (left picture). The home-care workers swooped joyfully on him, hugging him and laughing and chattering to him about what a good boy he was, how beautiful he was. He didn't say anything else but he submitted to their love and gentle ministrations.

Again we had to leave too soon; but this time he raised a timid hand in farewell, the other hand clutching his teddy bear. I doubted that I would ever see this little one again because, really, two visits in two days was unheard of! However, we were able to obtain occasional updates over the next couple of weeks and he seemed to be doing better.

On one of our last days there our Canadian team put on a celebration of the local workers. We had prepared snacks and decorated the small hall, wanting to do what we could to express our love and appreciation for these women who basically volunteered their time for an occasional stipend but who served God and their people with their hearts and everything they were. 

Dressed in their finery, they sang and danced in procession to the centre of the room. After we sang and clapped and joined in as best we could, we partook of the refreshments and then we all sat down and talked about what we had learnt in the last few weeks.

"Alex," one of the ladies said almost immediately.She went on with words to this effect: "We learnt that love can change things when talking and beatings and nothing else can. If love can change one person at a time love can affect a whole community."

On our very last day the home-based care workers came to me. "Would you like to see him again?"

Would I?! My sister and a couple of others and I went with the team toward his home. On the way we met his Go-Go. "We are loving him and we are not beating him and we are telling him he is beautiful!" she said breathlessly. Oh, and he was not at home today - they had taken him a few houses down to a neighbour who was watching him because they were not leaving him alone to be frightened ...

We arrived at the neighbour's home and suddenly a little whirlwind in a grey shirt with red trim launched himself at me, hugging me. He was smiling. And his trousers were dry.

The only picture that was posed in this series is the one at the bottom. My sister took all the Alex pictures, and in this one we smiled together for the camera.

It is impossible to maintain contact with specific patients; but other teams who went out would check on Alex and a couple of years later someone sent me the picture on the right. He was thriving and back in school, was the report we received. His Go-Gos were still loving him and caring for him.

That was five years ago; but the memory of this child remains with me every day and he is what prompted me in 2011 to raise money through the TH for beds for the kids affected by the tsunami in India. It is what led me to try to raise money for the van for the Children's Home on the outskirts of Bangalore this year.

The life of one needy child on one continent is impacting the lives of needy children on another continent because you who gave so generously were also impacted indirectly by Alex. No wonder Jesus exclaimed, "Allow the little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven!"

At the other end of the piano from Hidden Valley is the tea trolley. Above it hangs the inlaid wood picture of a leopard - Mum and Dad gave each of us one and they have a spot in each of our houses to this day. To the left of the trolley is Baby Elephant ...
















On the other side of the foyer is Pat's Corner, named for Sweet William's Patsy and for my Mum, both of whom liked that spot a little bit away from the main part of the room. Above the window hangs the stunning print on three canvases of African elephants with Kilimanjaro in the background, given me by our own Brent. Update on him: he's been accepted into medical school!

















Next comes the Safari table, dominated by the most impressive elephant in the room: The Power of One ... On occasions when I might have been a little discouraged, this poster reminded me that one person can indeed make a difference!












The guestbook desk stands sentry next to the space leading to the kitchen. AT the top left of the picture you can see the bottom right of the old 1955 Map of India, rescued from disposal and given to the TH by Mr A shortly after we opened ...

Across and a little bit down from the map are the shelves that house the teas we enjoy ...




... and across from the teas is the Wall of Great China. Many times people would walk back there to check out the Wall and choose the cup they would like to sip their tea from ...
















But tucked away on the left side of the WoGC is found one of the sources of hope and joy that have sustained me: some of the little notes and written and / or given by Dad and others to encourage me personally as I try to do the same for my guests.



Go through the door you can see at the edge of this picture and you'll find yourself in the Staff Lounge ...

(If you were to continue up the stairs you would find yourself in my little apartment!)

Across from the counter is The Hug, table of confidences given and comfort received, presided over by the unique piece of art that reminds me that beauty can be found even in brokenness ...













And down the hall behind the wing chairs are the men's and ladies' loos:



















(The fascinating maps will be returned to their rightful owner!)

