Chopped, Sprinkled and Ready to Serve: Spiritual Memoirs

Copyright © 2013 by Anita Lazarus.

Cover idea by Akshay

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7726-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7727-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7728-9 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922526

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Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture references come from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

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WestBow Press rev. date: 6/04/2013

Contents

Foreward

Prologue…

Virtual or Real

Incompatible Software

Straddling Two Worlds

Into the Fray

Indonesian Interlude

Did You Call?

Altered at the Core

Out of the Chrysalis

The Dying of Anita

Overflow

Towards Shalom

From Grief to Grace

Rules of Engagement

Breakthrough to Abundance

Into Significance

Ripple Effect

At Rest

Getting Started

Served

I’m going fishing!

A Peach Tree Blooms

Stable in a Seismic World

Notes

Glossary of Indian / Indonesian words:

Endorsements

Anita Lazarus has had a unique faith journey which she shares with warmth and honesty. The diversity of life experiences she has shared with husband Don contributes to the rich tapestry of her spiritual growth from which Anita is able to inspire others, from all walks of life, to press on in their own journey with Jesus.

Grounded in Scripture and seen through the lens of personal experience, there are rich and helpful insights, spiritual principles and memorable analogies to encourage fellow travellers.

Hebron School has been an important part of Anita’s journey. As parent, teacher, council member and counsellor, she has both contributed to, and received from, this community.

Dr John Barclay, Principal, Hebron School,

Ootacamund, India.

Life of the mind and life of the body. Pain and joy. The days of a professional woman and days and nights of a wife and mother. An individual’s quest but also the richness of community. Clear convictions, but also awe at the mystery that billows so far beyond any of our words.

It is all here in Anita’s story. Read, enjoy, and learn.

Miriam Adeney, Ph.D. (Anthropology)

Assoc. Prof. of World Christian Studies, S.P.U;

Teaching Fellow, Regent College

Author: Kingdom Without Borders:

The Untold Story of Global Christianity.

Endorsements

This is an amazing story of Anita’s life journey through thick and thin, varied seasons and places, but always interwoven with inspiring themes of God and family, true of the Anita I have known.

The reader will be blessed to understand how God works in human lives.

Sam George, Executive Director of Parivar International

Co-author: Before the Wedding Bells.

Being real is contagious! It is difficult to keep this book away simply because it is real and authentic.

Anita’s simple, dialogical way of narrating her journey of faith is gripping and filled with truth, love and grace. It’s a story of struggle and challenge in different encounters of life. For someone who knows where she is going, the chopping process gives glimpses of what truly matters in life.

What amazes me about Don and Anita’s journey is their conscious decision to move from being known to become unknown. Their journey of faith and determination to serve in a simple, godly manner has greatly influenced my life, and the life of other families through Urban India Ministries.

Ciby and I often think that there will be more unknown men and women in heaven than known ones. To serve in an unknown manner in a world that craves the opposite is truly challenging.

Dr. P.C. Mathew and Mrs. Ciby Mathew

National Directors: Urban India Ministries, Bangalore.

Endorsements

This book is a frank and revealing personal story of the development of spiritual life in Christ. The story is told with warmth, integrity, a quiet humor and a pervasive underlying sense of awe. It illustrates how God is able to apply the principles found in the Bible, in the life of the believer.

Regardless of faith level, this book is sure to open up the reader’s understanding of what God intends him or her to be, and how He makes this possible in the receptive soul.

Major Theodore A. Mahr. Both he and his wife Rosalyn

are Salvation Army clergy, who served in its

Health Services in India.

Don and Anita Lazarus were incredibly important to Rosalyn and I as we served at Hebron School in south India, as the Principal and Principal’s wife. They understood our faith perspective as well as the pressures and trials that running a busy, successful and spiritually focused school entailed.

Their home provided an oasis of calm when we and others needed space to pray, chat and enjoy the company of other Christians. They also gave to us an insight into what it meant to be a Christian in an Indian context.

On several occasions they shared formally with the Hebron staff in devotions and with the pupils in assemblies. On all occasions we were challenged and encouraged!

Alastair Reid, H.M. - Ballard School,

New Milton, Hampshire UK.

Foreward

Chopped, Sprinkled and Ready to Serve is a beautiful and moving life essay of my very own sister-in-law Anita.

Anita may have doubted, or wavered, like ‘doubting’ Thomas, but a blessed encounter with God’s loving care transformed her into a faithful follower of Christ, one who no longer doubts but is courageous, loyal and persistent. The whole arc of her life reveals how such an encounter can turn an ordinary person into an extraordinary one.

In these pages, she reveals her journey from the time Jesus accepted her as she was, to lead her through a life of submission and service, to deeper fulfillment

The book will give you confidence that Jesus will graciously meet you where you are, then take you towards Truth and faith with patience, as he did Anita. It will inspire you to grow in love and faithfulness, in courage, spiritual understanding and wisdom.

