The name ‘Barby’ comes up frequently in this blog.

In all likelihood, Barby and I first encountered each other in a church creche in the Himalayan foothills of India.  We did a lot of schooling together, especially the high school years in boarding school, during which time we became good friends.  It started in a Latin class together — “amo, amas, amat” and all that.  All very platonic, but echoing Carl Henry’s description of his relationship with Helga, in time it transitioned into a ‘neo-platonic activism’. 

After school was finished, and as we moved back to our respective continents, we covenanted to write letters to each other.  We spent just five weeks together over a period of (almost) five years.  That is a lot of letters, all of which are scrolled up in a box not far from where I sit, I think … I hope!?  No phone calls.  No WhatsApp.  No email.  Just letters.  But one thing led to another!  We became engaged during a visit which a brave Barby made to New Zealand, and then we were married in Chicago a year later, during my theological studies. 

That is 40 years ago.  

God has been good to us.  

One thing became obvious early on.  Like her mother before her, Barby is a skilled cook — one whose skills are attached to a generous and hospitable heart, wrapped up in a love for the peoples of the world.  [NB: A little freebie here for readers.  The secret of her success?  Lemon juice.  Put it in everything. ]

Last year, when our lock-down loosened enough to allow pick-ups and take-aways with food, we tended to ignore the moment — because Barby’s cuisine was just too good.  In one period of ten days, we visited India, Mexico, Thailand, Italy, USA, China, Turkey and Egypt — with plenty of helpings of basmati rice from Pakistan along the way.

Over those weeks, I did notice Barby scrolling, scanning and surfing through websites with cook books from various places.  Just occasionally, there would emerge a pointed comment in combination with dancing eyes and suggestive expression, be it ever so subtle and vague.

I got the hint.  Why not?!  Gifts don’t need the excuse of a birthday or a Christmas, an anniversary or a Valentine’s Day (although I have discovered that it helps not to leave these moments devoid of gifts) … and so, slowly, the cook books started dribbling in, two by two.  Rumour has it that the enthusiasm with which they were welcomed may even have outstripped the enthusiasm that marked the arrival of the aforementioned letters, one by one, and now all scrolled up 😀.

Over the last generation or two, those who train people for cross-cultural mission speak about The 10-40 Window (with one of many explanations here).  It is a way to highlight a ‘rectangle’ between 10 and 40 degrees north of the equator.  It is a region of massive population.  It is the home of multiple global religions.  It is an area that tends to be characterized as being highly resistant to the gospel of Jesus, although I suspect that is a generalizaton that may be difficult to sustain across the entire window.  Plus, I’ve always felt a bit uncomfortable with the way it becomes easy to forget the people that we can’t see through this window!

While Barby’s new stack of cook books do not stretch as far east, or west, as this window (and I am sure she feels that ‘where there is a will, there is a way’ and that there is still time for that ‘way’ to be discovered), there is still a delicious looking 10:40 table that can be laid, from west to east.

Happy Drooling!

nice chatting

Paul