Today Abe, out of the blue, asked why our kitchen in India is so small.
"Because that is how the builders built it." I replied.
He followed it up with, "Why is our American kitchen so big."
"Because. Because the builders here like to build things bigger. Don't we have a lovely kitchen?"
We do. It is lovely. It looks out onto green. It fills up with sunshine early in the morning and captures the early rays giving a permanent sense of hopefulness, sunniness, and glee. It's east facing. Perfect. It means in the afternoon the living room is awash with sun and color and green.
Lovely.
Also in the conversations of today Zana said that her Minnie Mouse was wearing Minnesota. A dress named Minnesota. A noun becoming an adjective, used with articulation, syntaxally completely wrong. Abe and I just looked at her. Clear as a bell spoken. Clearly wrong. We are still figuring out place. Is Minnesota a place or a cousin's house or a mode of transportation or better yet a season? Where does Aunt Mercy live who visits from the airport twice in one week? We pick her up and drop her off in the morning and evening. Does she sleep there?
What about our niece who lived with us for a week? Did she return to the land of snow that melted and "will it ever snow again?" And since we picked her up at an airport and returned her via a car does she have two families?
I forget after three months of hope-filled living in a house full of gracious reminders of God's goodness that I am living with two little cross-culture children full of questions bridging two countries a world apart. Why becomes a question so much bigger, broader, and bittersweet.
"Because that is how the builders built it." I replied.
He followed it up with, "Why is our American kitchen so big."
"Because. Because the builders here like to build things bigger. Don't we have a lovely kitchen?"
We do. It is lovely. It looks out onto green. It fills up with sunshine early in the morning and captures the early rays giving a permanent sense of hopefulness, sunniness, and glee. It's east facing. Perfect. It means in the afternoon the living room is awash with sun and color and green.
Lovely.
Also in the conversations of today Zana said that her Minnie Mouse was wearing Minnesota. A dress named Minnesota. A noun becoming an adjective, used with articulation, syntaxally completely wrong. Abe and I just looked at her. Clear as a bell spoken. Clearly wrong. We are still figuring out place. Is Minnesota a place or a cousin's house or a mode of transportation or better yet a season? Where does Aunt Mercy live who visits from the airport twice in one week? We pick her up and drop her off in the morning and evening. Does she sleep there?
What about our niece who lived with us for a week? Did she return to the land of snow that melted and "will it ever snow again?" And since we picked her up at an airport and returned her via a car does she have two families?
I forget after three months of hope-filled living in a house full of gracious reminders of God's goodness that I am living with two little cross-culture children full of questions bridging two countries a world apart. Why becomes a question so much bigger, broader, and bittersweet.
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