Long Absence Yet Continued Pursuit

Looking back on my entries from this summer, it does in some ways seem incredibly hopeless and daunting, but it's not. It’s amazing to think that God prepared me so much so that I could walk in confidence of His protection and goodness, even as I experienced the most faith-shaking summer of my life. I became very aware this summer that when all of what I never thought should happen did so right before my eyes, and so many of my hopes crashed, that my foundation was solid. When I got home, I didn’t know what to do, in fact, I questioned and grappled with feeling guilty and unworthy of the life that I have. I learned so much about suffering. How terribly I hate suffering. I flinch and I squirm and I resist, but sometimes it seems like we can’t avoid it.

For me, it doesn’t actually seem like I’m experiencing suffering until after the fact. Usually in the midst of extreme pain or heartbreak, I somehow get this divine ability to press on—to move forward. While I was in India, I realized how hard it was, but I was walking solely in the power of the Holy Spirit. It’s not until the adjustment back to “normal” life that I realize how intensely I needed and clung to my Sustainer. For some reason though, the coming back to America from India shocked me into this time—maybe even season—of unidentifiable and unrecognizable pain. Never before have I avoided the phone calls of my best friend. Never before had I really tried to search my heart for explanations or understanding and come up with nothing. Never before in the midst of such suffering have I had such a lack of zeal and hope. Never before had I really wished people didn’t ask or want to know how I’m doing.

I found myself crying unexpectedly (maybe not surprising to some) having no logical links to why I was quiet or frustrated or unmotivated or apathetic. I wish that I could tie every one of my reactions or lack thereof to something direct, but most of the time, it didn’t exist. If any of you know me, you know that a lot of the time, it’s really hard for me to be patient with myself. I hate giving things time because I so value closure. I love it when things end clearly—all squared away. I get a really pathetic sense of satisfaction from doing something like crossing a task off my list. Truth be told, I sometimes even add a completed task to my list just to cross it off. I love finality.

My experience in South Asia is not something that has ended clearly or something that squares itself away nicely. I’ve dragged it into my every day. So you can see what my struggle in returning has been here. My transition home from India has not been easy, in fact, it’s been really hard—probably one of the hardest transitions or experiences in general that I’ve ever had to go through because, literally, I know nothing about how to best do things.

You see, God didn’t stop teaching me of Himself when I left India, He has continued working in my life here in America, too. Now, three, almost four, months after I return, I can finally say that I’m doing “well,” and not for one second was there a moment that I doubted God’s control or His goodness. Through it all, I have learned to recognize how lost I truly am, and how desperately I need Jesus. I have recognized my deep deep love for Him, my deep deep desire for more of Him, and my deep deep longing for all to know Him. I have learned to believe the Gospel all over again. Jesus came to a world broken, abused, oppressed, cruel, and sinful, to accomplish His rescue plan. Those around Him didn’t see it at first, in fact those walking right beside Him the entire time didn’t see it clearly, but He had a plan for the redemption of His people—a plan that made Him the Servant of All. It is in the pain of shattered dreams and in the pain of dwindling hope that I have discovered on a new level how beautiful the Gospel is. How beautiful it is that God pursues us relentlessly even when we stray so easily. As I walk with Jesus—stumble, really, I don’t see His plan quite yet. I know the end—that He will return and make all things new, but until then I will continue to walk blindly, trusting His lead; for He has a plan. How humbling it is that He has chosen me to be a part of it.

“’You are my servant, I have chosen you and not cast you off’; fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’” –Isaiah 41:9b-10

I Dare You to Move...

Grief

Where do I even begin? As soon as we landed in Newark, New Jersey I had about 6 million thoughts cross my mind, but the one that dominated over the little ones was this: "I can't believe that these two worlds exist at the same time."

I remembered suddenly myself about a month earlier walking through City Center mall in Mumbai--a mall with ice cream kiosks and marble floors. Then I remember walking out of the mall to find a 6 month old baby sitting in the middle of the sidewalk completely alone. Abandoned? I looked up to widen my view of what was around me, and on the opposite side of the street was the beginning of a slum. Just one "small" slum of hundreds throughout the city. Extremes.



How could this mall--a place where the wealthy shop be located so near to the place where the poor live everyday? I just could not reconcile that in my mind. I didn't want to have to.

As our 747 descended over the New York City skyline, and the lights of the city competed with the rising sun in the east, the nagging thought of, "How can this be, Lord?" hit me hard once again. Just on the other side of the ocean, so many wouldn't even believe that a city like Mumbai even existed. To be totally honest, I've avoided processing my last 7 weeks of life. I've avoided thinking about those lying in the streets in the mornings as I ran; I've avoided thinking about where baby Rija sleeps while her mom works; I've avoided thinking about Sanjay's fear before he falls asleep at night; I've avoided thinking about the garbage on the streets and the smell of urine; I've avoided thinking about those worshiping God's made of plastic. I've avoided it all.

As puke came out of my mouth and nose two nights before we left, the tears streamed because after the most life-altering summer of my life came to a close, the only thought that I was able to think was, "Get me out of here. Get me home now." Only after a summer in India could I kill a cockroach as I threw up violently. I began to wrestle there on the bathroom floor with fear. I feared leaving Mumbai. I feared leaving so many things undone. So many people untouched. So many brokenhearted still broken. So many chains still binding. So many souls still lost. So many people that I had fallen in love with. So much of the culture that I had become so thankful for just abandoned. I wrestled with the fear of forgetting. I wrestled with the fear of returning to a life unchanged. I wrestled with the fear of sinking back into the everyday. I wrestled with the fear of never returning. Then I would throw up again, and then I would wrestle with the fear of discomfort. I would wrestle with the fear of returning and changing and remembering. I wrestled with the fear of actually going back there and loving it. So many contradicting fears. I didn't want to leave and I didn't want to stay. I feared a soft heart to Mumbai for fear of allowing God to call me to live there long-term, and two seconds later, I feared a hardened heart to Mumbai for fear of not allowing God to call me to live there long-term.

