When He gives us gifts, we sometimes forget to notice them....

The temperatures here in Delhi us like that of a furnace. Every time I step outside, the heat attempts to bake me into a crisp brownie; while mosquitoes think I AM a chocolate brownie!!!! Both sets of arms, legs, and feet have borne the brunt of their feast. The bug spray I purchased from the states happens to be their favorite flavor, so I have opted to trash the “OFF” and purchase the heavy duty “Odomos” that is the mosquito repellant of choice for local Indians, but if I may be perfectly honest, I fear that Indian mosquitoes just like the taste of American blood. As the long dark brown arms of summer close in on India, so to does the increase of inversion, power outages, traffic, and new species of bugs…. especially the mosquito!

I have finally cranked the AC up to full blast at Som Vihar, and run all fans in every room to keep some air circulating throughout the house. I have always thought that Texas and Arizona were the hottest places on Earth, yet India has decided to set me straight for the record, it seems now, India is the hottest place! I have grown used to sweat sliding down my back, arms, and forehead, and one grows thankful for that small bit of moisture. In India, as I have mentioned before, one grows thankful for the small gifts in life, such the ability to sweat, as we so many times forget the small gifts God gave us. He really did think of everything!

Work at the centre in Ekta Vihar has been a little slow since, I made an unexpected trip down to the South of India in a state called Goa. (please take a look at all my pictures on the far right) I did A LOT of ngo networking for Maitri as well as A LOT of sightseeing, swimming, and writing. Goa is a place unbeknownst to many, yet, once one has entered into its’ magical realm, one can’t understand why…. As my plane began its’ entrance from the thick sheet of clouds that cloaked the capital city of Goa, Panaji, I was struck by the magnificence of the jungle and the sparkling jewels that seemed to float on the top of the Arabian Sea that lines the coast of the state. Once I exited the plane and took the bus to the airport, I was met by the driver that would be taking me to all my destinations throughout my stay. One of the first things I noticed about Panaji, and Goa for that matter is the rich history that the Portuguese left behind after nearly 4 ½ centuries of rule. Mixed with the local culture of Goa is a rich Portuguese Catholic culture that is seen in the architecture, religion, and food. Small sanctuaries honoring the Blessed Virgin and the Crusifix lined the roads, city streets, and were present in the lone spice fields that scattered the country side and in between cities. In most sections and corners of this world, religion continues to be the source of many wars, fights, deaths, and evil, yet in this secluded, almost mysterious place, the Hindus, Sikhs, Catholics, Muslims, and any other faith present honored eachother. Whether I visited someone’s home, business, school, or just a public area there was communion of cultures and spirituality. Where one would see the Blessed Virgin and Her Son, one too would see Ganesh, Shiva, Guru Nanak, and the local Gods and Goddesses of the Goan people sitting side by side as if they where family members hanging on the wall at home. While I am a devout Christian, and at that, a Catholic, I was so proud to see such unity and acceptance in this mystical place. Catholic churches, cathedrals, monuments, and art crowed every available space in Goa as if they too had grown naturally like the coconut trees, lilies, and bunion trees, but it wasn’t the manmade structures that demanded one look with wonder, or the sacred places throughout the island, but the life in which carried on around these brilliant structures. People from every walk of life cluttered the streets, while cars, horses, monkeys, bikes, and small school children moved with a purpose to their perspective location. In the early mornings I would watch the mothers in their traditional dress walking their young girls and boys dressed smartly in crisp pinafore dresses or nicely creased trousers and ties. Nuns carefully guarded their flocks of girls and boys to their morning masses and classes, as fishermen loaded their early morning catch into large buckets of ice. In the air, coconuts, fish, fresh flowers, sea water, and sweat scented the air with a unique and yet familiar smell…life! While every place has its’ own distinct smell, the scent of Goa will forever be in my memory….While God blesses us everyday with small gifts, that many times we forget to notice, it never ceases to amaze me at the large gifts, such as Goa, that we also fail to miss as well.