H'mmmmmmmm ...




As you leave the dining room your eyes will be drawn to the Traveller, a sculpture formed entirely out of leather and given to me by Dad and Mum:

On the left hand side of the little foyer sits the Tea Tree, laden with little bijoux given to me over the years - miniature cups and saucers, tea pots, charms ...


















And the last thing you will see before you walk outside again is stencilled right above the front door, a gift from my dear Zeba:

Thanks for visiting!

Kerala: Waiting for Tomorrow ...

This evening we sorted backpacks into girls' and boys' piles. We filled pencil cases with all kinds of goodies; the rulers will be given separately ...

Jonathan, Jabez and BA
getting everything organized

Because tomorrow's the day! Jabez and Jonathan, GS Nair's grandchildren, worked cheerfully and tirelessly this evening to get everything ready (BA patiently kept them on track!). Tomorrow they will come with us to the Tsunami Children's Home and be our distributors. Their mother and father, Debbie and Johnson, are actively involved in this work; it will be wonderful to see their children get their feet wet!

The beautiful Debbie-Mummy
(as opposed to Debbie-Chechi,
our own Deb!) tranquilly
watches the proceedings

Dad is doing well - he always does well in Kerala! - and is planning on joining us, God willing.

All of us out here can hardly wait! 

"My Name is Chetan"

We're going home!!

On February 27th evening, I will be catching a plane in Calgary that will get me to Bangalore in the early watches of March 1. On March 1 evening, Dad, BA and Deb will be boarding their own plane which will land them in the predawn of March 3.

The countdown is on.

Home.

When we were in Bangalore last March our brother Ed's wife, Sarah, told us of a Children's Home for which she has responsibility. Deb and I had the chance to go out with her on her weekly visit.

Bagalur is about 40 - 45 kms away from Bangalore, depending on your route. On a whim, I did a Map Quest search: it charmingly and naively states that the time it will take is either 37 or 41 minutes, depending on the route.

It didn't factor in traffic; a permanently collapsed bridge necessitating an extensive detour; narrow, winding, bumpy streets; livestock ambling along on the road like tourists; and a festival procession. It didn't factor in that this is not North American driving. Our trip took almost two hours going there and almost three hours coming home.

The road to Bagalur

Finally we pulled into an open space and drove into the compound.

There was a group of girls under a little gazebo who waved a greeting.

Dorm rooms in the background

Four of the boys called out from the verandah.

Well, three of the boys did. One - the tiniest of all - wouldn't look at us or really respond.

Kitchen cupboard

Sarah gave us a quick tour of the place and then got down to the duties and tasks she had to attend to that week. I - of course - headed back into the kitchen.

Gas stove. Sometimes they have to line up
for hours for the cylinders.

Degunta and wife

This is not a luxury establishment by any means: there are "house parents" - Degunta, who is also a teacher at the College, and his wife - and they have been joined by Sushila, a young lady who had just graduated from the College with her Masters in Religious Education and had felt the call to work with these children. They care for the kids and do the heavy lifting; but each child has responsibilities and chores that he or she must accomplish.

Sushila

Deb went outside to visit with the children, only to discover that after their initial clamorous greeting, they had headed off to enjoy their precious moments of playtime in the sun.

All except for one. 

She glimpsed him sitting with Sushila under the gazebo, so she walked over to the two of them and asked if she could join them. The child said nothing, but Sushila welcomed her warmly.

Deb chatted with Sushila and found out that while she had been at the College she had come out to work with the kids, and had taught them in Vacation Bible School when they were all bussed in to Bangalore for what would be their equivalent of camp the previous summer. 

Slowly as the two women talked Deb started to catch the tiny boy's eye. Slowly she started to weave him into the conversation. Slowly he began to respond.

Finally she asked him his name, and she gave him my notebook in which to write it:

"My name is Chetan," he said shyly.

He had to go do something and then we heard his sad story. His father was no longer in the picture and his mother could not support three children. Chetan is the youngest of the three. With no doubt desperation, in January she had brought him to the children's home to be taken in and cared for.

He was five years old.  