A couple days earlier, I had been working through my fear of safety. I was talking with God about why I feared for my safety so often. Why was it that for some reason that was a right that I really thought I deserved, but at the same time something I feared so very much? I'm not sure if that makes total sense, but bear with me. I began to realize that feeling immediately safe is not indicative of my circumstances. God so graciously reminded me of times throughout the summer that I really walked down the street confidently, feeling completely safe when the day before I walked in fear. I felt safe not because men weren't staring or because my purse wasn't at risk of being reached into or because there weren't children on the ground that I could trip over, but it was because I was walking in confidence of God's will for my life. I was walking with Jesus through a place that was easy to be overwhelmed by and afraid of. God began to show me that safety isn't about location physically, presently, but spiritually, eternally. I am safe in His hands. I am safe wherever I am because I am in the arms of my King, my Almighty who promises to never leave nor forsake me. It baffled me to think that I could ever feel safer in Mumbai, India than in Chicago, Illinois. After the shift from knowing that God is my Protector and my Provider and my Sustainer to really believing it, I started to realize that I don't necessarily fear for my safety, persay, but I really do fear living a "safe" life. Let me explain. I fear living in fear. It would be really scary for me to move to a place like Mumbai unable to walk confidently down the street due to my discomfort. But at the same time, I fear taking the "easy" way--not that any way is really easy at all--but I mean, playing it safe; limiting God and the capacity of His work in and through my life. I'm sure so many people have feared the same thing...settling and placing boundaries on a boundless God; but I'm actually positive that a lot of today's churched haven't feared that. A lot of the modern-day church has really failed to fear God.

A week ago last Sunday, the day after I arrived home from India, I took communion and read about the Lord's supper in 1 Corinthians 11 like I do every time I take communion. The words of Paul pierced deeper--his words like glass cut deeply into my heart and I began to grieve over the church. In verses 17-22, Paul says that when the Corinthians came together for the Lord's supper that it was not for the better, but for the worse because there were divisions among them. He said that upon coming together"it is not the Lord's supper that you are eating. For in eating, each one goes ahead with his own meal. One goes hungry, another gets drunk." (1 Co. 11:20, 21)

Woah. In this passage, Paul was saying that the Corinthians were not rightly participating in the Lord's supper because of their selfishness--they were not representing the sacrificial death of Christ and the true character of their Lord. Paul says that the few wealthy in Corinth were going ahead with their meals in complete disregard of those who were hungry and had nothing. Some even had too much and got drunk while others suffered.

I'm not sure if this is making as much sense to you as it has been to me, but I hope that it is. I don't think the edge of the glass on Paul's words were intended to just be really striking to me, but I think the sharpness of his words have huge implications for the function of our church today. Paul recounts the tradition of the Lord's supper to the Corinthians and tells them very plainly that when Jesus broke the bread that He told His disciples to "do this in remembrance of me." Paul then says that whoever takes part in the Lord's supper in an unworthy manner is guilty concerning the body and blood of the Lord. What did it mean to take communion in an unworthy manner? Paul was probably referring to the great divide between the wealthy and the poor--the acceptance of entitlement and divisiveness as opposed to adopting Christ's example of humility and selflessness.

So as I sat in church on Sunday, I felt the Lord asking that in light of the things I had experienced this summer, to "examine myself." Jesus' body was broken and His blood poured out for me. When He told me to take up my cross and follow Him, I'm certain that wasn't a call to live in ignorance and abundance, but rather in imitation of Him. What Paul is saying in these few verses is that the selfish behavior of the Corinthians was not only a sin against others, but also disrespectful to Jesus Himself. I'm still in process with what this looks like in my own life, so humbly I ask for you to join me in examining ourselves and our lives and the ways that we live to see if we are really living in true understanding and reflection of the Gospel. The Exalted one emptied Himself in our place. How should that be imitated in our daily lives in light of the great divide?

I wish that I had the answers. As I sit in my living room contemplating the extremes that I've experienced in the last two months, I am reminded of all those fears I talked about earlier. I was afraid of returning to a life unchanged. I was afraid of stepping back into the everyday. The transition has been really hard because I know that grief is normal, but finding the balance of how much is okay to grieve has been a challenge. I feel like my life has stopped in some ways. My current reality is that I'm frozen here. Here in this place where I cry when I don't want to or know why. In this place where I fail to understand myself and push others away when I feel misunderstood. In this place where I don't quite know how to pray or hand my burdens over to Abba. I feel stuck, like I'm sad--so deeply sad and grieved that I feel like life shouldn't just keep going on here; or maybe I feel like life should keep going here, but I just have no idea how to do that. I think that daily, I'm learning to trust Him while walking on untread ground. I don't know what comes next or how I'm supposed to feel or in what ways I'm supposed to respond. The real reality is that I must learn to believe that God is sovereign before I can really begin to understand myself and my own heart. While I'm not in India, He is still working there (and here), and for a short 7 weeks, I was just able to get a glimpse of His bigger picture.

Looking back, though, I have so many stories of how God has transformed my heart, increased my faith, and expanded my image of Him. He is the God who sees, the God who longs to redeem, the God who makes all things new, the God who protects and plucks from evil, He is the God who loves fiercely and deeply, the God who is jealous over His children, the God who hears and answers before we can even call, the God who does far more than we could ever ask or imagine, the God who gives abundantly, the God whose purpose stands, the God whose command does not return void, the God who heals, the God who keeps His promises, the God who comforts those who mourn, the God who loves the sojourners, the God who knows us better than we know ourselves, the Creator God, the God who longs to meet our every need and heal our every wound, the God who fights for us, the God who intercedes for us when we know not what to pray for as we ought, the God who loves me--who defines me by His love and patiently teaches me to trust Him.

Thank you God that you are who you say you are. Thank you that you leave nothing undone, and that you accomplish your purpose in such ways that bring glory to yourself, even when we fail to understand. Jesus will you graciously teach us to live lives right where we're at that are glorifying to you? Will you help the church today to function in humility and selflessness, with arms reaching and prayers lifted? May we be convicted of our "safe" lives, and may we begin to live with our crosses upon our backs for you no matter what our location. Help us to experience deep joy and help us to dwell in the depths of your grace as we stumble through this life. We love you and thank you Jesus for being the Servant of All. It's in your name we pray, Amen.

Glimpses

Home

I just wanted to inform everyone that I have arrived safely back in my homeland. I will have a post up very soon about the last week in India, and my arrival back home. When I got off the plane, I could not believe how incredible the airport smelled. Call me crazy, but it smelled like vacuum cleaner--incredible. If the Lord lays it on your heart, pray for my transition, and continued nearness to Jesus. Thanks all my faithful supporters and followers, what an encouragement you've been to me the last two months.

