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When I get mad, I generally like to spew forth the sundry incidents that put me in such a state. Today, for example, lustful, reproachful, confused stares from young men and old women, alike, threaten to undo me. And if the stares don't send me into hysterics, it might very well be two groups of "fresh off the plane" Americans, marveling that we drink the water and eat the vegetables here. I want to scream, "I live here. This is my normal life, just like you live yours in America." But then I hear, "And, oh, aren't those cows darling and wouldn't it be nice to have them in Manhattan?" and I realize screaming would be both uncivilized and misinterpreted, to be sure. Amazingly, we actually do not live in two different worlds; the stare-ers, fops, and I all live in exactly the same world. They have their angry moments and triggers, just as I have mine. The real point, however, comes from John Eldredge's recent book, Walking with God, in

While talking with Mom the other night I was reminded to post stories like these. I'll tell the tale in reverse. Saturday night, CJ & I ended up at home, watching a movie. Seems rather unlike the two of us but my one request for the evening was that we not do anything that might get us into trouble. That ruled out rappelling into some ruins we discovered. Now you need to understand the reason behind my request. Two weekends ago, we traveled to Mussoorie, a former British hill station that serves as a nice retreat from Delhi (especially when it's 100+ degrees!). We wanted to trek, too, so we set out on a paved path then quickly descended down a mountainside through nettles on steroids, across a garbage-strewn stream, up a hill/cliff side of shrubbery, to a nice sunset outcropping. After a time of reflection and cloud-watching, we proceeded up the hill, down another paved path, past a local man intent upon us NOT climbing an unmarked path, down the paved path, and up s