It's not even April Yet.

Some days it seems the time is going by too fast, and other times, like today, the time seems to never move. 

Being a mom is hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do since it is a day-in, day-out job. And suddenly all those “encourage the stay at home mom” blogs seem all too fitting instead of stupid. 

The past two days I was mostly stuck in my room because standing up for more than 30 seconds or two minutes at a time would lead to dizziness and vision that begins to have all those little black dots.  I was usually fine when I was sitting, and would have just played with my girls from a seated position—except that that would mean 3 people climbing on me and probably knocking me over when the dizziness hit.

So, instead I mostly stayed in my room. My internet was deathly slow, but working from noon to eleven p.m. allowed me to still get some things done.  Usually after two days of feeling unwell, I am so excited to get back out of my room, play with my kids, love them, and be loved in return.

Except this time is a little different.  This time, I just feel worn down.

The trip to Hyderabad was only 5 days ago, my trip to Delhi & Chennai were only 2 weeks ago, it shouldn’t be this way.

But it is.

Suddenly, 21 kids really seems like too much.  Suddenly, being woken up every single morning between 5:30 and 6:30 by a child yelling “GOOD MORNING” five inches from my face produces no smile and only immediate groans and grouchiness. Suddenly, having a child loathe me and spend all her time glaring at me or shooting sharp words in Telugu in my direction is eating at me. Suddenly the tattling is crazily annoying. Suddenly my sarcasm is harsher, my patience nearly diminished, and my tolerance for repeated disobedience completely gone. 

Haley, who was the first foster mom for 12 of my girls, is visiting.  She helps, with both disciplining and entertaining:  the kids are getting so much more love and attention, and she’s wonderful both as a friend and as a role model figure to them. But I’m kind of jealous.  I am still the parent, and she gets to be the fun aunt.  And that’s good, and I don’t begrudge her of that because I will LOVE being in that role when it’s my turn to visit Ongole.  But, still, I’m kind of jealous it’s not me.

I love being the mom, I really do. But I forgot how much I miss being the “aunt” figure, like I was from August through the beginning of December with these girls.  I miss having energy and creativity to just pour out on my kids. I miss being able to decide to just not go to Grace Home if I desired to play with the babies or do more therapy or help another mom out in the evenings. I miss having bright inexplicable hope for both the futures of my kids and the organization. I miss being able to spend more time with the kids individually. 

Life got real. It’s not bad, it’s not hopeless, it’s just real, and the honeymoon phase is most definitely over.  I know I still love doing this.  After all, it was only two weeks ago I was sobbing in my guy’s arms, trying to figure out how in the world I will manage moving back to America, back to “first world problems,” back to a house where silence exists, to a job that doesn’t impact people’s lives this much, and most of all, away from my girls. So, I know I love doing this, but sometimes it’s hard to remember.

I’ve used this blog to ask a lot lately, and I’m going to ask again.  Would you please pray for me? For me spiritually, for me as a mom and discipliner, for me as a teacher and mentor, to be filled with passion, energy, and excitement again?  I would like to say this is a one-time prayer need, but it’s not. So, would you please make a note on your computer or phone or fridge and pray this pray for me daily? Please.  

Because

It’s not even April yet.

And lastly, would you please consider helping financially?  My family needs $535 to finish furnishing our apartments—things were more expensive than I was expecting, so this is for the actual furniture, not for all those extra things I had mentioned excess money would be going towards.  The Passion weekend trip cost a total of $342 for my girls and one staff member to go, and is still left unsponsored.  Would you, your small group, or your church consider helping sponsor that time of worship?  