P.S. I know the adventure to India's over, but I think I'll keep blogging. Just so you know :)

Beauty

After I prayed for the umbrella to come down from around my heart, I noticed that I began to feel more deeply, to love more deeply, to search more deeply, and to care more deeply. I felt the raindrops press into my heart; I loved when it was hard to love; I prayed that I could search and see more deeply into the souls of the lost; and then I cared deeply--cared to see them know Christ. Because HE knows what He is doing. He says that the rain and snow does not fall without watering the dry ground, and the words of His mouth do not leave and return void, they accomplish that for which He purposed. The rain in Mumbai waters the thirsty ground; but it won't rain forever, no. In the midst of the muddy ground here, there is beauty, for"beauty is the battlefield where God and Satan wage war for the hearts of men." The war, Paul says, is won in the person of Jesus.

This quote reminded me of a lesson that I began to learn before coming here to India. God has really been redefinining my perception of beauty. What's pretty is not always what's beautiful. In fact, this nauseating city is beautiful in a rather backwards way--but in the most true sense of beauty. This beauty has need. This city is beautiful because I looke at its need with no way to meet it, but see only one way to healing: Jesus. I pray that Jesus would rain down His truth here. May it seep through the walls and through the plastic tarps that so many here call "home." May they need His living water, and may it come in abundance. Evil will never reign, for Christ has already claimed victory.

Last Tuesday, I went back to Aruna. I was so excited because I went out again with Zeba. We went back to the brothel that I went to the first week--you know, the one with 6 floors. For some reason, I was really anticipating seeing the same women, but when we entered, I didn't recognize them. We talked with a few women, but were told that there was a police raid just a few days before, and so the madams were not happy that we were in there. As soon as Pinky told us that, it made sense that the women retracted into their rooms or tried to ignore us rather than accepting and even longing for prayer like before.

Finally when we got to the third floor, Zeba reached for my hand. She pulled me toward Dipa's room. I saw Dipa shoot her head out the door and call us in excitedly. I walked in the room and saw her little baby laying in the center of her shanty bed. The last time I was in the room she was very pregnant. Her huband was in there, and her roommate was on the other side of the curtin taking a customer. This time, although she was wearing the same red and black polka-dotted dress, she no longer had little Rija inside of her. This time the curtins were back, and the sun flooded in, making the teal walls visible, and the grime in their little shower area almost as obvious as the dirt dusting the patched, cracked walls. Last time I was there, Dipa was concerned that her pregnancy would not be normal, and I prayed for her health and her husband and her little baby. Turns out, two days later, Dipa went into labor, and Rija was born normally. Only ten days old, Rija weighed probably 4 lbs, and she was the smallest thing I had ever seen. I couldn't tell if her skin was yellow from jaundice or if that was just her Indian skin tone. Only ten days old, she had eye liner painted around her eyes, and a red dot in the center of her forehead.

Dipa said excitedly that my prayers for her were answered. She asked that I would pray for Rija though because she is so small. So I held the hands of Dipa, and Neha (another prostitute who was so eager to receive any kind of love) and prayed for them. I prayed for them to know Jesus' love for them. I prayed for Rija's health. When we were done, Dipa thanked me and I placed my hand on Rija's little belly and said, "Jesus loves you so much, little baby!"

We started talking to Dipa, and I asked Zeba if Dipa knew the Gospel, and if she knew Zeba's story. Zeba said she did know the Gospel and that she went to church some Sundays as well. I pointed to the Hindu shrines above the door, and asked why she had those. Zeba began asking Dipa questions in Hindi, and ended up telling Dipa some of the story of how she was rescued from 5 years of prostitution as a minor, and how Jesus had changed her life. Dipa started fidgeting, and I could tell she was impacted. I asked Dipa if she was happy. She looked up at me, and smiled hesitantly, "Yes, I am. I'm just worried about the baby, that's all." She then let down the smile and looked at the ground. "I don't believe her, I can see her sad eyes..." I told Zeba. Dipa's husband walked in a few minutes before, and that's when she began getting quiet and less excited. After she told us she was worried though, Zeba began singing. She sang the most beautiful song I had ever heard. And it was especially beautiful because at that moment, I knew that Dipa's heart was the battlefield where God and Satan were waging war. God was winning. I didn't know the words that Zeba was singing, but I knew that it was worship, and I could see by the tears that welled up in Dipa's eyes that she was deeply impacted. Everyone in the room listened to Zeba's sweet voice, and the women in the hallway peered in from around the corner. She sung about God being our strength and our hope and our joy and our love. It sang to my heart and sent chills up my arms.

Zeba sang and Dipa was touched. I could tell that she wanted for Jesus to be the light of her life. I could tell that she knew something was missing. As she fidgeted more with the gold ring in her hand, her discomfort spoke volumes, and Zeba knew it too. Before I left that day, Dipa asked if I could come by everyday. Sadly, I told her I coudn't while thinking to myself--surely she is not alone though. Jesus is in a beautiful battle over her heart. Pray that He would win.

No More Umbrellas

It is really shocking to me how much of life here has just become normal. Children begging, old women begging, men staring, taxi drivers overcharging, horns honking, drinking bottled water, spicy food... It's almost disgusting to think that I can forcefully say "no" to young children begging me for money. It's gross to me that I walked into a brothel just 11 days ago and thought to myself--"wow, this one's nice." Here's a little taste into my reality: I carry around a folded bandana so I can wipe sweat off my face throughout the day; I talk often to students on campus about arranged marriages and injustice and religion. So many of things have become "normal" that made me squirm the first couple weeks I was here. This includes the incense burning through the streets, the sad eyes of the street kids, and the vendors yelling "yes, madam, you want?"

It's easy to begin to feel helpless in a place like Mumbai. So much pain. So much deception. So much filth. As I think about it, my eyes well up with tears for the first time in days. The time is passing quickly here, slipping by day by day, and I have felt in the last week, guards going up around my heart. "I can't take this on by myself," I think. So I won't take it on at all. I won't even give it to Abba. I can't even do that because it doesn't seem like "enough." I cry because I walk down the streets looking mad and unapproachable so that I won't be pestered by beggars. As I purchase souvenirs, I ignore the tapping on my arms and the pulling on my skirt from the 6 year olds carrying 6 month olds.

