#matul

[cielos-de-mermelada]

Paul, after being betrayed by Matías: next time i'm opening up to someone is my autopsy

[blcentro]

The legend❤ #MaTul #mannerofdeath ▪ ▪ https://www.instagram.com/p/CDg2I_lgCaM/?igshid=9ox1gukztxsu

[ishtashute]

Daniel Matul.

[emilyechevarria]

It’s summer in India.  And it’s hot.  Wherever I am, you can bet there will be discarded lychee shells or mango peels nearby.  These fruits are the graces of the season, the sugars of sunshine, a sweet counterpart to its other by-product, the sun’s other personality - the stinging, permeating rays that suck energy and sweat from Delhi’s denizens.

And since the heat has burst, several questions have been asked around me.  Sure, we can love the poor, but can we trust them?  What if people take advantage of my willingness to give?  Of my time, my resources, myself?  These were the questions of a confused pastor who, after blessing a woman with a sewing machine, found that she had taken it and run.  How can we keep this from happening?

I met Chandi and Simla, two young women with young daughters, all of them begging.  We met in Connaught Place, a central shopping area of Delhi, and they said they would like chapati.  So we walked and talked, as they lead me to who I thought would be a chapati wallah, selling freshly made flat bread on the street.  They told me about coming from Rajasthan, about her current 4-months-along pregnancy, and about the various foods they most enjoy.  And they told me all these things with a joy uncommonly seen among those who beg.  Eyes alight, curiosity piqued, as their daughters playful bare feet ambled along the hot stone path.  

We walked and walked, 3/4ths of the way around the expansive circular layout of Connaught Place.  “This must be a great chapati wallah if they’re willing to walk so far!” I thought.  And finally, we found it.  The flour and oil shop.  They didn’t want chapati - they wanted flour to make chapati for their families.  And I’ll admit it, I had my suspicions.  

They must have a deal with this shopkeeper, I thought.  I’ll buy them atta, and they’ll sell it back.  It’s a common enough arrangement.  They’re going to try to play me.

The American in me had gotten suspicious.  Tired of being seen as a dollar sign, I considered pulling away.  

But what if they really need this?  Who am I to decide what they deserve or not.  Remember what Dr. Grigg said, “People will take advantage of your love and generosity.  But God calls us to love and give anyways.”  

So they got their atta.  The shopkeeper asked for five rupees change, small change that I didn’t have.  But Chandi exclaimed, “I have it!” and pulled the small shining coins from her change purse.  

Did you get that?  She gave the change.  And she didn’t have to; the shopkeeper would have found the change.  But out of her poverty, she gave what she had.  And partnered in it with me.  Together, we purchased the atta which, for the record, she did not sell back.  

Even if she had, what would it have changed?  Can we control the actions of others?  We are free to love and give in the wisdom and generosity of our Guide, the one who loves all equally, and gives without measure.  Our actions do not change the character, the kindness, the endless ocean of mercy and grace that is our God.  And so we, as followers, and free and strengthened to live tapped into that Source.  

Blessings upon your eyes and hearts and days, you beautiful ones.

Photos: 1) Mango life. 2) Lychee life.  3) The shining beauties who so captured me with their joy and purity of heart in Connaught Place that day.  4) India MATULers, Dr. Grigg, and wonderful participants in this month’s community economics consultation!  5) Let it be known: Singapore’s Changi Airport is the actual best.  We wandered around for an hour doing fun free activities, such as this selfie booth with illustrated bamboo!  6) Sometimes, you have to leave the country to stay in the country.  And places like the Philippines exist.  7)  This guy. 

[emilyechevarria]

Full, exciting, trying, and joyous.  This is life these days.

I moved into an apartment with two other MATULers in East Delhi.  Our walls are pepto-pink and electric green, and are home to little gecko buddies, affectionately called Rohit, Leonard, and Dave.  Pigeons keep trying to nest in our washroom.  Daily, one of us has to sweep out their twigs.  The landlords are the kindest Buddhist family you ever did meet, who inform us about the community and include us in celebratory festivities.  The mother even occasionally brings us up portions of her daily cooking ventures to share.  And oh boy, do we gladly partake. 