All tax-deductible donations may be given at http://tinyurl.com/MarlasDaughters

He Reigns, Part 2

One thing you should know about me by now is that I love India. 
I'm not talking about "oooh, I love Bollywood and the beautiful clothes, the elephants, and exoticism of it all!" I am talking about a love that goes beyond worldly explanations.  I mean, yes, I get a kick out of Bollywood, I enjoy the vibrant colors, I love the oddities on the city sidewalks.  I love the variety of skin tones and the diversity of subcultures and languages.  I love staring out the train window and watching children fly kites in the countryside. I tolerate getting shoved on the metro in Old Delhi. I love exploring alley ways and traversing up steep, death-trap staircases to find the perfect saree. I love the beauty of the women and the mustaches of almost everyone else.

God gave me a love for this country and her people.  He gave me a love for it that goes beyond the rats, the mosquitoes, and the men who jeer at me. He gave me a love that lets me laugh at the traffic, the lack of timeliness, and the non-Western common sense.

I love India. It's not logical, it's just a God-given love, and that's all I know.

India is a beautiful place. It's vibrant and loud and way too sunny.  But there's also a darkness here, an eerie silence.  I experienced this on my trip in 2012.  In so much of this land, in so many hearts, there is a total disregard for who the Father is. There are a lot of churches, and an ever-growing number of believers, but there is still much darkness.

But this weekend, God's glory shone here in India, a reminder that He is King.
Saturday evening, I took 5 of my girls to Passion in Hyderabad. Chris Tomlin, another guy I didn't know, and Louis Giglio were there, leading 5-6000 Indians in worship.  It's beautiful to hear that many people singing to the Lord no matter who they are, but when it's in a dark land, when it's in a culture that has the military and police doing security because it's a Christian event, it is truly, truly beautiful. People were being moved, hearts were changing, (and yes, the cell phones were taking video, in true Indian fashion).

At one point I looked up to the apartments on our right.  I saw the silhouette of a woman with her hands pressed against the window, her husband visible in the next window, sitting and reading the newspaper.  The woman stayed there for a long time. She was visibly intrigued.  And while I believe God was moving in the hearts of the masses below, I believe He was also reaching out to that one.

I intended to write this post about my children's trip, their experience at Passion, their excitement for McDonald's, their love for the little Hyderabadi SCH babies.  But I just can't.

I know God was moving that night, that the Holy Spirit was working in big ways.  I know that because I saw the Enemy try to keep his footing and show himself.  He tried his very best to cause a distraction (which he kind of succeeded at doing). He tried his best to do who-knows-what, and it was evil, and it was disturbing.  But you know what? He didn't win. I don't have answers or explanations for what happened, or what he was hoping to happen, but I know God reigns.

I know that, although we left the conference a little early, with goosebumps and thoughts running through our minds at 90 mph instead of pure joy and excitement, it was still God's night.

He reigns. He is powerful, He is glorious, He is above all, He is King, and He reigns.
Over India, He reigns.

My Jeanette & Passion

 “MARLA MUMMYYYYYYYY” Bang, crash, “oof,” and “HIIIIII!” are how it starts. Daily. Usually multiple times a day. 

When I arrived in August, Jeanette quickly worked her way into being one of my most affectionate children. She would demand my attention with the above sounds when she heard my voice or the jingling of my keys at the doorway of her apartment. She would grope her way to find the one or three inches of free space on my lap, so that she could sit there and slowly nudge the other 1-2 kids off my knees.  It didn’t take me long to realize that Jeanette is the definition of a cuddle bug.

Having Jeanette around brings a lot of laughter to my day.  She is blind, and she is fearless—and this makes for a very entertaining combination. If I am reading a book, she runs her fingers all over the pages as though she could feel the 2d pictures. Usually, this means I can’t see any of the words, and I never get to finish the story! When we have reading time, she prefers the flat, normal picture books—specifically “the monkey book”—instead of the textured books I purchased for her and her blind sisters.  