I carry an umbrella now. In the beginning, I would just walk in the rain, embracing it with laughter. I now take out my umbrella as soon as I feel just a drop of water in fear of being drenched for the rest of the day. God has been gracious in showing me these last couple weeks that I have begun opening an umbrella over my soft heart for fear of it being heavy and abused by the mess of Mumbai. You see, when you use an umbrella, you don't feel as vulnerable. You get wet, but only on your ankles and feet--the water is far away. With the umbrella propped up around my heart, the pain is distant. It's the difference between sympathy and empathy. Jesus had compassion. Deep compassion. He wept and He rejoiced. He felt deeply and He loved deeply and He cared deeply. I'm not Jesus, but I am His ambassador. This Jesus that I live for is trustworthy. He is big enough for me to give the pain of this city to. There is nothing in the universe that is outside the realm of His control. He is a just God and it is Jesus that entered into the jaws of evil--into the greatest injustice, so that His children may one day know true justice.

Last week, as I felt like the gaping holes in this city created by sin and rebellion were unmendable, the Spirit corrected me and reminded me of His faithfulness, and His mightiness to save. He sent me down to my knees to beg for the things that I, myself, cannot even begin to change. I still cast my burdens on the Lord and walk on. I walk sludging through Satan's garbage unafraid knowing that Christ will prevail. Out of my distress, I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free. The Lord is on my side as my helper, I shall look in triumph on those who hate me. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man." (Psalm 118:5-7).

Everyday last week, I looked out the window, and saw the rain dripping from the leaves of the trees, and I thought to myself--"maybe I won't carry an umbrella today. Just let it rain." I've been coming to Jesus at the end of each day, weary and heavy laden, trusting that He alone will give me rest. "Those who wear bulletproof vests protecting themselves from failure, shipwreck, and heartbreak will never know what love is. The unwounded life bears no resemblance to the Rabbi." (Brennan Manning, Abba's Child) I want to love unguardedly; I want to love like Jesus.

With each conversation I hold, I shoot up a quick prayer asking Jesus for His guidance; asking for my removed umbrella and bulletproof vest to keep their places so my heart would stay guarded only by the hands of my Rescuer, by the One who says that "Those who war against you shall be as nothing at all. For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, 'Fear not, I am the One who helps you.'" (Isaiah 41:12, 13) The God who tells me that I can't fee from His presence says that even in India He shall lead me, and His right hand shall hold me. If I say, "surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night," even the darkness is not too dark for Him; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with Him. (Psalm 39:10-12). This is the God that I'm trusting to shield my heart from pain too intense for me to handle.

There have been four people that have been weighing heavy on my heart since we have been here in India: Julie, the prostitute that I met two weeks ago; Sanjay, a homeless, broken, parent less, drug-selling, street-sleeping, ten-year old kid; Niti, a popular third-year college student; and Nipsha, a third year law student who has a heart for justice. I have realized that with my unguarded heart, God has been helping me to love them more recklessly. He has been showing me what it means to labor in love, because none of these people are easy to love, by any means. Jesus has been loving Julie through me, and loving Sanjay through me, and loving Niti through me, and loving Nipsha through me. I walk away from interactions with them so drained, and pained, and heavy, but Jesus has shown me in His kindness that my labor is not in vain.

I think I mentioned in a previous post about how I have been learning more about the fatherhood of God. In this, I have been learning that I am radically defined by His love for me. Sometimes I begin to fall into the lie of believing that my love for Him is one-way, and that if I love Him enough, then He will love me.

One week ago, Friday, Carrie went to the brothel where I had met Julie. When she walked in, she said Julie's face lit up with anticipation, but when she didn't see me, she was sad. Julie asked for me by name, hoping to get to meet with me again. I wondered before if Julie knew that in the ten minutes that I knew her, that I loved her, and after Carrie told me that she remembered me, I knew that Julie knew of my love. I also knew that my love for her was not one-way. She loved me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love she knew, she loved me.

Last week, I had a hard interaction with Sanjay. I had bought him dinner, shared the Gospel with him, and purchased a train ticket for him to go home. It was after I bought him the ticket that he told me he didn't have a home. It was then that he told me out of nowhere that he hated me, and that he wanted nothing to do with me. It was then that he told me he was an evil person and a drug dealer. I know that it was not Sanjay speaking to me, but rather a scheme from Satan, but it scared me. Monday at Bible study, Alyssa and Lauren told me that they saw Sanjay. After admitting that I didn't really want to see him because of the unpredictability of our interaction while still longing to love him well, they told me that he asked for me by name. He told them that I was his friend. He knew that I loved him. It was then that I realized my love for him was not one-way. He loved me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love he knew, he loved me.

Nipsha was a girl that I hit it off with right away. When we talked about justice together, we fired one another up, and I loved her with a deep love right away. On Sunday, Nipsha invited me to her house. I saw visibly the love she had for her parents that she told me about; but as she spooned food onto my plate, and as she drew henna on my arm, and as she confirmed our next coffee date with one another, I realized that she loved me too. I realized that my love for her was not one-way. She loved me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love she knew, she loved me.

And then there's Niti. As I walked through the first weeks of India with a heavy burden for her, lifting up many prayers for her, I experienced much disappointment when she failed to meet with me when she promised that she would. On Monday after a weekend of feeling the weight of this city's mess, but moving to trust Jesus with it, Niti showed up to our coffee date at 1:00. She even cancelled her meetings for the day. She wept as I told her my story, and she warned me that she had never told anyone her story, but that she wanted to tell me everything. As I witnessed her deep trust in me, I realized that my love for her was not one-way. She love me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love she knew, she loved me.

What a powerful display of God's kindness. My Father taught me something profound this week. Through broken, confused people, God chose to show me that He loves me. My love for Him is not one-way. He loves me too--with an unbroken, steady love--with all the love He has, He loves me.

His Kindness

I left out a little part of that last story. My interaction with Julie happened one week ago, on Monday. The other half of our group went back to Oasis on Friday. Carrie, my discipler from the summer, went back to the same brothel where Julie was. When she went inside, I guess Julie asked about me. She did remember me. When Carrie told me on Friday, tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt so loved by my Father. He knew that would minister to my bruised heart, and it was a gift as I continued to work through my grief from Monday. We have a kind Father, and as we stumble through this life, He knows what picks us up when we can't seem to gain the strength to do it ourselves.

