july 2008 newsletter...
Grey mist feels like it's an eternal presence right now, externally and internally. As I write, I'm watching the mist rolling up through the oak trees outside my bedroom screen door. 
I'm smack in the middle of our two-week staff orientation, and trying to get used to a host of new educational methods. At the same time, I'm slowly readjusting to life in India. The companionship and help of two friends, Christina and Julia, have been invaluable as I make the transition. They selflessly swept and cleaned and hung and, yes, shopped. Trust me, even the shopping was a selfless act, given that it involved buying items like colanders and dish drainers. Their presence here has been such a concrete and beautiful expression of the body of Christ working together to expand His kingdom.
Everything here feels familiar and strange - at the same time. I thought that, for this month's letter, I'd try to give you some idea of what life is like here...
Within three hours of entering my new home, four different women had knocked on my door asking to work as my ayah, or maid. They explained that they had families and really needed the work. They showed me references from other families they had helped. 
Two women brought their husbands along. The husbands assured me that they'd be happy to do the gardening for me, and lift my gas tank when it needs to be changed (I have a two-burner gas stove, attached with a line of piping to a large and heavy red gas tank). All the women anxiously listed the jobs they'd be eager to do: cooking, washing clothes, sweeping, ironing, dusting. I knew it would be offensive to the local community for me to refuse household help, but I felt helpless in deciding who to hire and how to pay. Yesterday afternoon, I finally made an agreement with a couple who live just below my house. Sanjay ("Sunny") and his wife Sunita are Christians and have three children, two of whom appear to be mentally disabled. Please pray that I'll form a healthy, mutually helpful relationship with this family. Pray also that I'll be able to use my resources to serve them effectively, without bringing offense to the rest of the community here.
I value my privacy, and am having to surrender a good deal of it. Let me give you a few illustrations.
Following the school system, I sort my trash to either be made into compost or recycled. This means that - every morning - a teenage boy comes to fetch my trash. He carries it away to further sort it (and pick through it?). While unquestionably environmentally friendly, this makes me miss the simple anonymity of the dumpster behind my Atlanta apartment building. Then there's the school chowkidar, or watchman. He walks around the house every hour or so, blowing a whistle and banging a stick, just to make sure everything's okay. I jump every time I hear his greeting as he passes my kitchen window or front door. Of course, there's also the school sweeper who comes by every morning at 7:30 to sweep the outside of the house and ensure that the path to the house is clear. We also have the baker, who delivers fresh bread door to door. He comes any time between 7am and 7pm.
A lovely Swedish family lives in the other half of my house, with two adorable little children. One of their favorite pastimes is to come up to my door and press their faces into the screen. It's cute, really it is. Most of the time. I've decided that there are two ways I can handle this: I can either pull all my curtains and hole up, refuse to answer the door and maintain my privacy, or I can embrace the multiple opportunities for relationship that literally land on my doorstep every day. Please pray that I'll have the grace to take the second road and learn to truly love all these new neighbours.
One element of returning to Woodstock School has caught me a little off guard. As I get to know some of my colleagues, I see a lost-ness and loneliness in many. The location of the school and its international flavor seem to have drawn a number of seekers and committed existentialists. One of the other new teachers told me the name of his second son is "Nil," or "nothingness." It made me want to weep. I've been drawn already into several longer, philosophical conversations (which I love). I hadn't thought that the need among the faculty might be as great as the need among students. Please pray, once again, that I will love my new neighbours and that my life will fill theirs with the sweet aroma of the love of Christ.
Finally, there's all the preparation for classes, which start August 6th. I'll have five classes total, with four different preps, in two different classrooms. It's more than a little overwhelming. For you fellow teachers, I'm also trying to adjust to a new grading scale that starts As at an 80 and includes an "E" letter grade, for "not quite failing." Failures begin somewhere down around 35 or 40 percent, I forget which. But I'm excited. I have a lot of new material to teach, and am thrilled to finally meet this diverse group of students and work at winning them over.
One of the first big events for me is a trip to Bangkok in early September, to act as advisor for a group of students attending Harvard's Model Congress Conference there. I have no shortage of activities and organizations I can enter, but I need to be wise about my time. Please pray that I'll have creativity in my planning for classes, along with an extra shot of organizational skill, to hold it all together. Pray also that I'll successfully establish a warm but challenging classroom environment, once students arrive, and that I'll seek first to love my students well.
I miss you all - the preaching and music at church, the dinners with friends, the long talks and laughs with colleagues. At the same time, I'm relishing so many old and new joys. The monsoon has cloaked all the old oak trees with ferns, and delicate peacock orchids have begun dotting the mountainside. In the moments when the clouds lift, I can see for what feels like hundreds of miles across the plains and back into the Himalayas. Being surrounded by so much beauty does my soul good. I feel restored, and sure that - for this time, anyway - I'm right in the middle of God's will. It doesn't get much better.
Your fellow pilgrim,
Amy