After getting over her initial fear of having her feet off the ground, Jeanette will now ride her bicycle (with training wheels) around the roof for hours at a time. (Now, I love teaching my children to ride bikes, but sometimes moms have to get other things done, too!) While I sit in the corner and mend the holes in all the school uniforms, Jeanette rides quite literally through the laundry on the line, and quickly rebounds from when she hits the concrete pillars in the middle of the “track.”  I can’t help but just laugh as I shout out “Left! Go left! Ah! Stop!” as she moves straight and narrowly misses my toes—thanks to me jumping out of my seat!

Jeanette is attentive.  She wants to experience absolutely everything—we go on walks, and I describe the world around her. Phoebe asks questions to get more information, but Jeanette just tucks her head down, soaking in every tidbit, every sensation, every word.  She wants to help me fold laundry and doesn’t realize that her fingers fumbling over the shelves makes it impossible to find whatever I was looking for. She works hard in school and is working on learning to write simply through the sense of touch.

Jeanette is maturing. I still get the big welcome after a calamity or two of her tripping over LEGOs or dolls or siblings when I come to the door, but she has matured so much.  In October, I asked another foster mom what to do with Jeanette—because her fearlessness and desire to be a part of everything led to her constantly crashing into me. I had so many bruises on my face and neck and feet! I loved this daughter of mine, but goodness—I hurt back then!  But now, Jeanette is a different child. Her hair has grown out and she can wear pigtails—she no longer looks like an institutionalized kid.  She can sit and read a book or play with a puzzle quietly. She can withstand my presence in a room without turning me into a jungle gym. We are still working on her being able to stand near me or hug me without stepping on my bare feet with her clunky school shoes, but she has grown so much, and I am so blessed to have been a part of watching her grow.

Although I’m glad to be a part of helping her mature, learn to navigate the world, and learn to be loved, nothing quite beats the sincerity of Jeanette’s heart. She smiles when she’s happy and shrieks with glee when she’s excited.

 And if someone tattles on her, Jeanette sits silently with her neck fully bent forward. If I ask her what happened or why she did something, the tears just flow before the third word exits my mouth. In the first time-out I ever gave her in August, she tried to beat down the door, flailed all over the floor, and screamed for the entire 5 minutes. Now, she apologizes, understanding that what she did was wrong, gives me a big tearful hug, and sits silently on the ground or bed until I let her know timeout is done. I have never caught her making the same mistake twice.

Sometimes I wish I could be like Jeanette. I know there are times I flail and scream internally when I’m told I am being disobedient or not honoring God.  I wish I had Jeanette’s ability to understand, to accept the consequences, and to refrain from repeating my mistakes again.

But, like with Jeanette, such things do not just “happen.” It is a process, and it takes time. 

3 Months

The past 12 days with my guy have been amazing and beautiful.  Not every moment, by far, but overall, it’s been really, truly good. We went on a whopping total of two dates in 12 days. 

The first being a cab ride, breakfast at the airport, and a flight to Chennai. (So romantic, I know.) And the second date involved a whopping $9 meal at a restaurant of his regional ethnicity.  It turns out, I approve of the spiciness factor of that ethnicity, so all is well in that boat. If you count attending church as a date, then I guess the number would go up to three, but I don’t think I count church as a date…

Basically, he’s perfect for me, and I’ve known that for awhile—but it’s nice to be able to spend some time in person as a couple to understand exactly how perfect we are together. 

He makes me laugh. A lot. And he lets me make fun of his Indian pronunciation of English words, which is a bonus.

He informs me that I am way more South Indian than I know—from my head bobbles to facial expressions to forgetting which Indian language I’m supposed to say “Brother” in.

He draws me closer to the Lord. He prays with me, and he prays for me. He encourages me to know the Lord more, reminds me that we are nothing if we do not seek Him. 

And he loves me. A lot. More than I deserve.  I can see it in his eyes, but he tells me, too.

And I love him. In the superbly cheesy, sappy way that will make everyone roll their eyes when they see us together. 

