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!

The Desert and the Josh Tree

This time two years ago ago we were preparing for your funeral. The shock of your death hung in the air like ghostly ice crystals on a crisp November morning.

You're probably used to a whole different way of keeping track of time now. But I'm staying with the boys - just like I was two years ago - and I'm listening to your buddy Oliver upstairs, on a take-your-kid-to-work morning, watching a video on his computer and chuckling every few seconds, and I'm wondering which job you would be going to shadow today, what you might be interested in perusing if high school were to loom large in your future.

I think of you often, boy I never met who, regardless, resides in my heart. I think of your parents and your sibs and your aunts and uncles.

This morning as I thought of them and prayed for them, the sweet promise of the prophet Isaiah came to my mind:

The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose (Isaiah 35:1)

They have gone through the wilderness, your family has; they have lived in the solitary place. Grief is that way, as you know, Josh - it hits you in waves, sorrow smashing over you and pummeling you into the gritty sand you were trying to ignore below as you crested, happy and free, for a few seconds of bliss.

The desert of the verse in Isaiah is the beach minus the waves - nothing to exult in, to relieve the dryness, the sameness, the desolation.

The promise, though, is that there shall be tiny signs of life, there shall be tender shoots of joy that poke their heads up almost against their will. 

Remember my Josh Tree, named after you, the little lilac tree given me by BA and Deb? Someone expert in horticulture told me last year to pull it up, throw it out; there was no hope for that dead little twig, she said.

Here is how it looked this summer:

It was bursting with life and colour; and if you got close enough, you could catch a delicate perfume pushing its way determinedly from its blooms.

O Josh, there is life; there is hope, as we heard at your funeral:

There is hope for the helpless, rest for the weary

Love for the broken heart

There is grace and forgiveness, mercy and healing

He'll meet you wherever you are

Just cry out to Jesus

Cry out to Jesus

When you're lonely and it feels like the whole world is falling on you

You just reach out, you just cry out to Jesus

Cry to Jesus

(Third Day) 

But if you think your friends don't think of you, don't miss you still, listen to the song Oliver was playing on his guitar this morning, shortly after we had been talking about you. (I wonder, would Death Cab for Cutie have been one of your current favourite bands too?)



You are not forgotten, dear Josh ...

Just As I Am

Tuesday morning I take my lunch hour from 10:00 - 11:00 and go to the Robertson Manor to play hymns on the little electric keyboard our friend Don sets up so faithfully each week. And I go to hear my Dad share a word of encouragement with "The Oldies" who gather to sing and share and pray and be blessed. 

Plus, we have snacks!

This morning was no different. There is no guest parking on site so Dad gets celebrity parking in the loading zone, per great kindness of Duane who runs the place. I parked across the road and met Dad at his car, to carry in the box of Dad's specialty chocolate cake that Deb had made ("under my instruction," he informed me!) and to carry in his Bible.

For me, getting to carry in his Bible is one of the greatest honours I receive. I feel like the flag bearer at the Olympics leading the way for Usain Bolt, where you know a gold medal is virtually guaranteed.

Brenda or Wes opens the door for us. Today it was Wes, smiling, welcoming. When Wes is there, it's another sign that it's going to be a great little meeting, because he is a man of deep faith and he prays that "Pastor Ironside" will have the words God wants him to say, the strength he needs to keep sharing God's love with people, and that each soul present will be blessed.

We start the little meeting off by singing three songs, people's choice. The last song we sang today, chosen by our dear Julie - who also made cookies for us! - was that ancient beauty Just As I Am:

Just as I am, without one plea, 
but that thy blood was shed for me, 
and that thou bidst me come to thee, 
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

Just as I am, and waiting not 
to rid my soul of one dark blot, 
to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, 
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

Just as I am, though tossed about 
with many a conflict, many a doubt, 
fightings and fears within, without, 
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind; 
sight, riches, healing of the mind, 
yea, all I need in thee to find, 
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

Just as I am, thou wilt receive, 
wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve; 
because thy promise I believe, 
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

Just as I am, thy love unknown 
hath broken every barrier down; 
now, to be thine, yea thine alone, 
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

(Charlotte Elliot, 1789-1871)

As the last notes died away, Dad asked if anyone had read today's devotional from Oswald Chambers'  My Utmost for His Highest. "It ties in exactly with thesong we have just sung!" he exclaimed.