Pray, today, for Julie. Pray that she would know the Father, and that she would become my sister...

Oh How He Loves Us...

A lot has happened in the last week, and I unfortunately I won't be able to share it all or you would be reading for days!

Songs I love:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diMZ3ucq24g

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCunuL58odQ

Monday I went back to Oasis. I'm learning so much about not having expectations because there is never ever going to be a repeat day here. Each day is so different. There is no norm--always extremes. So this time, when we walked into Oasis, we were there literally five minutes, split up, and went right out into the brothels. I went with another girl on my team, Lauren Davis, and we went with a woman who worked with Oasis that spoke hardly any English.

We walked through the curtin door into the busy alley. My stomach turned a little bit in my stomach when we arrived at the brothel just ten steps later; it was literally right across the alley from the Oasis office. I was shocked and appalled by my initial response as we walked into the brothel--"nice," I thought to myself. The rooms were bigger than the one I walked through last time. They had doors, the floors were clean, etc. We went into this big common room and the women were sitting around watching TV and eating their breakfast/lunch since many had just woken up at 2:00PM. They were bigger women--some were over weight, in fact. I remember at one point wondering if a couple of the women were pregnant. I could tell that this was a more expensive brothel, and I didn't witness any pimps or madams while I was there. Lauren jumped right in with her name, introducing herself to the women and telling them they were beautiful, which was so wonderful. But I felt a little bit paralyzed, not really knowing what would be overwhelming to the women, so I was just myself. My shirt starting floating up because of the fans, and I screamed, grabbed it, and started cracking up. The women laughed with me, which was life-giving. Could I have laughed if I lived the life that they lived?

Julie was wearing black and she was the only one wearing capris--all the rest were wearing long, printed night gowns. She had earrings on with three black beads stacked on top of one another, and her hair was in a ponytail. We started talking a little bit nonverbally, and I told her I thought she had wonderful eyes. I finally asked if we could pray together, and she said, "No English." I quickly responded with--"That's okay!" She agreed and we reached for one another's hands. As soon as I got a hold of her hands--hands that I had no idea where they had been; hands meant to meet one another in prayer; hands meant to hold sweetly to that of another's; hands meant to hold a pen to write; hands made to turn the pages of the living Word of God; hands made to be spared from crucifixion. At the moment that my hands touched hers, a buzzer rang, and all of the women left the common room with the exception of four. I saw Julie take down her hair. She reached across me for her keys, and held up her finger as if to say, "one minute." They walked out. About three minutes later, they all camb back, but Julie didn't. I think I knew what that meant deep down, but didn't want to believe that it had happened. So I asked out loud--"Where's Julie?" The women responded in unison, "customer, customer..." Not wanting to believe it still, I heard but didn't really hear. After taking with the other women for a few minutes, I asked about Julie again. In harmony, they answered, "customer!" again. Our translator looked at me and said, "Business, no?" Like, "where do you think we are little American?" "Okay," I said quickly scanning my eyes frantically to they eyes of each women in the room, and then shooting them to the ground as the reality of what it meant to be a prostitute began to sink in.

The image of Julie taking down her hair as she left is burned in my brain--wavy, long, black hair covering her bare shoulders. I wonder if she tried to win the customer. I wonder if she batted her eyes at him or played with her hair. I wonder if it was a competition between her and the other women. Or I wonder if she stared at him like she stared at me, longing for love. Or I wonder if she stood with the other women with her eyes at his feet. I wonder if she took down her hair to cover her shoulders. I wonder if he came regularly. I wonder if he paid more to have her during the day. I wonder how long he stayed. I wanted so badly to wait for her. I didn't want to leave until she came out and I could look her in the eyes while holding her arms gently telling her that she is loved by the only One that can truly romance and satisfy her heart. I wanted to kiss her forehead and pray for her. I don't think I've ever grieved not being able to pray with someone as much as I grieved not being able to pray with Julie.

So as we left, we hugged the women and smiled at them. I walked out of the common room, and said goodbye to three other women in the hall. I walked back into the common room and said to one of the women, "Julie--tell her I said goodbye." "Okay," she said moving her head in agreeance. I wonder if Julie knew that even after knowing her for just ten minutes that I loved her. I wonder if she would remember my name. I wonder if she would remember how insistent I was about praying for her. I wonder if she knows she is valued. I wonder if she knows what true love could look like. I wonder if she's deceived into believing that this is her only option, or worse, if she believes that she's satisfied there.

After we got back to Oasis, I didn't know what should be my response because it was so very different from my first experience in the brothels. As I talked with the other members of my group, truth came spilling from my lips, which was such grace from God.

One of the things that God has been teaching me about and driving home to me is that I am radically defined by His unchanging, undeniable, perfect love for me. His love that is true and constant. And at the moment that I sat in Oasis beginning to unpack my experience with Julie, Jesus spoke to me, and told me that for those women who have nothing constant in their lives except pain, and abuse, and calloused hearts, and stares of lust--they are also radically defined by His steadfast love for them. I know this to be true. I am learning to trust Jesus through my grieving process--finding rest in knowing that His love never leaves, even from those who don't know Him.

So I came home from the brothels and wept. I wept for Julie and for all of the other Julies out there. I wept for the girls who know nothing except captivity; for the minors hidden in the attics and walls. I wept for the women that believe the false Hindu God's satisfy. I wept and pleaded for them to know Jesus; to know love.

So much Hope.

Continued...

Oasis is located in the heart of the red light district, so we only had to walk two minutes to get to the brothel. Zeba, Kaitlyn, and I climbed a flight of stairs into just one of the hundreds of brothels. Women with faces painted--pink lipstick, black eyebrows, eyes smothered in eye-liner--welcomed us. Zeba smiled and laughed--I'm pretty sure I looked completely horrified. After meeting the first 5 or so women, one woman asked for prayer. I asked her her name and prayed that she would know her worth. That Jesus would show Himself to her as the one and only God. As soon as I said "Amen", I asked Zeba to tell her she's beautiful in Hindi. The woman looked me in the eyes, and I held her cheeks--just like Jesus had done to me earlier--and I smiled a teary-eyed smile. Then, I hugged her and held her. The Lord was giving me strength. I looked each woman in the eyes and tried to make sure that they knew I cared deeply--that Jesus cared and loved them deeply.