I boarded the train back to Ongole yesterday, and said goodbye to my guy for the next 103 days. Frankly, I’m not going to like being apart from him for the next three months, but God has blessed me with 21 children to fill my days.  And until I fly back to Delhi, then Frankfurt, Chicago, and finally my arrival at the Springfield airport, I am going to love these children with whatever God gives me.  

I got to  pick up Angel and Heidi from playschool on my way home from Ongole's train station.  Seeing Angel’s big eyes at my presence, getting her hugs, and watching her happily stare at the reflection of us in the side mirrors made my day.  (I would mention Heidi here, too, but she was apparently angry at me for leaving and didn't look at me for about three hours!) 

We have unpacked the gifts from America—they love their new clothes, toys, puzzles, and those sparkly pink shoes.  I am so glad to be their Marla Mummy, to be the person they come to in tears, to be the person who tries to teach them right from wrong. I am happy to have 209 knocks on my door on a daily basis. I missed the begging for movies, walks, games on the tablet, and ice cream. I'm home, for now, and it is good.

Only 103 days until I see you, babe.

Which means 98 days left as Marla Mummy.

Mai Khush Hun

I am happy.

Very, very, very happy. 

I have finally seen my guy in person. It’s not too much of a surprise, but we’re pretty darn happy together. It’s a lot better to talk in person than over Skype with a 12 hour time difference. And praying together is even better.

I am so happy to be back in Delhi, even if only for a week. I have this sense of "home" and belonging here that I don't have anywhere else--which is weird, but I guess it's okay to have a "second home."

I am happy to be eating the fudge my sister made for me.  I have told my guy that just may be equivalent to seeing him. 

Is it really? Well, probably not. But maybe. ;) 

I have slept. And it is gooooood.  Let me rephrase, so you better understand what I mean: I have slept through a screaming kid on the train, next to a politician on the turbulent plane, under a huge fleece blanket all night long, and napped during the day, too.  I have yet to complete catch up on the missed sleep from last week, but I’m working towards it.  And when I finally break even on that, I’ll attempt to get even more sleep to prepare for the next 3.5 months!

I have happily unpacked the stuff friends/family from home sent with him, oohed and ahhed at the cute clothes and shoes—yay for the pink, sparkly ones!—and have repacked them all in the huge empty suitcase I brought with me.

I am glad to be hanging out with friends I haven’t seen since August, and to meet new-to-me, old-to-him friends. I’m even happy to be made fun of because we just might be a tad too starry-eyed and deserve every sarcastic comment directed our way.

I am happy for things I can’t easily get in Ongole, like aloo paratha and roti and frozen yogurt (haha, because obviously, froyo fits in the same category as aloo paratha.)

I am happy to have hot showers—especially the kind where the water comes from a showerhead and not a bucket.

Hehe, I am happy that I’m bearing the Delhi cold quite well. (Laugh all you want, you ice cubes in Missouri, as it’s only 50-70*F here—but keep in mind I sleep in hoodies with a quilt when it’s 80*F in Ongole!)

I am happy to hear a conversation going on across the room and still understand a lot of what is being said without relying on English or gestures and head bobbles. (Body language and head-bobbling is really how I understand anything in Ongole.)  Thank you, Lord, for Hindi--and for Hindi teachers. Like Barkha, who is letting me stay at her family's flat again. :)

I am really happy about the saree shopping I will get to do with my girlfriends next week.  

And I am currently enjoying this long-lost pastime of reading. Ahhhh, the luxury of not having children or ayahs knocking at my door during my “break” time. (Side note: Add Q&A by Vikas Swarup to your reading list. It's what Slumdog Millionaire is based on, but way better, and way more authentically Indian--in my opinion.)

But I think most of all, I am happy that God is using my year in Ongole, my time with a crazy amount of children, and my months of international dating, to make me really appreciate the small things in life. Yes, I may still have too many clothes and still strongly desire excellent wifi connection at all times, and I’m still definitely too materialistic for my own good, but I’m glad I can now truly value things I had previously taken for granted--like huge mugs of chai and a balcony view of grass and trees.

