Pusch Ridge Revisited

Welcome to a new SOWER (Servants on Wheels Ever Ready) season! It's been almost two years that we've done a volunteer project with this organization, and the last one was on Vancouver Island at Nanoose Bay. (February and March 2017)

Our last US project was the four months we spent in California in the winter-spring of 2016.

Now we're back at a project we experienced in 2014-- Pusch Ridge Christian Academy, just north of Tucson, AZ.

 We're parked at a new campsite, a bit removed from the hustle and bustle of the school, but on the edge of a busy parking lot. 

 Here is a view of our big back yard .

Night visitors to the deserted basketball court where I sit to get best WiFi reception.

The Javelina is a kind of peccary, although it looks a bit like a wild pig. It lives in the desert, and is attracted to the school grounds in search of tasty morsels from stray lunches.

The DeGraaf/Wieringas are serving with us for the month of November.

We ladies have been working in the kitchen, peeling, assembling lunch components, and making croutons. 

 Easy work, and the morning goes fast. The men have been trimming mesquite trees, lining a soccer field, and painting.

Such a blessing to have sunshine every day!

How's this for a far reaching chainsaw!

Aha! moment

Life got in the way, and I haven't yet summarized our India trip. Our seventh grandchild, born just before we left, is approaching three months; looking at her the other day reminded me that I had promised to wrap up my impressions after the trip was over.

During our trip, the pastor asked me one day, as we were sitting around, "Are you having a good time?"
"I don't know."  I replied truthfully.
I had signed up for the trip thinking, This is great, I'll get to teach English!  After all, I've had experience in this!
I prepared for days, thinking up songs and games to play, and gathering props and teaching aids to help me.  All this stuff fit neatly into an old suitcase I had found, and I didn't plan on bringing it home again.
The first day of classes was a bit of a shock, to say the least.  There were four classes that morning, the youngest of which was a class of three-year-olds called Nursery. They sat neatly dressed in their uniforms in desks way too large for them, staring up at our team of six adults as we loomed over them.  There was not much room in each classroom to play any games. I'm quite sure they had never seen white people before, and they all eyed us with trepidation.
We launched into our first song, and then expected them to dialogue with us and each other as we went over the phrases we were trying to teach them.  They could hardly open their mouths to speak, and then spoke so softly we couldn't hear them saying the English words.
After three more classes, whose students were four, five, and six years old, it kind of seemed as though we were swimming against the current.
 In our room afterwards I collapsed on our bed in defeat. I felt like running away. I felt like not doing this any more.
"God, I can't do this!  You have to take over!"  I wished I hadn't been appointed leader of one of the teams.  It was humbling to come to the end of myself.
As our team brainstormed that evening, we realized we had to approach our task in a different way.  We decided to break up into small groups in the classroom and use puppets and some of the small props I'd brought along.  It seemed silly, asking them the repeat the names of colours and numbers, but we did try to incorporate them into games.

I found out it wasn't my expertise in English that was needed.  Our goal was to focus on the children's pronunciation. That was nearly impossible, given that we were only actually in the classroom for three days, and were to do a craft activity on the fourth day.  It was interaction that was wanted, not teaching new words.

I found out that what God did THROUGH me was far more important than what I did FOR Him.  The lesson I learned on this trip was to be FLEXIBLE, in other words, GO WITH the FLOW.
Once I got this straight in my mind, the noise and chaos of the craft day didn't bother me.  It didn't bother me that the glue didn't hold the felt eyes and ears onto the slippery nylon fabric of the sock puppets, or that there were only a handful of glue bottles for sixty children, and we had to wait our turn.
I sat on the floor with my little group of six children, and practised their names while we waited. I felt in an oasis of peace.

The children were patient, and their absolute delight in the sock puppets that they had created was reward in itself.















Apparently, what we accomplished in the school was well received.  The children were happy with the special attention and a change in their routine.  Some parents were already registering younger siblings, thinking it would be worthwhile if a team from North America came to "teach", however briefly.
I can say that I'm glad we went on the trip.  And yes, I did have a good time.

Haircut

The other day I was trimming Terry's hair. He has two cowlicks at the nape of his neck which swirl untidily on his neck when his hair gets too long. I usually call them 'whorls'. His hair would curl up if it got long enough, like in this picture of him when he was 24.

My aunt was a professional photographer

I have been cutting Terry's hair all our married life. I started doing this for two reasons: 1. My mum always cut my dad's hair, sparse as it was, with an old-fashioned pair of hand clippers, and I was just following suit. 2. When we graduated from university I had cut out a newspaper article about a young couple and the ways they saved money. It was minimalism at its finest, and suited my mindset as well.  So we bought our first home barber kit, and the rest is history.
I don't think we had started home barbering during our first three years of teaching, though, as you can see in the picture below.