As we walked on, we stopped in many rooms, sat with women on their beds and prayed. We prayed for Jesus to rule and reign in that brothel. For the women to know Him as their King, their Dad, their Good Shepherd. Many of the women giggled and smiled, while others looked hardened and cold. We prayed for husbands, for health, for relief of pain, for coming babies, for separated families, for sick mothers. At one point, we prayed for a woman in her room while her roommate took a customer on the other side of a curtain. That's when a disgusting reality hit me, and hit me hard. These women sleep in the place that they work. They sleep on the beds that they are abused on. Their kids sleep underneath. Some rooms had four women in a room the size of my bathroom. Rooms adorned with false Hindu Gods and patrolled by "madams" who were sure to keep a close eye on their "employees." Men walked around--some smoking, some on boxers, some flirting with the girls. That one brothel was the most hell that I had seen on earth in my entire life. And that was just one of them.

Situation after situation, I learned to love like Jesus loved. Every time that Jesus felt for people with deep compassion, He healed, and cleared up misconceptions that people had about Himself by sharing with them true love. I prayed that my lamp would burn brightly in that dark place, and that I could be a true display of Christ-like love.

Zeba, Kaitlyn, and I climbed at least 6 floors of women all living lives of disaster, of destruction, of pain. And I left knowing not what to do. Feeling nothing, but wanting so badly to feel something. I was mad but not furious; sad but not in despair. I was literally in shock, and it took days for my heart to catch up with what my eyes had seen.

We got back to Oasis, and Zeba, the 95 pound power-woman who commanded traffic and fearlessly entered the brothels, shared with me her story. She was orphaned at the age of five after her parents were poisoned and killed. Her and her sister were taken care of by a Muslim family down the road. They were beaten with rods often, so she hid in the cabinets from them. They were both eventually sold into marriage for 50,000 Roopies. All she wanted to do was play, she said, because she had no idea what it meant to be a bride! So she ran away, and was met by a man that told her he would offer her a job in design if she didn't tell her sister where she was going. So she id. Before she knew it, she was being drugged into obedience. Until she was 15 years old, Zeba was used as an underage sex slave. She tried to run away 7 times, but was caught and electrocuted each time. But on the eighth time that she ran away, she met a man from Oasis who paid (?) for her to escape and took her to church camp. She was free, and confessed her trust in Jesus Christ as her personal Lord and Savior. Now, 11 years later, she speaks through her scars to women whose pain is fresh, proclaiming that by Christ's wounds she is healed. Zeba is now married and I found out in the car that both she and her husband are HIV positive. A woman who awaits a sure death, but who lives with such extreme joy gives me hope. She is living proof that you don't need to be "strong" to have eternal victory because we have a God that fights for us--we need only to be still.

So my first experience in the brothels was without a doubt one of my greatest storms, and I was changed; my insides were ravaged. I left feeling nauseated by the validation of sin, but I was not in despair, no. There is hope. One woman had a smile that painted over her pain. She giggled and smiled, and was genuinely beautiful. I prayed for her in my mind as I talked with her in her broken English. I felt like I needed to tell her that Jesus loved her. So I knelt down at her feet, looked her steadily in the eyes, and told her in the most genuine way that Jesus loved her a lot. "I know," she responded. "You do?" I asked to make sure. "Yes," she said, her eyes welling up with tears and shooting to the ground. Zeba noticed her reaction, and began speaking to her in Hindi. Zeba told me as we walked home that the woman was educated, and had a degree in commerce, but wanted nothing more to do with prostitution anymore. She wanted out. Zeba and the woman exchanged numbers, and Zeba encouraged her to go to Oasis. Zeba seemed excited, and so was I. Jesus is giving this woman the courage to stand up to her oppressors and to leave the work that sucks away her dignity and her life.

My Jesus' arm is not too short to save, and He saves. That gives hope, in the places that seem so hopeless. For He is hope. So I grip tightly to the truth that Jesus is the God of this city, and He is jealous over the hearts of these girls and women. May we begin to see heaven breaking through in the brothels on the streets of Mumbai, and Jesus ruling and reigning in victory over the thick evil that coats the walls of these buildings and the hearts of the lost.

He's Bigger

Friday was a day unlike any other. It started out with children. Maybe 30 children--children singing and dancing--children that don't know their parents, but who know their Father. They ached to be looked pleasingly upon, they ached for a genuine, loving touch; they ached for hope. So we told them about their Rescuer, the Calmer of the storm. We told them the story of how Jesus commanded the storm at sea to stop. We told them how the wind and the waves that He created obeyed Him. We told them that they had no reason to fear for Jesus was with them. We told them that while the storm was too big for the disciples to handle that it was not too big for our Jesus--

no matter how big the waves and no matter how small the boat.

So we told these kids that our God is bigger; that our Jesus is the Protector; we proclaimed that Jesus is King over all; that He sees them and understands their storms, but as I walked out of the room full of cackling laughter and songs of praise, I walked into the biggest storm of my life--riveted just like the disciples who doubted. Wherever we walked that day, I clutched tightly to the nail-scarred hand of my King and ran every thought by Him. I talked to Him as I walked through a home for blind men. Men lived there who had either been born into blindness or who were inflicted into blindness. Many of them are struggling to find work, but most of them had hope in Jesus and Jesus alone.

We left from there for Oasis--the health center where prostitutes seek help either medically or mentally. We walked there with two power-women: Zeba and Monisha. Zeba explained as we walked that we needed to walk quickly and powerfully. They pointed out the brothels. They were everywhere. "A horrible place," Zeba would comment in her broken English. People stared, but continued on as if life was normal there. That it was normal to set up shop at the base of a building where hundreds of women held their shop after regular "business hours." I saw a man that made my stomach turn as he stood in the shadows behind a gate smoking a cigarette. He didn't think we could see him, and I could tell that he was startled when I caught his gaze; but he scared me. His eyes sent a chill down my spine. I've been continually having to ask for forgiveness, because as I see men like him, I've begun to assume that they are defenders of this evil, and therefore my opponents. Even if that man were one of the men that stick around until late and wander up the stairs to the bed of a girl that could be the age of his daughter, he is not my opponent. In fact, I need to pray that his eyes would be opened to what his true needs are. That man--the one that sent the chills down my spine, has needs in his heart that he is dealing with in dehumanizing and destructive ways. He has a God-shaped hole in his heart, and I pray that Jesus would reveal that He is the One who formed these women and girls, not for the purpose of being a temporary satisfaction for hungry men, but rather to love and be loved.