Vijay Lazarus

President : India Music Industry (IMI)

former Chairman and Managing Director Universal Music Group India.

I acknowledge… a mind that cannot expand to capture your God-essence fully; an imagination too scanty for the sublime and words too poor to hold in them your being. In the gaps lies your mystery. Yet in these recordings, I dare to trace epiphanies of an amazing God who in Jesus, came to ‘the place where the learner is.’ a

I would like to thank:

Don (Koko), whose grace supported my story line without overwhelming it with his own.

Mark for his care, attention and consistent encouragement.

Akshay’s timing of financial and artistic assistance.

Stef for the little desk she provided, to start me off.

Miriam, Chai Hok and Anita, for suggestions that gave me hope.

Dad, who first affirmed the gift of expression in me.

Maureen, Geraldine and Laypeng, whose insights delighted me through the first reading,

Folk from Melaka EFC, who believed in what I said I was doing, enough to support me in many thoughtful ways.

Sam, whose unerring skill shaped the final manuscript.

Many others, whose colors have enriched the warp and weft of my life.

Prologue…

They say coriander is easy to grow but I did not find it so. I potted the seed, watered and watched the soil in vain. A fresh batch of seed met with the same result. A good soak prior to planting did not work either.

Eventually, I found the advice I needed. ‘Bruise the seed first and then plant it in a sunny spot,’ proved perfect.

I bruised the seed with the heel of my shoe then buried it. This time thin spikes of jade broke through the soil. These unfurled lacy fans to proclaim the sun’s life-giving love and fill the kitchen with fragrance of herb. Chopped and sprinkled, their zest enhanced each savory dish I served.

In my spirit too, the breakthrough slipped in unannounced, quietly releasing germ of unbridled life.

Now my eyes see, my ears hear and my mind confirms a God-rich world, as Master Gardner makes the commonplace incredible!

Virtual or Real

The virtual is but a copy of the real…

Incompatible Software

Life and death defined my existence, though I had not noticed it.

*****

That year, the shift towards season change started as early as August. The festival of Diwali marked the definitive turning point. While festivities, fireworks, clay lamps and card sessions wooed Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, nature silently glutted the farmer’s market with cauliflower, turnips and apples.

In the great Ganges plain of north India, dry wrenching heat gave way as morning mist un-wrapped rock-splitting cold. By November’s end, faces grimaced to catch stray straggles of warmth from the sun’s rays; while the heat was trapped elsewhere in the swell of orange, the crunch of carrot and the thud of pumpkin heart. The emerald of spinach, coriander and mustard surprised eyes wearied by months of dusty dryness.

It was in such a season that I arrived in this world, in the army residential quarters of the Red Fort in Agra, city of the Taj Mahal.

*****

The water bag burst and the water seeped out before I knew it. There was no time. An old doctor aunt who lived nearby delivered you at home, my mother explained.

Tell me about it, I pressed, curious for detail.

It was Big Diwali Day, she continued. The whole country celebrated India’s second Diwali since independence. Every house lit clay lamps to commemorate the triumph of good over evil. To me, the sparklers were welcoming you. Her eyes twinkled. She was a short lady who, when drawn up to her full height just reached the hollow below my chin.

Name her Lakshmi and great wealth will follow, the neighbors suggested over my crib.

Instead, my parents named me ‘Anita,’ which means ‘unique’ or ‘gracious’ one. We preferred grace over wealth, my mother later explained.

*****

How can we live here? I asked, horrified at the bachelor apartment allotted to the families of the newly formed fighter squadron. My husband Don and our three year old son Ajay Mark and I were relocating from a fighter base in the Punjab, to a squadron at the air force station just outside Bareilly town in northern India. I was twenty-nine, when I returned as an air force wife, to Uttar Pradesh, the state in which I was born.

The squadron was made up of both MiG-21fighters and Canberra bombers. The experiment combined air defense and ground attack roles to enhance the function of electronic counter measures. Don was junior flight commander of the MiG-21 fleet.

I thought this was a special squadron where we would have some privileges. This is worse than usual! There’s no kitchen or place to wash up except for the bathroom! It was a loud protest.

Be positive. Let’s do the best we can, Don said. A single brick wall here could enclose the back veranda to make up quite a good sized kitchen. Incidentally, all the families moving into the squadron have similar accommodation. Let’s see what we can do.

He was right. With a little imagination we made it work.

But where do I do the washing up? I persisted.

I’ll get you a wooden board. Place it on bricks to one side of the bathroom. This will form a shelf, and on top of that we can put a basin for pots and pans.

All four newly posted families adapted to the two-storied rabbit warren nick-named ‘double-decker’, after the two-tiered buses of far away Mumbai. Over the months, it reverberated with the resilience of those who occupied it.