This is what it says:

Coming to Jesus



10

08

2013



Come to Me . . . —Matthew 11:28



Isn’t it humiliating to be told that we must come to Jesus! Think of the things about which we will not come to Jesus Christ. If you want to know how real you are, test yourself by these words— “Come to Me . . . .” In every dimension in which you are not real, you will argue or evade the issue altogether rather than come; you will go through sorrow rather than come; and you will do anything rather than come the last lap of the race of seemingly unspeakable foolishness and say, “Just as I am, I come.” As long as you have even the least bit of spiritual disrespect, it will always reveal itself in the fact that you are expecting God to tell you to do something very big, and yet all He is telling you to do is to “Come . . . .”

“Come to Me . . . .” When you hear those words, you will know that something must happen in you before you can come. The Holy Spirit will show you what you have to do, and it will involve anything that will uproot whatever is preventing you from getting through to Jesus. And you will never get any further until you are willing to do that very thing. The Holy Spirit will search out that one immovable stronghold within you, but He cannot budge it unless you are willing to let Him do so.

How often have you come to God with your requests and gone away thinking, “I’ve really received what I wanted this time!” And yet you go away with nothing, while all the time God has stood with His hands outstretched not only to take you but also for you to take Him. Just think of the invincible, unconquerable, and untiring patience of Jesus, who lovingly says, “Come to Me. . . .”



As I looked around the table, I saw those old saints nodding in agreement. I thought to myself, We think of that song and we sing that song as though it is only a song to get people to walk the aisle at the end of a church service, while in this very room we have people tossed about with fears, conflicts, doubts; we have the blind; we have those whose spouses yearn for healing of the mind for their beloved one; we have those who are indigent. No wonder they sang with such fervour, "Just as I am ... O Lamb of God, I come!"









These wonderful old people, who are being nudged inexorably, day by day, closer to the very presence of the one to whom they were singing, offered the words as a prayer of hope and encouragement.






And I was so very, very grateful for the reminder that just as I am, with all my sin and trouble and pain, I too can come and leave it all with the Lamb of God, who wants more than anything to have me come to him and trust him with everything I have.

"You Give Me Hope"

This wonderful video montage, created by Heather Rankin, illustrates many everyday people being the answers to people's prayers this week in Calgary. 

Particular gratitude goes out to the first responders and emergency / public safety workers, which includes our own Sonnie ...

(The first song, You Give Me Hope, is - fittingly - by Calgary's Paul Brandt.)

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! 

Day 4 - It is Well

They had been practising since before we arrived in India. March 5 is the birthday of Joh, Dad to one girl and Uncle to the other, and they had wanted to play for him.

When I showed up on the 1st, they started practising in earnest with the piano accompanying them. They wanted this to be perfect - we practised twice a day.

On March 4th, they were ready. They played their song during the morning conference session: It is well with my soul.

They nailed it!

Leah and Hannah, already I can tell that hanging out with you, making music with you, is going to be one of the highlights of this trip. You have both grown and matured and you are a real joy to be around. When Dad and the sisters and I return to Bangalore, you two and I are going to have to go out for an event, all three of us! And of course we'll have to practise the number you want to play for Grandpa Ironside -

When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say:

"It is well, it is well with my soul"

Day 2 - A Friend For Chetan

Where would a person be without her brothers and sisters? On Day 2 I was missing mine a little - not drastically, but with a nagging ache like a fever of only a degree or two that's enough to make you feel out of sorts while not enough to lay you low.

Fortunately for me, at home in Bangalore I have three brothers, and the first two people I saw on Day 2 were two of them. Raj - faithful Raj, who had moments earlier done an airport run - brought tea to me as I struggled with my computer's internet access first thing in the morning. 

Raj in turn mentioned my troubles to Joh, the resident computer geek, who immediately came up to where I had taken up squatter's residence - his own office! - and over the course of the next hour slowly and patiently unravelled the inner workings of the connectivity as it didn't relate to my computer, and managed to get a dialogue going between computer and internet with the result that I am now enjoying the fastest internet speed I've ever experienced ... 

And my whole day seemed to be charmed from that auspicious start! There are some gaps only a brother can fill; and these two, with their gentle insistence that I am not a complete moron, reassured me that all would be well.

My girls Leah and Hannah came to collect me for a quick pre-breakfast violin and piano practice; we enjoyed breakfast at the civilized hour of 10 a.m.; and at the table I put out my plea: "I need some help getting ready to go to the Children's Home - will any of my Ladybugs be willing to help me?"

It turned out I had seven willing Ladybugs, who came up to my room and filled pencil cases with pens, pencils, sharpeners, erasers and stickers. 