He was still in shock three months later. We asked Sushila and Degunta's wife how long it would take before he was okay, and the bleak answer was, "Three years. After three years he'll be adjusted."

Three. Years.

Three years of questioning why your mama kept your siblings and gave you away. How he must wonder what he had done that was so awful that she left him with strangers! Did he cry himself to sleep each night longing for the comfort of her voice, the softness of her sari as her arms wrapped around him?

And then it emerged that most of these children had one parent living still. These parents, most of them loving their children and simply unable in their abject poverty to so much as even feed them, did the only thing they knew to do to keep them off the streets where the only thing they would be qualified for was to beg - or, in a land weighted down with human trafficking, subjected to a worse fate. They chose to give them away rather than that.

A few children had been rescued from abusive situations; most were there as a testament to their parent's great love for them.

But how does one explain that to a girl who, at 13 and just entering puberty, is sobbing for the mother who sent her away before she was 10?

How do you explain it to Chetan?

I realized that day that even in a safe, secure atmosphere where one's needs are provided for, there are worse things from the point of view of a child than being orphaned. The perceived abandonment of a parent - how do you recover from that?

My heart lashed out at the parents who could send their kids away.

In the days and weeks to come, however, another mother came to my mind. A woman named Jochebed had given birth to a son but due to the political situation in the land, his was an "illegal birth." She kept him hidden for as long as she could, loving him like only a mother can love. But finally she knew she would have to give him up to spare the rest of her family. So she placed him in a waterproofed basket and left him on the banks of the river, hoping for the best. 

We know the rest of the story: that baby's name was Moses - the prophet-and-leader-of-Israel Moses.

And I thought of two other parents who wept every single time they had to leave any of their children in boarding school. Mum and Dad were the most devoted parents any boarding school kids could ask for. One or other of them came to see us almost every month; and they wrote to each of us every week at least once. We had birthday outings and care packages and weekends out of the dorm. We were home for every vacation. Despite all of this, we cried and they cried when we had to be parted. Every time.

How much worse it is for these children in Bagalur! I mourned deep in my soul.

As we drove back home to the College that evening, I was of two minds about the Children's Home. But really, in a country of 1.2 billion people where vast communities of people still look up to the poverty line, what choice did some of those parents have? And how their hearts must have broken as they surrendered their most precious treasures to be raised by someone else.

One of the first places I am going to visit when I get back to Bangalore is the Children's Home in Bagalur. A number of you have asked if there is anything you can do to help support children's work in India. You had made the bunk beds possible for the Tsunami orphanage in South India. And now you want to do more.

I wrote Sarah asking if there was any pressing need for these kids.

Sarah wrote me back:

Thank you for wanting to visit the children in Bagalur.  We can go out there on Saturday afternoon as they will have school in the morning.  There are 7 boys and 7 girls that we take care of now. Three of the boys are older 14-16 years old, three boys are 8-10 years old and the littlest one is 6.  The girls are all 12-15 years old.  They do not need anything specifically.  You may bring what ever is possible to bring, or we can purchase clothes, toys or other things for them when you come.  They need new bed rolls, but that is a bigger expense ...

When I looked into the bed roll need I was also told the children need a sheet, a pillow cover and a mosquito net.

So here is the list and cost for each item:

Bed Rolls Rs 500 each - 10 needed - [ = $10 per bed roll, i.e., mattress]*

Small sheet/pillow cover Rs 200 each - 14 needed - [ = $4 per sheet set]

Mosquito net - 200 each - 12 needed [ = $4 per mosquito net]

Any way you can help will be greatly appreciated, please do not feel obligated to help with it all.  Pray the Lord will provide.

*The information in red was added by me.

In addition, both children's homes pray at this time of year for the money required to enrol the kids in school - the new school year starts in July, and it costs about $20 per kid to get them into school for the year. There are about 65 kids in all between the homes. These are village schools they attend, but at least the kids are learning to read and write.

This list is not intended to put pressure on my RtLers in any way. It's just that some of you have been asking ... and some of you have already been giving, so you'll know what your generosity is going toward.

