One time, when He was eating a meal of gristly meat and curried potatoes with them, He put down His spoon and wiped His mouth with the back of His hand, gulped the last, now cool, swallow of sweet milk tea, and gave them this command: wait for the gift my Father promised.
*********************************************************
He gulps the last, now cool, swallow of sweet milk tea... The 'expect nothing cause that's probably what you're going to get' attitude pays in China. You're still disappointed, but the element of surprise has been eliminated and so you're not going to be ticked off.
Getting nothing won't ruin your day. Instead, getting anything at all... makes it.
Getting nothing won't ruin your day. Instead, getting anything at all... makes it.
*********************************************************
The cement floors are slick where students have sloshed buckets of water over them in vain attempt to alleviate the encroaching dust. The windows are warped and face a broken migrant workers camp and the towering brown mountains. The shy bumbling Chinese man, who only days before asked for advice on making pizza: You need an oven. Okay I buy one. What else? Flour? Oil?, now stammers different news: Our school has cafeteria for teachers did you know? I knew, I also knew that the foreign teachers were not invited. Really? Where? Near your home, I will tell the leaders, you must come to eat... breakfast is best. As my shock settles like the lazy flies on the window ledge, all I can do is gush with gratitude. An act later repeated when an appearance in the bustling teacher's marketplace-esque lounge fills my hands with cups of tea and free notebooks.
He wipes His mouth with the back of His hand...
The bench near the gate feels like bars of ice through my pants as I sit with the school security guard more like grandfather and read him my children's Tibetan book in a faltering voice. His typical radius of ten feet from me demolished with the turn of a page. Off to the side the two new students in the class that I have taught for a year and a half wait shyly. A smile of acknowledgment brings the girls close and pushes the grandfather off the bench and they murmur their impressions of Lhasa, their desire to learn English, and their pleasure at a future lunch of meat momo's with their foreign teacher...
My own lunch a walk up the hill towards the shockingly rustic nunnery teahouse with two other friends. The walls appear to buckle under the weight of grime as I rush to hug a nun whom I've become familiar with despite zero language overlap. Tea is quickly poured, boxes of stale deep fried bread, dried fruit reminiscent of dirty rocks , and rotten cheese appear and are insistently offered, and before my friends and I can order lunch three bowls of gristly meat and curried potatoes over rice appear... a gift from my nun friend who maybe doesn't realize that the greater gift to me is the way she sits too close and holds my hand and allows me to look into her weary, burdened eyes to see the beautiful sweet smiling woman she once was.
He wipes His mouth with the back of His hand...
The bench near the gate feels like bars of ice through my pants as I sit with the school security guard more like grandfather and read him my children's Tibetan book in a faltering voice. His typical radius of ten feet from me demolished with the turn of a page. Off to the side the two new students in the class that I have taught for a year and a half wait shyly. A smile of acknowledgment brings the girls close and pushes the grandfather off the bench and they murmur their impressions of Lhasa, their desire to learn English, and their pleasure at a future lunch of meat momo's with their foreign teacher...
My own lunch a walk up the hill towards the shockingly rustic nunnery teahouse with two other friends. The walls appear to buckle under the weight of grime as I rush to hug a nun whom I've become familiar with despite zero language overlap. Tea is quickly poured, boxes of stale deep fried bread, dried fruit reminiscent of dirty rocks , and rotten cheese appear and are insistently offered, and before my friends and I can order lunch three bowls of gristly meat and curried potatoes over rice appear... a gift from my nun friend who maybe doesn't realize that the greater gift to me is the way she sits too close and holds my hand and allows me to look into her weary, burdened eyes to see the beautiful sweet smiling woman she once was.
Stomach full and a day mostly spent before the return to the school gate. Hands gingerly grasp a thin plastic bag full of the previously offered goodies and nearly forget their task in the surprise appearance of the corner's junk seller, a girl who's smile consistently puts the glaring Lhasa sun to shame. Her seventeen year old never been to school arms give the most familiar hug and we begin to discuss plans to meet and she promises her sister will make tea for us the following day. The breeze blows grit off the street and somehow I am the only one nervous about my lack of language skill.
He gave them this command: wait for the gift my Father promised.
Back at my home I stand on the blue grungy carpet surrounded by the white flaking walls overwhelmed at the gifts from the day and hear in my ear the whisper of His voice saying: you think this is amazing? just wait for the one my Father promised...