The first semester abroad is finished as of today, and I’m looking forward to a week of rest before a new semester begins.

  Culture shock has arrived, and I am currently riding out the throes of this process.

Traits in myself that I can easily smooth over in the context of a culture I am intimately familiar with simply boil over the pot.  I can’t hide my mess.

I myself am not a good person.  Life in India has made that very clear.

I get angry and behave childishly.  I am selfish and desirous of all things.  In America, I consider myself a pretty low-maintenance individual.  Whoops, my mistake.  In a wider global context, I require a good deal more maintenance than I had previously thought.  I require decent living arrangements (that feel cozy and pretty), clean water (and lots of coffee, preferably “good” coffee), food (of vast variety so I don’t get sick and tired of the same tastes), clothes (that look good, are comfortable, and enough variety so I don’t feel self conscious about my lack), technology and entertainment, reliable (and ideally pleasant) transportation, air conditioning (God, yes.), so on and so forth.  American low-maintenance here is some sort of high maintenance. 

I say all this not to be self-deprecating.  Typically I find self-deprecation insincere and indicative of a distorted sense of self.  No, I say this to be honest and open.  Realizing your own cultural limitations and the vastness of your own brokenness (again and again) can shake you up a bit.  It is a healthy dose of perspective, and for that, I am thankful. 

    At the beginning of March, a group of seven of us foreigners gathered into a room, wrapped ourselves in blankets, and braced ourselves as we watched "Twelve Years a Slave".  ...Phewww.  Those of you who have seen it know what I'm talking about.  I thought my heart would free itself from my ribcage, burst out of my body, and bleed on the floor.  That seemed like the only response to the pain I felt. 

 Wiping tears from my eyes, I looked around the room, and confessed,  "...And that's the history of my part of America, folks."  A second or two of silence passed before my friend Shannon spoke up. "In my part of the country, we forced Chinese workers to build railroads and buried them in collapsed tunnels."  Another three seconds passed, and then Matthias spoke up.  All he said: "I'm German." 

We have messy histories.

Heavy histories, painful histories of privilege and oppression.  

Dirty histories that we spring out of.

But as I considered all of this, I looked around at us, at where we are, and at the fiery drive the Lord has put on our hearts for compassion, for mercy, and for justice.  Somehow, out of messy collective histories, He is raising up people who desire to see His Kingdom come in every corner of the earth.  Truly, He trades ashes for the oil of gladness.  Truly, He is making all things new.  

  We are here for such a time as this.  A time to learn, a time to act, a time to love.  The general premise of "Twelve Years a Slave" is very much a reality in India today.  Young women are daily deceived into believing there's a promising job awaiting them in the big city, only to find themselves at the mercy (or lack thereof) of a trafficker.  No documents, no social connections, no semblance of hope for escape.  They are sold into brothels, told they must service ridiculous numbers of customers a day to pay back their debt for travel expenses incurred, yet they never see any of the money.  

We are here for such a time as this.

  Thank you for your prayers before the Lord.  They are heard, and they are precious.

Grace, peace, love, and joy to you all!

Photos: 1) Sunset over the city and the clothesline. 2) I went to the Taj!  3) Buddies on the Agra adventure.  Caitlin, me, and Trisha. 4)  Agra's got camels.  5) Heidi and Val looking out over the neighborhood from our balcony.

[lezzetduragim]

Kırmızı Mercimek Köftesi

Kuru soğanı yemeklik soğan gibi doğrayıp margarinle öldürelim. İçine salça ve baharatları ilave edip ateşten indirelim. Mercimeği yıkadıktan sonra ayrı bir kapta 4 su bardağı su ile haşlayalım. Mercimekler sararıp suyunu çekince bulguru ilave edip iyice…

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[candicehazelnut]

And so it begins again. Advocacy & urban environment, entrepreneurial & org leadership, research/thesis project part 1, community health, transformation, and economics still at the seminary, and an internship working for land rights in a community and possibly another working against corruption in the government at the grass roots level.  It's quite the Masters program. It's quite the life. <3.

[emechevs]

my roommate just asked, "do you think bitterness was a flavor before The Fall?"