I would love to take a little stuffed animal for each of the children in Bagalur, like we did for the Tsunami kids last year - and this year, I would love to be able to equip each of those kids with a back pack - in which case, we would need 50 back packs in all! If anyone wants to drop off stuffed toys or back packs, keep in mind that they need to be either new or very gently used.

Just before we left I sought out Sushila. "Please look after him in a special way," I besought her. "He's so little and alone."

"I will love him," she assured me.

I believe her. You see, Sushila herself has suffered from birth, supported every step of her life by a twisted club foot. She is full of compassion and tenderness in return for those who suffer. 

As we drove away that evening the sun splashed its last hurrah for the day across the canvas of the sky.

And I whispered a prayer for Chetan, the little boy who had snuck into my heart much like Alex did in South Africa in 2007:

"Oh God, let him know that he is beautiful. Let him know that he is loved. Let him know that he is Yours."

A Place to Call Home ... Day 2

This is an update long overdue, and one of the things I am most grateful for this year.

One of the highlights of our trip to India in March was going back to our beloved Sarah and GS Nairs' city of Trivandrum, where we stayed with them in their home and Dad was a featured speaker at the graduation conference of the college there. 

I could hardly wait for the day that was set aside at the end of the conference for us to make the hour-plus trip to the Children's Home we had visited the previous year. Guests of the Tea House and Readers of the Leaves had risen to the Bunk Bed Challenge and in a very short time we had raised enough money for 50 beds for these kids who have so very little.

Debbie and Johnson, the Nairs' daughter and son-in-law, have taken a special interest in this home and they along with eldest son Jabez drove us out there along with some Americans and an Irish man who were at the conference too.

Our politician hopeful!

As we drove up, some of the boys came out to the balcony and waved us into the tiny compound. In short order we were offered fresh coconut water by the young boy who last year told us he wanted to become a politician in order to address the plight of the thousands of children in India like him.

Then Mr Dos and his family brought food for us. Mr Dos is the pastor of the church, and he and his wife took over the care of these children without hesitating when Dr Nair asked them to. Now their daughters also help with the younger kids, and they have befriended each other in a very real way.

The Dos family

  
However, who could think of food at a time like this?! Deb, Jabez and I had far more important work to do, and food was just holding us back! You see, on this trip we had thought we would like to bring out some stuffed animals for these kids. We had put the word out back home and once again you rose to the occasion. Before long we had enough stuffed toys for these kids and some others as well! Two people in particular need to be mentioned here: my friend Aoife had chosen the very first stuffies to be taken out; and my friend Marjorie, who comes to the Wednesday Bible study in the TH, really got behind this and came up with a full bag of toys waiting for a trip overseas.

Jabez and Deb started sorting the toys in the little room upstairs next to where the food was being served:

Then we could wait no longer so we grabbed the bag and Debbie, and the four of us went to see the kids.

Jabez, who is 9 years old, had a very definite idea of who should get what toy - and in almost every instance, he picked the exact right one for the person! For some of these children, this was the first toy of their very own they had ever had. The surprise and joy on their faces - from the eldest to the smallest among them - was something I will never forget. Everyone wanted one, even the biggest boys.

After we had given each boy a toy (and one for a boy who was away from the home at the time - they always look out for each other!), we went downstairs to see the girls. 

 However, just before we gave out any toys, they took our Deb in to see a girl who was sitting on her bed, in obvious discomfort. The girls had heard that Deb was a nurse and so they wanted her to see their friend, who had fallen and had injured her leg. She had been taken to the doctor; but it still hurt too much to bear much weight, so she was pretty much confined to her bed for a while. Deb sat down on her bed, talked to her and examined her leg.

Something you need to know about Deb is that she has the amazing talent of always, always, being able to understand and make herself understood, no matter where it is or with whatever age the person. Spoken language is but a minor trick up her sleeve when it comes to communication. Before long this girl was pouring out her worries to Deb. Deb opened her arms, pulled this scared, lonely teenager into them, and the girl put her head on Deb's shoulder and wept. I couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that this girl had experienced the comfort of a motherly embrace, the knowledge that she was special to someone, the sole focus of someone's attention and love. In a short time Deb had the tears dried and the girl feeling better enough to smile again. Jabez quietly brought her a "special" stuffie and then we went back to see the other girls and hand out their new treasures. 