When we crossed the crowded streets, Zeba commanded the traffic--this woman, maybe 95 pounds was one of the most joyful in spirit and strong in will that I have ever met. She pointed up over almost every building saying, "this one is horrible. They all are, but this one..." and she'd shake her head. As I walked with her, I couldn't help but wonder where the heck a women like her got off being so strong. We passed fruit and vegetable vendors, condom stands, kids playing in knee-deep gutter water, dumpsters parked in front of people's "homes", naked kids, women sitting cross-legged on the dirty ground, men on motor bikes with infants on the front, taxis honking, nice cars passing with Indian rap screaming out the windows, cattle walking down the center of the road, taxis parked with legs hanging out the door--a "comfortable" place to sleep, women and men and children sleeping on a dirty sidewalk with flies buzzing all around them, men sitting in the doorway of their shack shoveling sloppy rice into their mouths with their hands, kids washing one another in 5 gallon buckets of murky water, babies alone crying, and above it all--a canopy of leaves.

I ran through my mind a verse that I had read earlier in the morning from Revelation that said there would be a clean river of water running from the throne of God through the middle of the city; on either side the trees of life. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed. Revelation 22:2, 3 The city will have a river of water--bright as crystal running from the throne of God and He will rule the city. As I walked, trying my hardest to take in all of the sights and smells, I reminded myself that if Jesus is leading my every step, if Jesus is bigger than every storm, if Jesus promised to be with me to the end of the age, if Jesus told me to take up my cross--then there is nothing I'm seeing or experiencing that He isn't. There is nothing--not even this street in Mumbai that His heart isn't breaking over.

The God of heaven and earth dwells and resides in my heart, and He takes every step with me. He is my Father. When I began to weep silently after speaking with and praying for a group of 5 eunuchs, He held my cheeks and reminded me that this was not how it was supposed to be. He reminded me that the thief comes only to steal, and kill, and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good Shepherd. The good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. He who is a hired hand and not a Shepherd, who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. He flees because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep. (John 10:10-13)

I can't help but think that someone decided to take the lives of these eunuchs and lay them down for their own life. But Christ took His own life for the sake of many, and no matter how far those eunuchs feel from a God who cares deeply--a Good Shepherd who leads them by still waters--a Creator who knows them and protects them, Jesus stands up and cries out to them. "If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink! Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, 'Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.'" (John 7:37, 38). He calls to them and holds His arms open wide, and I? I've been anointed to bring good news to the poor, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives. So as I wept silently, my heart screamed out from the deepest part of my being to Jesus--for Him to come--for His kingdom to come to earth through my hands and feet. Through the hands and feet of those who serve the Good Shepherd.

It was those same feet I was praying for the Lord to use that finally got us to Oasis. When we got there, we got a short orientation, split up in small groups, and headed out to the brothels.

TO BE CONTINUED.
I'm running out of internet time, but my next entry is the hardest one for me to write. So keep your eyes open, it should be posted pretty soon...

Pray for Jesus to make Himself known as the ONE AND ONLY God to the men, women, and children living in poverty and destruction here in Mumbai. Get on your knees for them--so many are without defenders...

What's Worth Your Life?

The first week was packed tightly with heartbreaking, mind-blowing tragedy, but this week? This is when the routine begins.

wake up. maybe run. get ready. eat breakfast. spend and hour with Jesus. pray. leave for school. sit in class. meet students. eat lunch. hang out. go home. have a meeting. eat dinner. hang out. go to sleep.

I love schedules, but schedules make me nervous. They make me nervous because when I'm in a schedule or routine, it makes it really easy for me to become apathetic. But I read about people like Paul who shared the Gospel (the very reason he was imprisoned in the first place) with his prison guard in Rome, and I know that I've got it easy. I live in a country where the only thing that keeps me from sharing my faith is the fear not that I would lose my life, but my reputation, my image. So as I travel all the way to India to share this very same truth with very different people, living in very different circumstances, with very different beliefs, I feel a little bit sheepish because I know that there are so many people incredibly dear to me already that are completely unaware of the Jesus that I know (who is, by the way, the REAL Jesus).

So this entry is about me. It's about why I'm here. Why I live the way I live and act the way I act. It's about what defines me and drives me. What brings me hope and joy and peace. It's about what, or who, rather, is worth every inch of my heart, every moment of my time, and every breath that I breathe. So really it's not about me, it's about my Rescuer, my Hero, my Knight in Shining Armor. So if you know nothing about me, but you're on my blog, this is why. If you know me, nothing about Jesus, and you are reading my blog, please forgive me, and I beg you--read on. If you are a Christian, I encourage you to humble yourself before the cross and be reminded of the beauty of our Gospel. No matter who you are, this is for you because you, my friend, bear the very image of God and He loves you dearly.

So earlier, I mentioned a man named Paul. This Paul character was once a hater of the followers of Jesus. He imprisoned men and women of faith, and even killed many many Christians. You see, Paul (Saul at the time) was a Jew and he believed that Christ-followers were a part of a cult that was dishonoring to God, until one day, God came to Saul. He spoke to him and removed his vision for three days. Then, God sent a man named Ananias so Saul could regain his sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit. Immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and he regained his sight. (Acts 9:18). Saul (also called Paul) immediately proclaimed that Jesus is the Son of God, and people were amazed because this was the same man that was persecuting the church just days before. These people who were amazed at Paul's sudden conversion realized that he believed what he was proclaiming with all that he was. They realized that he would be devoted to the Gospel until the day that he died, so they began to plot his death. Before they could follow through with it, Paul was warned and he fled. His safety was only temporary, for he was imprisoned, beaten nearly to death, received forty lashes less one 5 times, was beaten with rods 3 times, was stoned, shipwrecked, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from his own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; (2 Corinthians 11:23-30) endured toil and hardship, endured many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, in cold and exposure.