Yup. Mai khush hun. :)

Comfort in the Chaos.

Today's thoughts plaguing my mind: 
First things first: Michelle Duggar is crazy.
Secondly: stay-at-home moms are crazy.
Thirdly: working moms might be crazier.
Fourth: how in the world am I ever going to get a decent family picture with 21 kids?

I realize sometimes I might not be the best at this mom thing because, well, I lived with my parents and attended high school less than 5 years ago, and I still have a lot of growing up to do.

I mean, I know I'm not completely TERRIBLE at it.  And I know now that God was using those 15 years of helping in the church nursery, the10 years of babysitting, the 2 summers at Camp Barnabas, the pediatric clinicals, and almost all of my OT education as preparation for this time of pretending I can semi-adequately parent 21 (soon to be 22?) children with special needs. 

I know now that God was all along paving my way for this. And that's comforting.

It's comforting in times like this week when sleep comes only between 3-9 a.m., in less-than-two-hour intervals. It's comforting when I'm cleaning up one kid's vomit for the 43rd time in five days and when I realize I have impeccable skills at popping out of bed at 4 a.m. (which is odd because waking up at 6:30 to get the kids ready for school is the most disappointing part of my day every day!)

It's comforting to know that even with the frequent feelings of inadequacy as my hours are divided between way too many children, my two year old still cries for me at night, letting me know she loves me and knows I love her. It's comforting to know my 12 year old celebrates and yells "Mummmmyyyyy! Mummy! Mummy!" just at the sight of me on the stairs after a long day. It's comforting to know that God has put people in my life who encourage me, people who pray for me, people to whom I can vent, and: bonus! a particular person who will make me not be a single mama for the rest of my life. Hallelujah for that. 

I'm guessing that 10 years from now, I'm going to look back on this time and see how God was preparing me for...whatever is in store. And that's comforting.  It's comforting to know that every time I silently cry as I roll off my lumpy cot and drag myself to the door to answer a "Marla Mommy, one time open please?" at 10 p.m. when I had just dozed off, it's preparation for something in my future.

I can't express how much peace I have knowing that God is using every single thing I'm learning, every failure, every moment of joy, for something ahead of now.

I also can't express how glad I am that God is continuously allowing me to see that His timing is good. Given, it's often usually not whatever I want it to be--but it's even more perfect.

I am comforted knowing that God knew this week as a mama was gonna be rough--and that He had planned way ahead of me for my break in Delhi starting in the middle of next week. I am comforted knowing that He didn't just intend for this to be a break of catching up on sleep and seeing friends and enjoying my favorite city, but that He knew this will be a beautiful time I will get to spend with my guy--who just "happens" to have a job that pays for him to come to India.  I'm thankful God will give me those moments as hope for getting through the 3 1/2 months after I get back, as well as the hope I will need on the day I stop being "Marla Mummy" in June.

And, finally, an update on the life of my kiddos:

These are the 7 beauties of Grace Blue hanging out on their new-to-them-but-gently-used couch, awaiting Oreos and a Telugu-dubbed Ice Age!

As of yesterday, from the generous donations and pledges to donate, we now have a couch, a TV, and a DVD/music player in each of my 3 apartments. Thank you to everyone who has donated, making that possible.  I would still like to raise the remaining $600 to get a second couch or chair for each room, 2 plastic dining room sets for homework & tutoring, a bigger kiddie pool, and the bike for my kids aged 6-10. If you would be willing to donate, it would really mean a lot to me.  I am quite happy to pay for all of this out of my own pocket, but I don't know that that is the most financially wise thing for me to do at this time.  So, if you can, I don't really like asking for help, but please?  If you'd rather send a check, just let me know and I'll hook you up with my mom's mailing info. 
Tax-deductible donations can be given at http://tinyurl.com/MarlasDaughters