Fort Nelson days

Back to the present. It had been five weeks since Terry's hair was cut.
Here is the story...
We were in India, at our host's large house.  The barber was supposed to come to the house at 5:30 am.  Terry and I took up our positions on the comfortable couches right after the early morning prayer meeting, mentioned in a previous post.  I was taking a break from hair-cutting for a change.  I'm not an expert, just learned skills as I went along.  I was hoping the barber would fix a section of Terry's hair I never seemed to get just right. A couple of the other guys joined us to wait, including the pastor, who had already had his hair cut a week previously, but took this opportunity to get another quick trim.
Minutes pass, and the barber doesn't show up. Everyone is busy on his phone, as we're sitting in the best Wifi reception area.  Finally, an hour later a mild mannered man knocks on the door.  "My son didn't give me the message,"  he said.
That's OK, we are first in line. Terry sits down with a drape around his shoulders, and the barber starts his craft. Terry can't hear us commenting on his haircut, as he has removed his hearing-aids. The barber is just using his scissors, and seems to be doing a good job.
Suddenly I lean into Terry's ear and excitedly report, "It's Livi's birthday today!"  Only I forget it isn't her birthday in Canada yet, as in India we are a full twelve hours ahead.
Terry grunts in reply. Now the barber takes out a very sharp razor.  He proudly explains that he uses a new blade for every customer.  Soon, Terry's haircut is complete, a wonderful job.  Now I have a guideline to go by when I next cut his hair.  Total cost?  100 rupees, about two dollars.

 It was worth it to the barber; he had several haircuts to do in one early morning by coming to the house, he earned more than he usually does in one day.

Using the straight razor

Grandchildren 2017

Here are some shots of the Burnett grandchildren from the year 2017.

Caleb and Emma enjoying Discovery Canyon in Red Deer.

The men of the family at Chris' birthday.
L to R: Christopher, Stephen, Zachary, Terry, Nick

Nick and Suzanne's family with baby Nellwyn

 Zachary is the oldest Red Deer cousin.

Elliston is four years old.

Matteo drinks his hot chocolate.

Another year, another birthday.

Little hiker Alivienne










Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.
Psalm 127:3

Prayer Meeting

At the pastor's house,where our team stayed, the senior male students of the Bible college had a prayer meeting at 4:30 am!  We guests were invited to take part, and on that first Monday morning, the whole team bravely showed up! A little later, a procession of Hindu devotees walked down the street ringing a bell, chanting, and beating drums or tambourines; I couldn't tell which from my vantage point at the upstairs bedroom window. 

The dozen or so college students sat cross-legged on the cool marble living room floor on a large, beach-type mat, forming two or three neat lines. They had their own tambourines, and played them with great skill and energy as we took our places on chairs around the perimeter of the room . The songs they sang, however, were not like any songs I'd ever heard.  In other parts of the world where Terry and I have been, many times Christian songs were translated into the language of the country, and we could recognize the tune.  These songs seemed to me quite tuneless, and were sung in Hindi.  Sometimes our host pastor would tell us the rough translation of each song. Most of the time, since I didn't understand the words, I made up my own words and sang along.

That first day, we foreigners each took a turn praying aloud for the concerns mentioned, as well as anything else that was on our hearts.  Then the students stood up, and the two pastors prayed over each one individually.  Exactly an hour later, the meeting was over, and the students quickly rolled up their mat, picked up the tambourines and songbooks, and filed out. No jostling or chatting, however.  They left seriously to begin their day of classes, after breakfast, I presume!  Despite the language barrier, I felt refreshed in the spirit, although my body was still tired.
After we returned home to Canada, we would go to bed very early that first week, and wake up around 4:30.  I keep wondering if that was really jet-lag, or had we gotten into some new kind of routine -- prayer at 4:30 am.  Eventually our bodies adjusted to the twelve hour difference in time, and our routines were back to our normal.  I think I have a new appreciation, though, for the discipline of early morning prayer. 

No pictures this time; it was a private sort of time.

Saris and School Uniforms

    At the large church on Sunday, we were led to the very first row, as guests of honour. The other ladies on our team were dressed in colourful saris, or tunic tops called kurtis, worn over narrow pants or leggings. I hope I got that right. There I was in my "nice" blouse and my ordinary black capri pants. I felt a bit awkward with the scarf, which just lay draped over my shoulders at that point. The scarf was to be on our heads during prayer.

