New patterns

During our second month in Pakistan, our family of three traveled north to Murree. For a month of intensive language learning and cross-cultural adjustment. 

We stayed in one of several flats (apartments) that made up an old house on the side of the mountain. 

And began learning new patterns for living.

Language study. Shopping for groceries. Cooking with new ingredients. Boiling our drinking water. Washing clothes and hanging them on the line.

Breathing fresh mountain air eased the adjustments. New friends helped us find our way. 

Hot water

Every night, water seeped up through the concrete floor. Each morning we swept it out the door and lived in the damp cool that remained. Portable heaters helped dry out our space. 

Somewhat. 

Laundry took several days to dry, especially on rainy days.  And I questioned the wisdom of cloth diapers. Many times.

We bought an electrical instrument with an aluminum rod. Its plastic handle latched onto the rim of a bucket and hung in the water. Voila. Hot water for a splash bath. 

Side note. The next year, an inventive friend of ours rigged a container with an attached shower head. So he and his family could enjoy hot showers. Brief. But hot, nonetheless.

Language study

Each morning we hiked up the hill to language school. Housed in a rickety old house. On stormy days, cold wind blew through the cracks. 

We joined others from several different countries. All seeking to learn Urdu. 

Our tongues tripped over new sounds. Our ears tried to catch the subtle retroflexed R or T or D. 

The teachers were friendly. And patient.

When rain poured on the tin roof, we strained to hear and shouted our sentences. 

Shared meals

In the afternoons, back at the flat, we sat by the window with cups of hot tea. Looking out over green valleys as we practiced our vocabulary. Or if the sun was out, we spread a blanket on the small concrete patio. 

At night, I made a one-pot meal. Cooked on the only burner of our small counter-top stove.

New friends invited us to their flat for a delicious supper. Homemade crepes with a choice of chicken or tuna sauce. Hospitality warming our hearts on a cool evening.

In simple kitchens we all found ways to use local ingredients creatively. And enjoy fellowship around the table with others. 

We shared stories. And encouraged one another along the journey.

Afternoon tea

Some afternoons we hiked steep roads and paths to the market. Or went on walks to enjoy mountain air and stunning vistas. 

Other days we walked up the hill for afternoon badminton games. At a grand old mansion where other language students boarded. They served tea in faded china cups as we sat in rattan chairs on the green lawn.   

Within the ivy-covered stone exterior of the manor, plywood walls criss-crossed worn floors. Dividing up the space into small rooms with single beds and wardrobes. The boarders’ hot water for bathing was delivered in a bucket daily. 

“Hot running water,” they said.

Friday worship

Friday was the day of worship at the time (Sundays were a regular work day). Each week, we joined a fairly large gathering at Holy Trinity Church. A stately brick structure built in 1857. 

Old plaques adorned the walls. Names of some who died in Murree, generations past. 

Different people led in worship and preached each week. Brothers and sisters from various countries and church traditions joined together to sing His praises. And hear His Word. 

Afterwards we walked through the Murree town center. And stopped for chicken tikka. Or fresh chicken karahi served in stainless steel bowls. 

We perused handcrafted rugs and wall hangings. Picked up any needed supplies. Then made our way back. Carrying our sleeping 9-month-old daughter in a front pack.

New patterns

Those days feel far away now. Decades have passed. We’ve lived in five other countries since then.

Pakistan has changed. I’ve changed. 

But I think about those early days. And the young woman who had no idea what she was doing. Or how to learn a language and navigate a culture so different from her own. 

Then, as now, our Father was faithful. Never leaving. Never forsaking. Teaching new patterns in everyday tasks. And taking me through life-long lessons for walking by faith. 

If I could go back in time, would I do it all again? Yes. Absolutely, yes. 

He is worthy. And worth it all.

What about you?

Have you ever navigated a new language and culture? Did you develop new patterns for doing life in another country?

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