Did you catch something small but significant in my recounting of the injured girl? I bet you did, William and David! That girl? The girl who hurt her leg? She was sitting on her bed!!!!!!!!!

After we gave out the toys to the girls they wanted us to go in and see their very own beds! Some of them wanted us to take their picture to show you, so here goes:

Dr Nair and Pastor Dos decided that it would be better to have some bunk beds and some single beds for kids who couldn't manage the top bunk, and also for smaller kids who will be brought to this children's home when the older kids here find jobs or get married and move out.

The girl in the yellow, eight pictures down, also proudly pointed out her calendar and a certificate of achievement that she had hung up next to her bed. For the first time since she had been rescued and brought to the home, she had a little place of her own to put up her things!

The boys didn't have any beds yet, but Johnson and Pastor Dos assured us that they were "almost ready"; and after our visit with the kids they took us to the carpenter's shop to see the progress:

 Here is the carpenter who has made all the beds, and these are the tools he has had to work with. His "shop" is the right hand side of the small area in front of his home.

On the left hand side of his house is a tiny slightly raised verandah, and this is where the carpenter's old father sits and passes his time.

Their front room was taken over by the beds for the children's home. This project gave our carpenter one year of work and he was able to support his family with this. 

Pastor Dos with the bed frames

Everything had been delayed somewhat by the monsoons, which flooded out this area. But the carpenter shop is just up the road from the Children's Home and arrangements were being made for the bed pieces to be walked from the carpenter's to the boys' floor, where they would be assembled in short order.

I've been wondering what we can do for these kids, some of whom have years stretched out before them at this home. Here are a couple of thoughts that have been mulling in my mind:

We still have some money left over for bedding and hopefully pillows.

Some of you have given some more money for any project we want to take on for these kids. I am wondering about gathering enough money to purchase small wooden bedside lockers for each kid so that they could finally take their meagre possessions out of the bags and suitcases where they are kept at present. This type of locker is used in schools throughout India - Dad and Mum got some made for us kids at home! - and they have a couple of shelves and a drawer in each.

Another thought is more for the long-term. One of these kids is already in a local "college", apprenticing for a trade. Some of those boys and girls are getting ready to leave high school, and I wonder if we could put some of this money toward getting them enrolled in job training of some sort. I keep thinking of the "politician," who himself is about 15 years old - perhaps if he is given a chance he truly may be the person to effect change for kids who are in danger of being absorbed into world of human trafficking?

I earnestly ask for your suggestions. We are hoping to go back and see them again in March 2013, so we have a few months to put together a plan!

As I close I will share with you one enormous gift that was given to me personally on this trip. The kids gathered in the chapel just before we were leaving. They love to sing and they wait eagerly for a word of encouragement, an acknowledgement that they are known and remembered.

They sang a song or two for us; and then, absent my father, who was unable to make the journey this time, or any other man who was able to step up with a brief word for these kids, I asked God for courage to speak. And suddenly there were Johnson and Debbie, Dr Nair's kids. Debbie had translated for me when I addressed the boys and girls separately in their dorms, explaining about where the toys had come from. Johnson now came along side of me and translated the few simple words I had to share with these precious children. I asked them if they remembered Dad's talk with them last year. They immediately pointed out the boy Dad had called up; the little guy, of course, was grinning from ear to ear ...


And as I finished speaking all I could think of was Dad and GS travelling all through this area of India, sleeping on the sides of roads, enduring heat and hardship and terrible food and primitive conditions, to preach and teach and minister together.  Now here Deb and I were with GS's and Sarah's eldest daughter, Debbie, ministering in a tiny way like our dads had done all those years earlier. I am almost hesitant to share this because what we did there was less than a speck compared to the work our fathers did to help people. And of course Debbie and Johnson are also giving their lives to work with these kids and at the College on a daily basis. 

But it was powerful and encouraging to me to think that we, their daughters, could have even a minuscule part in continuing on the work that has been of such help and blessing to so many people. For this I am truly grateful.