On Materialism [Or "Why we ARE getting our kids Christmas presents"]

For the past few years, I've read a lot of books, posts, blogs and even a recent Real Simple article about minimalism, gratitude and a no-present-mentality at Christmas. People don't like American Girl dolls or opening gifts before church or Black Friday. There seems to be a "right" number of presents to get your kids. No one agrees though. Is it 2? One for each year old they are? 20 (as long as they are books)? Maybe you shouldn't get them gifts at all. Go in as a family and buy a goat for some family in a third world country.

Everyone seems to be looking for a fix for this problem of materialism (or you may call it "melt-down-if-i-don't-get-what-i-want-entitlement-syndrome").

Let me tell you. I've done the research. Moving to a developing country doesn't fix it. My kids still want candy for breakfast, an iPad for Christmas and have the occasional meltdown when "life is not fair". And I'm not much better. We are consumed with materialism: stuff and our love for it.



Because...materialism is not an American thing. It's sin.

Well, that puts a damper on Christmas doesn't it? But let's call it what it is. And when we can see sin in our kids and in us, we can actually fight it. You can put up a good fight by limiting presents, making your kids write thank-you cards, giving things away and probably steering clear of toy stores. But, fighting is only successful when you are stronger (or wiser, or more resourceful) than your opponent. And, we are not.

We cannot move away from sin, because it lives deep in our hearts and the hearts of those around us. We cannot starve sin, because it feeds on our desires, not presents. We cannot replace sin (with gratitude, for example) because the "Thank you" will not be from our hearts. We cannot fight sin in our own strength. That's what we have to teach our kids. That's what we have to preach to ourselves. We are not strong enough, smart enough, good enough, thankful enough or far enough away. Materialism lives in our hearts.

We are getting our kids (a few) Christmas presents. I'm not even sure if we'll count them. They will write...er, color...thank you notes. I hope they enjoy the gifts. I hope they are grateful. And I pray that they feel that pull of materialism in their hearts. I pray they feel at least a little bit helpless in the fight. And I pray we don't fight the battle totally for them. I pray we point them to Jesus; not just the "reason for the season", but our victor. The one who fights for us, who conquered sin...even the meltdown-in-the-middle-of-the-store kind...the one who will cultivate gratitude, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control in us.

Maybe next year we'll buy a goat for the family down the street. And still we'll teach them the gospel: every Christmas, every day.

Picture of the Week: A really cute picture of Molly

Just waiting for her sister at ballet class. Pretty cute, right?

Picture of the Week: Perspective

Isabella was due for her immunizations. I didn't want to bring my older two. The waiting room is so dirty, all these sick kids, no appointments...just a mad rush to the doctor's door when it opens...hoping she'll say "Ok, you can be next.", and the ever-present-mosquitoes. Trust me, I remember from having to bring in Molly for her immunizations! 

The Plan: Bring in Bella, keep her in the carseat (safe from most of the germs) and quickly get her out. 

Well, I ended up having to bring all three. I walked them all down to the doctor's office, removed everyone's shoes and sat down. When I looked around I didn't see that dingy, dirty, crowded waiting room I saw 18 months ago. I don't think they remodeled. I had a changed perspective. 

There are just things that you adjust to after living in a developing country for a while. Stuff doesn't seem so bad, so scary, so hard. You start to compare Pondicherry to Charleston, Cubbon to Central Park, paneer to cottage cheese, chapattis to tortillas and Gems to M&Ms. The milk and cheese don't taste so different, you expect people to be late (and are ecstatic when they are not!), and realize everything is going to be ok. At least on some level, and I think this perspective is quite nice. 

At least Molly got to enjoy the slide. 

On Scarcity [or "Why I Almost Ate the Chocolate Chips Out of the Dish Drain"]

Right now we are stocked up (no pun intended).