How I love these girls! Clockwise from Chloe:
Julia, Hannah, Becca, Leah, Jada, Faith

They gave the stuffed animals a trial run to make sure they would be friendly to the children about to receive them that afternoon ... 

and they modeled the caps to ensure that they were of suitable size and colour.

There was a slight delay in our departure time so Chloe, my able lieutenant in the morning's execution of duties, took me down to the corner store and bakery to get done what I needed to do.

Early that afternoon Sarah - the wife of my third brother out here, Ed - and I climbed into the College "truck" laden with mattresses, rice, pillows, sheets and various things needed at the Children's Home. Our 45-minute drive took only just over two hours this time under the careful driving of Bipul ...

The road sign that is my perpetual favourite: "Lane indiscipline" - in INDIA?!!

 ... and we arrived in Bagalur mid-afternoon.

The truck pulled up in front of the home to the sound of children cheering; and from the moment I stepped out, I could sense a difference in atmosphere at the place. Last time I was there everything was subdued, sombre, cautious. Now children hung out together, laughing, chattering away nineteen to the dozen - being, well, children.

My eyes instinctively scanned the lively bunch. Where was he? I spotted him against the side of the verandah, standing with a slightly larger boy wearing glasses: our small Chetan, not so much bigger at all than he was the last year. He was still a little bit distant, a little bit shy; and my mind harked back to my first visit. Oh no, I thought to myself, my heart sinking. One year down - are there really two to go before he can be happy? 

I approached him and was relieved to see that the blank shock we saw in his eyes last year had vanished. Before I could really speak to him, Sushila hurried over to me and gave me an enormous hug. 

At that moment I knew what had changed: Sushila was in the house.




First she got the unloading of the truck organized: she called over the big kids and directed them in carrying out the food and the mattresses, and she tossed pillows at the small ones. Everyone pitched in - everyone wanted to.

The truck, ready to be unloaded!

What's more, once she had told them what to do, she left it with them; she stepped aside and let them go about their task unimpeded by hovering or overcorrecting protectiveness. She let them be responsible. She trusted them.

When everything was stashed in her storage room, she swept Sarah, Bipul and me off for the lunch that she had prepared - delicious rice, chicken, dhal, Sarah's favourite potatoes - and proudly pointed out the dining table, covered with a cheerful plastic tablecloth, that dominated the kitchen now.

"We have two big tables," she said with great satisfaction. "Now all of us can sit around this table and eat together. We talk about our day. Sometimes we sit for one, one and a half hours. They don't want to leave! We are becoming a family ..." 




The other table was in a separate room where the kids could have a quiet place, free of distractions, to study. Sushila, bless her, supervises and helps with their homework. Sarah told me off the record that all 14 kids have pulled up their marks and are starting to excel at school. 

Sushila had moved to the Children's home just before Deb and I visited last year. She was still getting her bearings and learning about the children. Now from their response to her and their mutual transparent affection, she had indeed become their de facto mother.

Sushila knows each of her kids. She knows their favourite colours, who likes to eat what, where they need help with homework or when they need a little encouragement. The eldest boy was not there this Saturday: he was off studying for his final exams. She took me to a small room and showed me a table and chair she had set up in there. "This is for him," she said. "He needs to be able to focus in a quiet place and concentrate on his studies. This place helps him to study."

The thing about this wonder woman with the most exquisite smile and the easygoing manner is that she is free to love. She knows what it means to be rejected, what it means to fight back and to make something of yourself. This time I noticed that not one but both of her poor feet are twisted; it doesn't seem to slow her down one whit, however, as she appears to be everywhere her kids need her when they need her.


She knows what's important and she is serious about that; but she knows how to laugh and how to make each day a joyous occasion.

And so she could joke with Bipul, who is from her home place and was trying to set her up with a man "who is like my father, Bipul!" she exclaimed, feigning indignance but twinkling at him with the camaraderie of very old friends all the while and urging him to eat more.

Almost every silver lining has a cloud, however, and there is one here: Sushila is at the Children's home on a two-year contract, and one year is up. Everyone wants her to stay; but her heart is with her own people of Nepal. "They have nothing like this," she said softly. I feel burdened to go back and create a place like this where children in need - my own people's children - can be safe and have a place to know God and to study."

She has already been talking succession planning with Sarah, and they will bring in someone to work closely with Sushila for this second year, seeing her heart and growing to know and love the children as she does. "That way it won't be so hard for the children when I leave," she said, a shadow briefly crossing her face.

She visibly gathered herself together and told us that the next thing on the agenda was giving out the stuff to the kids.

