I keep saying to everyone this just feels so wrong. They keep serving us ! They drive us around in nice cars, they feed us feasts of delicious food, they clean up after us, they give us the best seats and the nicest blessings. The Christian here in India are teaching me about true humility. We came to serve them! I wanted to be a super servant and they act as though we are super heroes. Yet we haven't even done anything yet, we just showed up. They treat us like royalty. No, I keep saying this feels wrong.
I now need to prepare to be of some use here. I want to be a humble servant like them. I want meet their needs as they are meeting mine. I realized in all my preparations to come here. I did not prepare my heart and mind enough. I was not in the Word enough. I am so overwhelmed by what I see around me the need is SO GREAT, I am speechless to speak, I am paralyzed to act. Where is my boldness ?
I am having trouble sleeping more than 3 to 4 hours at a time. I am not tired here. I am not hungry here, I have no appetite. I skip many meals here. (II never skip a good water bottle, I am really thirsty here.) It is as if God is telling me you do not need sleep, you do not need food you only need me right now, I am your provision I am your strength. I spend many of my sleepless night reading scripture and praying. I pray more and more God give me boldness," Lord give me the words, give me the actions to take, make me a Super Servant not a super hero to your children here in India."
Saturday school was out. We returned to the school however to have scripture, prayer and testimony time with the school staff.
I was able to share my story of how my heart has been broken for the Indian children since I was a girl. I shared, as many of us did, my salvation story. I had time to think of my words carefully as I had a translator repeating everything I said into Hindi, gave me needed pauses. Many of the people speak English but understand better in Hindi. I had been given advice my a local brother, it is best to build relationships before you can serve the adults. They need to know you before they can trust you, unlike the children.
So I took the opportunity to be transparent and start building those relationships. After staff prayer time we traveled up stairs to a large room on the third floor to prepare for their first ever youth group for the local teens. My team mates, a beautiful and talented couple performed a beautiful song they wrote to just for this trip. As they rehearsed their song the melody filled the air, tears filled my eyes, it was nice to worship here in this place. My sorrow came from the view out of the third story window. I looked on as families bathed and washed clothing and dishes in a muddy water hole just on the other side of these protective walls of this school. Perhaps some of those kids where students here. I know people lived like this, I had seen picture but to watch unfold in person as the room filled with praises was a bitter blessing.
I found it also challenging for me to HAVE TO move from where I was sitting, as I realized even in a youth group the girls had to sit on a separate side form the boys and many sat in the back. Stinks boys I did not want sit by you anyway...! That was my attitude. The overall youth group went very well, I was nice to worship together in English and Hinidi. Most of the youth that showed up where non Christians... bonus !
The day followed with more wonderful Indian food and a nap back at the flat. At 4 pm we were picked up and told we were going to pray for Christian families in the slums.
The next few hours will haunt me for a lifetime.
I can still smell the thick odor of hurting flesh and filth. I had lots of bug spray on but the smell of my protective lotion was drowned out. The odors of India are easy to get used to. It is the visuals that capture my heart. We arrive in a area that looked as though it was an accident. The streets did not seem to have plan . Running along side the slum was a river lined with make shift shanties of sticks burlap and garbage bags. The very narrow muddy, pot hole filled streets where an obstacle course to wonder down of littered garbage, cow dung and piles broken cement. People were everywhere and they looked at us as though the circus parade was going down their street. I was a little nervous so I tried to blend in and hide behind my team mates. The half naked shoe less little children made the piles of broken building and empty rig shaws their play grounds. The random cows were making dinner out of the garbage strewn about. I tried not want to walk around with the look of horror on my face, they were watching, they knew we are Christians and this was there home.
Despite the shock of my surroundings the familiar warmth of the people came out. We were warmly greeted in the street by the local Christians. They took us to three homes to pray over the needs of the families there. The slum buildings were like something out of a futuristic mad max sci-fi movie. Cement, tile, rock and granite hodgged-poged together into brick buildings several stories high with openings, no doors, just a hanging colorful cloth going into rooms no more than 12 by 8 feet. Open areas doted with idols, colorful pictures of hinidi gods, very little furniture, exposed congested spaces. An area was set aside in each home to sleep, to cook and to wash. The running water consisted of an old fashion hand pump sometimes located inside sometime located just out side in the street. The entire family lived in these one room brick ovens. They were so hot NO air circulation. They did have electricity and everyone has cell phones. I am in a foreign land now deep in its belly I thought as our team crowded into these rooms we barely fit.
Their prayer request were welcomely familiar to those back home. One lady was suffering from cancer (it thought of Dawn Holt as I knew her prayers for healing were also taking place at home), another family needed jobs, one family needed healing and the ability to pay off debt from their daughters marriage.
Our time in the slum was only a hour or two but I will remember that time always and pray the holy spirit will come reside there more and more.