We have 4 boxes of mac n' cheese, plenty of vanilla extract, a couple jars of yeast, fruit snacks and goldfish. I'm even burning a "pumpkin spice" Yankee candle! Visitors bearing gifts came the same week as a care package, so it feels a bit like Christmas. I never thought things like cereal and canned cranberries could make me so happy....until I lived here. The things I was used to are scarce. While we have it pretty good in this city (the second Dunkin' Donuts just opened!), there is scarcity. There are many things we can't find. And when we get them I have some decisions to make.

Do I hoard? Do I share (with my kids...neighbors...friends!)? Do I save them for a special event (Twizzlers for potty-training!)? Will there be more coming? And should I really be worried about this?

Then there's the dilemma of last week. I was baking some chocolate chip cookies (for Bible study, husband and self) and I dropped a handful of chocolate chips in the sink. Remember, our water is not drinkable. I gasped. As the typhoid-infested water swirled around my precious chocolate chips I truly thought, "Is it worth it to dig them out and eat them?". Much to my immune-system's delight, I didn't. But I know that those chocolate chips that I dug out and threw in the trash were close to my heart in some strange way.

Of course, American "goodies" are just the surface of the scarcity I feel. I am making friends here and I have good communication with many in the States. But like my cupboards, I feel I must stock up. I have a good phone call, a delightful play date, an unexpected email and I feel encouraged. I feel connected. And I want to hoard it. I want to soak it all in because I know that next week I may be busy, the time zone difference will get in the way, and thousands of miles really do matter. It gives me anxiety just knowing that, again, what I was used to is not available to me anymore.

And so I miss out on what is available: God. There is no (no, not ever) scarcity in God and His grace. He is there and pouring out His love on me. All this worrying about saving or giving or making the most of stuff and time and people never satisfies. It was never meant to satisfy me anyways. I was not made that way. None of us were.

Of course I knew that when I could run to Publix for chocolate chips or to coffee with a friend. I knew it when things were "easier". Yet I seldom felt my need of God. I was so easily satisfied by what I was used to. I didn't feel this longing. I didn't feel thirsty.

So maybe I need to feel this scarcity in things (and even relationships) so that I can feel and believe in (and therefore fully trust in) the fullness of God. This is the path He has made for me, so that my heart can delight in Him when I am in want or plenty, when I am eating Reese's cups or rice, when I am with friends or simply standing in front of my washing machine...I can delight in what my soul was made for. I can delight and not dig out of the drain. 

Picture of the Week: Guest Room

In high school we used to joke that you were truly grown up when you went to eat a restaurant by yourself.

In college, we changed it to going to the movies alone. (I never did this one. Kinda creepers right?)

Now that I am actually a real-life grown-up, I still have to be reminded of it. Thirty-three used to seem to old and off in the distance. Here I am. Thirty-three, wife, mother, and hostess.

Yep. I think [at least one of] the big "grown-up" hurdles is hosting a guest. For eighteen (and more) years I was a part and then a guest in my parents' home. I have had my own home for a while, but maybe it just takes time for things to hit me. I have my own home. I am the hostess. I better wash these pillow cases....

I thought of this tonight while I made up our little futon for an incoming guest. We've never met him; much like the woman we hosted last week. It's not all that common, but more common here than I had thought.

So, new rule: tidying up your husband's office, putting out clean towels, clearing the princess figurines and fluffing pillows for a guest certainly puts a badge on my grown-up-ness. Oh, and I will go to the movies by myself...whenever my children let me. 

Picture of the Week: Oatmeal

There are many epic moments in a baby's life. Rolling over. Sitting up. Sleeping through the night. Our youngest has accomplished one of those. So far. 

Isabella is "epically" giving solid foods a go. It's just pureed oats and water, but she seems to like it. As a bonus for me, it's a great way to get the other two girls sitting, quiet and actively encouraging their sister. Everyone's happy! 

Picture of the Week: Something Interesting in the Hallway

"Our neighbor, Anshula is doing something very interesting in the hallway." -Brian's text to me after he left for a meeting.