Everyone rushed into the storage room at her bidding. Sarah said a few words, asking if they remembered me from last year. (Of course they all fervently said yes!)

Then Sarah told them about you, all of you who had responded to the need for mattresses, for sheets and pillows and pillow cases. She told how the little TH had been a conduit for collecting the desperately needed funds to supply these things, and how people in Canada love them and are praying for them.

We started with the sheets. "Oh, this one is for you!" Sushila called out in delight to one of the older girls. "Hemalatha loves green - everything green!"

Then we plunged into the bag with the pencil cases. Each child received one. Even the two-sided zippers were fascinating to them! They admired the brightly coloured sharpeners and erasers - their very own sharpener and eraser! - and tried to write on their hands with the pens.

While they did that, Sarah and I arranged the stuffed animals on the hillock of mattresses.

There was one that didn't get put with the others, though, and just before I gave the word to choose an animal, I called Chetan over. I explained to the others that the last time I visited they were busy playing or inside and so I had gotten to know Chetan a little bit more than them. And someone else had seen his picture and had sent a very special, soft bunny rabbit for Chetan because he was the smallest.

His eyes grew enormous. He held back a little bit; but then the little boy with the glasses gently pushed him forward. 

He didn't know quite what to do, standing stiffly next to me as I tried to give him the sweet little toy, until someone - one of the older girls, I think - told him that the rabbit was for him and he could hold it and have it. 

The tiniest of smiles flickered over his face and then he plunged to the back of the group, anonymous once more behind the bigger kids.

There was no hesitation on their parts, though. "Boys first this time!" called out Sushila, and before I could apologetically tell the two elder boys that they didn't have to have a stuffed toy if they didn't want one, they were over there like a flash, claiming their prize. Chinaoyo went for the white rabbit, and Ngaovi reached for the little lion, stroking its tiny mane gently and cradling it in his hands.

The kids quickly followed the two big boys' lead. They all made sure that there was one of everything for Joy-ed, the boy who was off having tutoring for his exams.

Just before they got ready to claim their mattresses, Sushila told them to line up for a photo to show the people in Canada:

Then they happily went off to their rooms to make their new beds up with their mattresses and beautiful sheets:

The littlest boys, unencumbered by the responsibility of new mattresses and not caring that they had no sheets on their beds, wanted to play with their stuff. Chetan and his friend seemed particularly close. Chetan would look to him for confirmation, for encouragement; and the kindly, bespectacled little face never failed him.

"Who are you? What is your name?" I finally asked. 

"My name is Hemanth. I am Chetan's brother. I also live here now," the little fellow said.

Sarah told me the sad story. Their father was dead. He had been murdered. His desperate widow now had real concerns that the perpetrator would come back for her children. Her eldest child, her daughter, had been placed in another home. The broken lady had asked Sarah if Hemanth could be with Chetan, if they at least could be together.

Of course Sarah immediately took him in.

And under the aegis and protection of Hemanth, our little Chetan is finding his feet. He is starting to recover from the horrendous trauma that rocked his whole world; to grow, to be settled, to smile. His brother has his back.

We had been praying that Chetan would make a friend. He couldn't have asked for a better one.

When I showed him the pictures of him and his brother he couldn't stop laughing, a sound that started with a startled squeak and grew and grew until it became a belly laugh that threatened to consume him and he cast himself on his bed in delight.

It was time to leave.

After we gave the kids the caps, Sarah gave them new toothbrushes, and they sang us a farewell song ("Sing Give Thanks," Sushila suggested). I wanted to take a moment to say goodbye to Sushila, this beautiful girl whom I have met only twice but who has carved her name into my heart.

"I will pray for you," I said to her. 

"And I will pray for you and your Daddy," she responded.

Then we climbed back into the truck.

Somehow, the long journey home seemed like mere minutes.

I returned to the College campus with a full heart; it was about to overflow.

Sitting on the benches outside the house were two men, one of whom has been a friend of Dad for years. Rev. McIlveen and his faithful friend Derek greeted us. The former had been the latter's pastor for decades and now Derek provides companionship and help during the arduous travel schedule Rev McIlveen has taken on in his "retirement." Brothers, I exclaimed to myself. Brothers in Christ, in charity, in hope.

It was certainly a day for brothers from start to finish.

It made me miss mine. A lot. Allan.

But as I drifted off for a couple of hours' sleep in anticipation of rising to greet the Sisters (and the Dad, of course!) arriving on the 2 a.m. flight, I remembered the verse, "There is a friend that sticks closer than a brother."

And I closed my eyes, so grateful for the day, for all the brothers.