The Mr. & Mrs. visit Washington

We visited Washington.

Saw our boys.





skyped Christa in Bangladesh,

had dinner on Benjamin's balcony

marveled at the sunset

visited old friends (David's new boss)

came home and fed the dog

The Last Mussels

Accompanied by my doctor, I headed down to the float at Christmas Cove on 10/10/10

and dove for the last mussels of the season. (I think)

Bookends

Bookends: the 7-year span beginning with the our firstborn leaving for college in 2003 and ending with our youngest heading off to the job world in 2010.

  Between these bookends are volumes of stories of God's goodness and faithfulness to our family as He carried us through those years.  Ben is now working for a non-profit in Washington DC, Christa is teaching English in Bangladesh, and just last week we sent David our youngest off to DC to start his new job.

Shirk my Work

 One day this week as I was sitting inside looking out the window of my office at blue sky, white clouds and a blustery breeze, and having heard that rainy weather was in the forecast right up to what would be a busy week end, I took Rabindranath Tagore's poem 'অজ ধােনর েক্কতে to heart, threw aside my pens and pent up indoor impediment and you can guess where I went.

Here's Tagore's poem:

Today in fields of rice

the shadows and the sunshine play

hide and seek today.

In skies of blue,

now who is it that floats these 

white cloud-boats this way?

Today the honey bee forgets to eat 

his harvest sweet;

he takes  to flight

a drunken journey to the light.

Today, why ever does the river wander? 

Watching here and there I wonder.

Oh delight! I'll not go home, my friend;

I'll not go home today.

Today, I'll break the skies asunder,

take from the great outdoors my plunder.

The foaming high tide waters pile. 

The breezes blow; today I smile.

I'll shirk my work, my flute I'll play

That is how to spend this day.

Music

  When I first went to Bangladesh in 1980, I wondered if I had made a mistake to have music as a college major. "What good is that?" I surmised. "Surely Bangladesh needs bread, not Beethoven!"
  I soon came to understand how rich this country was in music. From the profound songs of Rabindranath Tagore- Bangladesh's Nobel prize winning poet, to the strange philosophies proclaimed through song by the very earthy religious fakir Lalon, I realized that this country communicates at its deepest level through music. As I learned these songs and studied tabla, I was welcomed into homes and hearts of Bengalis.

 Here is my translation of 'Gram chara oi ranga matir poth; it sort of goes with our blog post picture at the top:

Leaving the homestead to tread down this earth - red road,

O how forgotten is my past!

To whom does my mind incline with arms out thrust,

Floundering from the dust?

How forgotten is my past!

Drawing me out from my home, this street

 begging, begging at my feet

 brings the woe that is mine to meet.

On this I am seized, taken and tossed.

 Taken to what holocaust?

How forgotten is my past!

Upon which bend of this road will wealth descend?

Which place will it danger send?

Traveling to the end, I cannot comprehend

  where my last lot shall be cast.

Leaving the homestead to tread down this earth – red road,

O how forgotten is my past!

John & Jan: Now and Then

We have changed a bit, I suppose

since those first days in Bangladesh 27 years ago.

We have grown in love for one another.

We have grown in love for our Maker, Redeemer and Friend.

We have learned a lot from our mistakes. (lots of material there to work with)

Join us now as we take a journey back to Bangladesh.