*****

Passion for flying seeped into every aspect of life. Pilots huddled deep in discussion, hands extended, crisscrossing in classic ‘attack-and-avoid’ fighter plane maneuvers. It happened at every social occasion.

Competing with the speed of sound in the air, they defied limits on the ground as well. Drinking bouts started on Saturday nights and dried out only on Sunday evenings in preparation for Monday’s sorties. Around the card tables, keen bidding kept minds on an all-night alert.

Air force families became friends only to part when re-posted every three years. We knew that our lives would be threaded together as long as our husbands flew the same aircraft.

The high point of most parties was a cabaret item which outdid Bollywood. Two bachelors egged on by the cheers and laughter of the crowd gyrated in ribald fashion. It was a light-hearted substitute for the night clubs Bareilly lacked.

*****

I won’t come with you on your scooter, Ajay Mark said. I want to go in the cycle rickshaw like the big boys.

It’s your first day at kindergarten, let me take you. You are only three years old, I said.

He shook his head, conveying the desire to be independent. His face showed delight from his precarious perch on the bar behind the main seating area of the open rickshaw. It promised a dangerous ride, as bags and children seemed to spill out. I followed, hidden in a clutch of anxious mothers holding firmly to their real-life miniatures.

Mrs. Lazarus, would you be interested in teaching at our school? the Headmistress of the Air Force School asked, looking up at me once Ajay’s admission was completed.

I helped out at the school in Adampur, but only for a short while. I’m really interested in journalism, for which I have training and experience, I said.

We need help, came the plea. Could you consider the request I’m making?

I’ll talk to my husband, I said.

So circumstance shaped my career. I switched to teaching.

*****

Cocooned in an air force community, outer patterns became predictable. Inwardly, things were different.

This month it happened again, I told Don despondent. I can’t understand why I can’t conceive. Doc says my ovaries and tubes are functioning normally, I added close to tears.

I’ve been through so many tests. All of them show there are no cysts or tumors to block the egg’s progress. There’s nothing wrong with me. Then why…? Tears flowed.

Over seven years my mind wrestled with anguished questions, as expectations of life seeped dry. Why was fertilization so elusive a second time? Why, month after month, did the sperm propelled by overwhelming purpose, miss the ovum before their lives ran out. Were the sperm sluggish? Why did the fertilized egg not implant? Each tiny miss, a wrenching grief!

Don’t be discouraged. These things are not in our hands. Besides, we are in it together, said Don, hugging me.

I keep close watch on my body temperature, so I know when ovulation takes place. But still… The tears increased.

"Come let’s go to town and have some of those delicious sheesh-kababs and naans. The grilled meat is sure to distract you," Don persuaded me.

Ajay stood behind the scooter handles while I sat on the pillion as Don drove us into town. The smell of skewered kebabs and hot naans mixed with the saffron of spicy biryani rice and wood smoke in the Muslim quarter was enough to distract both of us.

‘Secondary sterility’ became the condition of life as we turned our minds to other things. Ajay became all the more precious to us.

Don’s professional role changed yet again in 1982, from flying the MiG-21 to photo reconnaissance in the MiG-25, nicknamed the Foxbat. Don was one among six pioneer pilots of the squadron, who trained in Russia.

The Foxbat, the newest acquisition in the showcase of India’s air arsenal, was much talked about in those days. Its ability to escape both air-to-air and surface-to-air missiles as it cruised at a height of thirty-five kilometers, evoked pride and confidence in its pilots. That it could take off with a full load compensated for the solid, no-nonsense design. The ability to surpass its sleeker US counterpart, the SR-71 Blackbird on long haul sorties was another edge that made the pilots swagger. Yet, the speed, the importance and the glamour of the Indian Air Force’s most advanced aircraft could not compensate for the versatile maneuverability of the MiG-21s of which the pilots had experience.

The change of squadron did not mean a change of location, so we continued in the house allotted to us in the previous tenure at the Air Force Station in Bareilly.

Don was senior flight commander of the newly formed No. 102 Squadron. The pilots were young and impatient to log hours. Only health issues or fear would slow them down.

*****

Accidents brought home the reality of how thin the line was that separated life from death.

I remember the accident that marred the squadron’s flight safety record even before it was formed. It happened one foggy winter morning as the Russians pilots test flew each aircraft before handover to the Indian pilots for check sorties.

Don was one of the three to fly one of the last three check sorties scheduled for that day. The fog delayed the first take- off till mid-day. Finally, the Foxbat lumbered to the end of the runway. Overcoming what appeared to be reluctance to leave the ground, it took off, thrusting towards the horizon.

Teachers from the Air Force School watched for the moment when the plane would free itself from the tangle of trees to soar skywards. Instead, they saw a