And what do you do when you receive a text like that? You open the door of course! I had to make it look like I wasn't just opening the door to sneak a peek at my neighbor and her "interesting thing"...so, I acted like I was showing Bella our fall door decor. Because you do that. You open your apartment door to show your 5 month old the outside of the door. Don't you?



"Oh, hey Anshula [fancy seeing you here] what on earth are you doing?"




Brian was right. It was interesting.

My neighbor was preparing for Diwali, the biggest festival here. Around her were bowls of brightly colored powder. She was scattering them on the floor. After a few minutes, it became clear what she was making. Here is her peacock.











 All the Stock gals came out to see. Kinda put our door decorations (paper pumpkins and leaves the girls colored on) to shame.

Just wait until Christmas Anshula! It's gonna be epic.

Picture of the Week: Golu

Golu.

It's an innocent enough word. In a text, my neighbor invited me to celebrate "Golu" with her. I thought her autocorrect must have changed something. Golu? What is that? The following day she came up to our flat, along with her son. They dabbed a little dyed powder on my forehead as a formal invitation. Turns out there was no typo. Golu was indeed the festivity I was to attend. According to my neighbor, it was a time to show off some dolls that had been in her family for generations. She encouraged my girls to come along with me. Maybe like showing off your collection beanie babies or coffee cups or spoons.


So, we went to Golu. Lydia, Molly and I stepped into my neighbors house where we were greeted with sweets (very very customary here) and small gifts. Then we saw the "dolls". There sitting on display were twenty-something idols.

Not dolls. Idols. Ganesha, Krishna, Sri Sai Baba, Visnu, all the regular crowd. Incense was burning. Candles were lit. This was a display of what my neighbor worships.




And so Golu was not an event I will soon forget. It was not that I was asked to worship or even condone the presence of these idols. But in that moment in her living room, holding my chai and little girls' hands, I saw the reality (once again) of my friend's empty faith.

Dolls. That's all they are. But they are so much more. 

Missing Molly

A year ago we met another Molly. "Big Molly", "Other Molly", or "Molly Jo" moved here with her parents and little brother John (in his mommy's belly at the time of arrival!). For one year, her dad worked as a chiropractor. We got our backs adjusted, brought them a meal when baby John was born and became friends.

Molly and Lydia are just a few months apart. They spent this past year having "secret clubs", going to ballet together, making incredible messes (and having fun doing it!), and becoming the best of friends like little girls do. Our "little Molly" was usually included, happy to be counted a big kid.






Two weeks ago Molly (and her family) moved back to America. Lydia misses her. We all miss her and her sweet family. Things are just not the same with one less Molly around.

When Life Gives You Summer

When you live in the tropics, when the trees hold their leaves, when there are no rakes (only stick brooms) or piles your mom would ever think of letting you jump in (they may be a rat in there!)...how ever can you enjoy autumn? 

Here's how. 
Now every time we look out we see falling leaves. 


Happy Fall everyone!

Teach Your Child to Read: In One Million Easy Steps

I don't feel quite experienced enough in this whole parenting thing to be spouting out child-rearing advice, unless of course it's just plain obvious. Read to your kids. Read to them a lot.

This is a picture of our coffee table after a day of play and books and reading and "library". I recently complained that I am constantly cleaning up books, everyday restocking the bookshelf. My friend rightly said, "What a lovely problem to have!". Hmmm, yes. What a good problem indeed.

Yes, my girls play dress-up, have pretend restaurants and zoos; they even watch an occasional cartoon on You Tube, but I really see so much of their creativity, the questions they ask, the humor they "get" in watching TV coming from reading books.  I try to steer them to the "good books", not the "twaddle" that Charlotte Mason grieved over. And honestly, it's mostly because I enjoy reading some books ("Make Way for Ducklings", "Horton Hatches the Egg", etc) rather than others ("Ariel: A Tale of Forgiveness"). But some "twaddle" makes its way in and we make it through to find out just "what a princess should do" at the end. I suppose you cannot develop a literary critique without literature to criticize.

And of course, I don't mind the snuggle time.