Picture of the Week: For Delivery

Brian continues to remind me that although these surroundings seem ordinary to me after a while of living here, there are still many things that may seem odd or funny to others.



This may be one of them.

In this country, you can get anything delivered. Anything. I get my groceries delivered. The milk man comes to my neighbors' every morning. I had a pair of dress socks for Brian delivered once. There is usually no extra charge besides the customary 50 cent tip.

And almost everything is delivered on motorcycles. Lots of riders wear backpacks stuffed with orders. Other bikes have coolers or hotboxes on the back.

There is a man in our neighborhood who delivers fish from his bicycle. He doesn't have a cooler. You can pretty much smell him coming. Maybe I'll get a picture of him next time. 

Lydia's Ballet Recital

Lydias ballet recital full from Brian Stock on Vimeo.

Lydia's "Bee"-Day

She's five! 

Her birthday fell on a Friday this year, so we got to have a bumble bee 19-kid-strong party the day of. She has a nurturing and adventurous love for lizards and other creatures in our garden. She loves books, princesses, art, dressing up (for real and pretend), her scooter, running, making her sisters laugh, helping Mommy, candy and hosting parties. Lydia makes up songs about seasons, if she were an ice cream (she'd eat herself all up), Isabella's cuteness and Jesus. She is my second favorite introvert, my little sidekick, my beautiful sweet daughter. 

A few pictures from the big day:

Helping Teresa clean up before the party. 

The Queen Bee

These outfits only lasted the first 20 minutes...but they were cute anyways

Bee on a spoon relay...epic!

Check out Brian's socks

My best attempt at bee stripes. Yes, I know it's crooked. 

Picture of the Week: Bump

They've torn up the road adjacent to our apartment. This manhole cover was propped up and a huge mound is surrounding it. Finally someone had the decency to put this "bump" warning sign in the hole (yes, IN the hole).

The picture does not do this justice.

Picture[s] of the Week: Christmas!

A smattering of Christmas pictures

 Christmas dresses on three beautiful girls

 I mean, what is this cuteness?

 Our building's Christmas party (hosted by neighbors upstairs) attended by mostly people who do not actually celebrate Christmas. 

 Let's get this party started!

 "Candy Cane Bread" our traditional Christmas morning breakfast

 Yes, we got Molly a potty for Christmas. Don't judge. 

 Bella is psyched by these teething rings

 Santa Brian passing out gifts

 Cranberry lotion from my girls. Yes!

 Church kids perform "Away in a Manger" (Here they are the "cattle lowing")

 She wanted a baby you could bath with REAL water

 The most-favorite...scooter. 

Helping Daddy build a play-house

When Helping Hurts

This post is not about that book, although I like it and it's very helpful for this context. It's about a certain two year old. It's an open-letter prayer of sorts, for her and MYSELF!

Molly, you are such a little helper. Almost to a fault...but as a two-year old, you are just figuring this out. You want to help me cook. You want to open the door. You want to put on your own shoes, take off your own shirt, run and get a toy for Isabella, tell Daddy it's dinner time...and you want to do it "MYSELF!".

Most of these things are actually really helpful and good. But sometimes, I open the door, Lydia beats you to the toy-basket and you just can't get your shoes on. You are determined to help and when you can't...Molly meltdown.

I know...you're two. So, here's what I pray for you. I pray you would be a helper, a selfless type of go-getter, a servant, a good friend, wife, sister and daughter who loves to serve the church, community, home, and others. I pray God shows you how to use your gifts for His kingdom and gives you opportunities to do so.

And when He doesn't (or it seems like He isn't) and you don't get to help the way you wanted to, or the way you "always get to", or in the way you thought was best for everyone; I pray you turn to the Lord. And I mean that practically, realistically, wholly and purposefully. I know, at age 20, you probably won't be prone to throw yourself on the ground and scream "MYSELF!"...but you might feel that frustration, that pride, hurt, injustice even. After a while of that you may not want to be helpful after all. It may be too hard or hurtful or boring.

I get that, Molly.

You may look like Daddy, but you are showing my personality. Sorry kiddo. I have used the "it's just a waste of my gifts" line. I have gotten frustrated watching others do a sub-par-helper job. I could have helped so much better! I want to throw myself on the ground when my help goes unnoticed, unappreciated and maybe (maybe?!) isn't so helpful after all. I have found ways to serve selfishly.

I pray that as you grow you would grow in your desire to serve, but more so in a desire to be used by the Lord. When things break down (and maybe you do too) you wouldn't just "get back out there and serve some more!". I pray you would humbly ask the Lord where He would have you? In the kitchen? Up front? Serving in the nursery? Writing? Reading stories to three little girls in India? Where will He use you? Where will He bring joy? I ask our Great God to mold you to be more like His plans for you.

A helper suitable for Him.  

The Conversations We Have

Recently I saw someone post an article about "Things you just know when you live in Atlanta". You know, like the Varsity and ITP/OTP.

I was thinking what that list would look like if I wrote it for here. There's lingo, thinking through problems, things taken for granted about living here. I think it would sound odd if I just stepped back for a moment. Here is a sampling of some conversations:

"Do you think these blue [Christmas] lights will show our neighbors we support Krishna?"

"Did you get the water in the bowl up front to baptize Isabella?"
"Yes."
"Is it clean or dirty?"
"Um, dirty. But why does it matter?"
"...I don't know. But don't you think we should at least use filtered water for baptizing?"

"Ok, so turn down the road that is just past the rock quarry. Go about 100 meters. There will be a tree and usually a cow standing there. Turn right. Go past the goats. We are on the left just before that really big pot hole."

"Are you poopy?" (I'm not saying this unique to our country...just our stage of life!)

"Sweetie...watch out for that cow/donkey/dog/old man/auto driver/pot hole/goat herd!!"

Picture of the Week: The Wrong Kind of Flowers

Lydia had her "parent observation day" at ballet. It's the closest thing to a recital for this class.



Brian came straight from a meeting. He was a little bit late because he was determined to get flowers. In America, that's what daddies do when their little girls have recitals. They bring flowers.




All Brian could find (in this area of town) was this laurel. Sometimes people buy them to put on idols or relatives you haven't seen in a while. It's a sign of honor. So, much to everyone's surprise (and giggles) and Lydia's everlasting delight, Brian "honored" our little ballerina. Maybe they were the "wrong kind of flowers" but I don't think this little girl minds. 

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.