Back to flat again for a few hours sleep and back in the Word... the meaning of Matt chapter 5 is so much more real to me as I read it over and over to fight to homesick feelings welling up in me. As morning comes here I can hear the Islamic prayer chats just outside in my flat. I pray,"God I am no super hero. But make me a super servant just like my brothers and sisters here in India."
I now need to prepare to be of some use here. I want to be a humble servant like them. I want meet their needs as they are meeting mine. I realized in all my preparations to come here. I did not prepare my heart and mind enough. I was not in the Word enough. I am so overwhelmed by what I see around me the need is SO GREAT, I am speechless to speak, I am paralyzed to act. Where is my boldness ?
I am having trouble sleeping more than 3 to 4 hours at a time. I am not tired here. I am not hungry here, I have no appetite. I skip many meals here. (II never skip a good water bottle, I am really thirsty here.) It is as if God is telling me you do not need sleep, you do not need food you only need me right now, I am your provision I am your strength. I spend many of my sleepless night reading scripture and praying. I pray more and more God give me boldness," Lord give me the words, give me the actions to take, make me a Super Servant not a super hero to your children here in India."
Saturday school was out. We returned to the school however to have scripture, prayer and testimony time with the school staff.
I was able to share my story of how my heart has been broken for the Indian children since I was a girl. I shared, as many of us did, my salvation story. I had time to think of my words carefully as I had a translator repeating everything I said into Hindi, gave me needed pauses. Many of the people speak English but understand better in Hindi. I had been given advice my a local brother, it is best to build relationships before you can serve the adults. They need to know you before they can trust you, unlike the children.
So I took the opportunity to be transparent and start building those relationships. After staff prayer time we traveled up stairs to a large room on the third floor to prepare for their first ever youth group for the local teens. My team mates, a beautiful and talented couple performed a beautiful song they wrote to just for this trip. As they rehearsed their song the melody filled the air, tears filled my eyes, it was nice to worship here in this place. My sorrow came from the view out of the third story window. I looked on as families bathed and washed clothing and dishes in a muddy water hole just on the other side of these protective walls of this school. Perhaps some of those kids where students here. I know people lived like this, I had seen picture but to watch unfold in person as the room filled with praises was a bitter blessing.
The day followed with more wonderful Indian food and a nap back at the flat. At 4 pm we were picked up and told we were going to pray for Christian families in the slums.
I can still smell the thick odor of hurting flesh and filth. I had lots of bug spray on but the smell of my protective lotion was drowned out. The odors of India are easy to get used to. It is the visuals that capture my heart. We arrive in a area that looked as though it was an accident. The streets did not seem to have plan . Running along side the slum was a river lined with make shift shanties of sticks burlap and garbage bags. The very narrow muddy, pot hole filled streets where an obstacle course to wonder down of littered garbage, cow dung and piles broken cement. People were everywhere and they looked at us as though the circus parade was going down their street. I was a little nervous so I tried to blend in and hide behind my team mates. The half naked shoe less little children made the piles of broken building and empty rig shaws their play grounds. The random cows were making dinner out of the garbage strewn about. I tried not want to walk around with the look of horror on my face, they were watching, they knew we are Christians and this was there home.
Despite the shock of my surroundings the familiar warmth of the people came out. We were warmly greeted in the street by the local Christians. They took us to three homes to pray over the needs of the families there. The slum buildings were like something out of a futuristic mad max sci-fi movie. Cement, tile, rock and granite hodgged-poged together into brick buildings several stories high with openings, no doors, just a hanging colorful cloth going into rooms no more than 12 by 8 feet. Open areas doted with idols, colorful pictures of hinidi gods, very little furniture, exposed congested spaces. An area was set aside in each home to sleep, to cook and to wash. The running water consisted of an old fashion hand pump sometimes located inside sometime located just out side in the street. The entire family lived in these one room brick ovens. They were so hot NO air circulation. They did have electricity and everyone has cell phones. I am in a foreign land now deep in its belly I thought as our team crowded into these rooms we barely fit.
Their prayer request were welcomely familiar to those back home. One lady was suffering from cancer (it thought of Dawn Holt as I knew her prayers for healing were also taking place at home), another family needed jobs, one family needed healing and the ability to pay off debt from their daughters marriage.
Our time in the slum was only a hour or two but I will remember that time always and pray the holy spirit will come reside there more and more.
Back to flat again for a few hours sleep and back in the Word... the meaning of Matt chapter 5 is so much more real to me as I read it over and over to fight to homesick feelings welling up in me. As morning comes here I can hear the Islamic prayer chats just outside in my flat. I pray,"God I am no super hero. But make me a super servant just like my brothers and sisters here in India."
Thank you Francis for another unglamorous glimpse at the heart of India. Alex and I have neighbors from Punjabi and enjoy the aromas of Indian food floating out of their gargae kitchen on many weekends. They are Sikhs and he is a "Holy Man" so they have many gatherings. I know they are a lot different from the Hindi religion. I am glad you are not experiencing physical sickness despite the oppressive humidity. I will pray for your homesickness. I am sure you are missed too. <3 Faye
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