How will I know when they are actually praying?, I thought to myself. So I put the scarf on my head and flung the end over my shoulder.  That was a good move, as our team was soon called up to the high platform, which was about ten steps up at the front of the church, to be introduced to the congregation.






The Bible college female students all wore similar outfits to each other, very colourful.

 Here are the girls from the orphanage after another service.

The boys from the orphanage wore western clothes.











For ordinary days, the girls looked even more colourful.

We had come to play games with them in the gathering dusk, on the edge of the lawn where the boys played. I hoped they would be safe on the gravel, rocks , and uneven ground.  The guys on our team played a rousing game of soccer, one with the younger boys, then one with the older ones.
We taught the girls how to play 'What time is it Mr. Wolf?' They knew some very rudimentary English, so for the time, would call out a number without putting the "o'clock" in place. The game was very thrilling all the same, as they ran squealing from the Wolf when 'she' called out, "It's lunch time!"

For a special treat from the North American visitors the orphans were given a banana, a samosa, ice cream, and a drink of fruit pop (soda). This was an amazing treat for them, that they get about four times a year.

Terry helps pour the drinks

The girls from the orphanage line up for their drink.













Here are some of the students in the private school in their uniforms, which were a more traditional colour.  Each wears a name tag with which they check in and out of the school electronically. I'm not sure why this little boy has a tuque on, as the temperature was 32 degrees. Could it have something to do with his hair and his religion?

I wondered if this little girl was his sister, as they both had black kohl around their eyes.  I was told it was to ward off evil.
The classrooms were cool enough with fans circulating, so maybe the children didn't mind wearing their sweaters.

Here the younger children are wearing their physical education uniform on Wednesday, giving their dark uniforms a chance to be washed.  The white would be good for reflecting the sun while they were outside.
We didn't see the younger children doing games outside while we were there.

The older children, of grade five or six age, are playing a game Terry had never played before, called Double D. It involved crossing the line delineated by their white runners, and tagging people on the opposite team. I wondered what the parents thought of their children wearing their white socks on the lawn, but it probably wasn't the parents doing the laundry!



The teachers' uniforms were the same pretty sari with a blue blazer worn over top.  Even for Phys Ed.
Thanks Patty, for capturing this teacher in action!

Train ride--Chai...garam chai!

Our group was to take an overnight train ride to a city south of Agra.  First of all, we were told not to take any pictures at the train station, for security reasons.  I don't know if this admonition applied to inside the train car, but by the time we got inside and got settled, our only focus was to hopefully get some sleep, as it was an overnight ride and we were all still tired from plane travel and crossing so many time zones.

We were told our car would be designated First Class.  Indeed, it looked different than the other train cars that went by, where people sat crowded together and even lay on what looked like overhead luggage shelves.  On one side of the train car four bunks faced each other, separated from the narrow central aisle by a heavy maroon curtain. Terry and I had the bunks on the other side of the aisle, one on top of the other, and lying parallel to the aisle.  A couple of clean, pressed sheets, a thin pillow, a gray wool blanket, and a small towel waited for our use on the hard vinyl cover of each narrow bunk.  There wasn't a lot of room, but I stacked my small pack and sweater by my feet, and arranged myself between sheets and the blanket.  I was happy that my lower bunk had the window. Although it was already dark, I could see other railway stations flash by if I parted the window curtain.

I just love trains!  I liked the constant rocking motion of the train, and the clackety-clack of the wheels.  I don't even know if I slept, though.  If I did, it was a sort of half doze for the first four hours or so.  Terry had told me, "Wake me up if you have to go to the bathroom.  Don't go by yourself." When the time came, as I knew it would, I didn't have the heart to wake him.  He was sleeping so soundly. So I carefully put on my shoes, opened the door, and went to the next car, where the toilet was right there.  I was glad there was a bright overhead light, because I had to carefully position myself over the squatty potty.  I wasn't sure the liquid on the floor was water or something else.  I had to repeat this procedure once more during the night.  I couldn't have lasted, as did another female fellow-traveller, who waited until we were finally at the home of our host.

Near morning I began hearing a man walking up and down the aisles.
" Chai!....garam chai! " he would call out, peddling his hot tea.
 Since our trip was supposed to be eleven hours, I thought we had more time, so I snuggled down under my blanket for a few extra minutes. Suddenly I heard our pastor's wife on the other side of the curtain.  "We're getting off in 20 minutes  Didn't you hear the wake up call?"
Scrambling around, I quickly got ready to face a new day.