After all of this, it is no wonder why Paul said, "For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." But what really gets me is what he says in the same breath just after: Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. (Philippians 1:22-24)

So what is it that Paul was so willing to suffer for? What was it that made him unafraid of death? What was it that explained why he lived the way he lived and acted the way he acted? What defined him and drove him? What brought him hope and joy and peace? What, or who, rather, was worth every inch of his heart, every moment of his time, and every breath that he breathed?

Let me tell you--the message that Paul proclaimed is the same message that I came all the way to South Asia to proclaim. The message is the Gospel:

God created the world--the skies and the seas; the land and the sun; the greens and the mists to water the ground; He created animals, and as His specialty, He made man. He called all things into existence, but "the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature." (Genesis 2:7). Everything was as it should be, and God told Adam and Eve that they should trust Him, that with Him, they had all they could ever need. So He instructed them to refrain from eating an apple from one forbidden tree. Because Satan--an angel that wanted to be God, tempted Eve to eat it, she did. Then Adam did as well. After eating it, both Adam and Eve were naked, embarrassed, and afraid--feelings they had never experienced before. It was that moment that God kindly asked with tears in His eyes, what they had done? For God knew that His perfect creation would never be that way again. For things would keep getting worse--all the good would unravel, and God's children would forever believe the lie fed by Satan that God didn't love them. Because God is holy, He could no longer have full contact with Adam and Eve.

While this may sounds like the end, it's not. the space between man and God was formed by sin. Scripture says that as a result of our sin--which we were born into as a result of the fall, we have earned eternal separation from God. The only thing that could bridge the gap between God and man was blood--the blood of a sacrifice to atone for our sin. For many years, animals were sacrificed to cover sins temporarily, but relationship with God could not be fully, forever restored until an eternal sacrifice was made. So God sent from His right hand, His one and only, Beloved son Jesus Christ, as the one and only, forever provision for our sin. Fully God and fully man, Jesus lived a perfect life--one without sin so that He could bear God's wrath on our behalf. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turne--every one--to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:6).

Although no guilt was found in Him, Jesus was given up to be crucified. He was beaten and bloody, flowing from the whip marks on His back. He was spat on, struck on the head, and forced to carry the Roman cross to the "place of the skull" where His broken and weakened body would be nailed and raised. "For hours we see Him hanging suspended between heaven and earth in a pain we can't imagine--and yet without complaint, without protest. Instead, we hear this: 'Father forgive them, for the know not what they do.'" We can identify ourselves as the angry mob screaming and spitting. "Even if you can't recognize yourself among the angry faces, or distinguish your own strident voice...He can. And in response to those sinful shouts and curses from you and me, Jesus yields to the sentence of death." --C.J. Mahaney

Three days after His gruesome death, Jesus rose from the dead showing that He overcame sin and death, and showing that God accepted Jesus as the one and only sacrifice for all who choose to accept Him as their Savior, their Rescuer, their Redeemer. It is Jesus who paid the price for our souls. It is through Him and only Him that we will ever see heaven. As a result of Jesus' death and resurrection, God says that we are free from the death we deserve for our sin, but not only that, but we are free to go to Him in relationship. We now have peace with God through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. So what do you do?

You simply pray. God knows your heart, for with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved (Romans 10:10).

So Paul preached this truth with all of himself, with reckless abandon no matter the circumstance. It was worth living a life of temporary misery so that more may be saved from eternal suffering. That is why here, in South Asia, in a place of pain and brokenness, they must know that their false Hindu Gods will not satisfy their thirsty souls. That is why we--with our false treasures must know that Jesus is the only thing worth our whole life, our whole heart.

Snapshots...

Cute little boys.

Piles like these are everywhere.

She is beautiful.

Slum.

Home.

Right next to the crazy buzzing cars, this man rode his bike in the blazing heat.

Tom, a guy in our group, talks to a little beggar boy.

This man was just sleeping in the sand---isolated from the thousands of others on the dirty beach.

People always passing. Cars and buses and bikes always passing. And us? We're always praying.

The Slums

Today I was sick and stayed home amongst many others on our team. I slept today more than I have slept in a while. It gave me a little bit of a chance to let my heart rest, which was really good for me, I think. A lot has happened since I last updated, and there is no way I can explain to you everything we've experienced. You would think that there would be an overarching theme of some sort that has marked the last three or four days, but each day, though not filled with many different things, are still dense with emotion and digestion with Jesus. I honestly feel a little bit scattered, and don't even know where to start, but let me begin by just saying that my view of God is expanding so much.


Three days ago I almost barfed when I thought of how gross the water was that we walked through. I swallowed my fear and disgust, and kept moving. I must confess that there have been moments on this trip that I have sat in group prayer, and wondered if we all really experience Jesus in a real and intimate way all the days of our lives. The question lies--what is real? What is intimate? I ask the Lord, "Are you as real as the murky water I stand in and as real as the perpetual rain? Can I feel you as vividly as the water dripping from my hair to my forehead and into my eyes?" The answer is "yes," but there are days that go by that I don't feel Him, and I don't hear His voice, and I don't see the work that He is doing in and around me. I don't have hand-raising, spiritual experiences every time I worship Him in song. And here, I don't see His redemptive beauty masking the pain of the children in rags. But I have seen the work of His hands, and I know the power of His love. As I wrestle with Him through these doubts, I find myself praying, "Lord I believe! Help my unbelief!"

As I sat at a stop light in our taxi, two little girls ran up to the window batting their eyes and grabbing my arm. "10 roopie?" they ask. "No," I responded. Then I asked their names--"Apka nam kia hei?" Chaya and Maya were their names. It took everything in me to refrain from holding their faces and kissing their dirty, sweaty, rain-covered foreheads. They operate on a manipulated system of begging and strategizing. It hit me later that day as I thought to myself--this shouldn't be real. This can't actually be real. These kids belong in a movie, but not in the lens of my life. Not in the reality of my present moment. Then it dawned on me that not only is it reality for me at the moment I told these girls my name, but it's real for them too. They know that their lives consist of physical, emotional, and moral filth, and they can't seem to ever get clean. I wonder if at the end of the day, they run through their minds the different people they interacted with throughout the day. I wonder if the words "Mera nam Lindsay hei..." will echo in their minds. Because as they run through my mind, I hear their voices echo, pounding at my heart. How badly I wish I could have just told them that they were beautiful. I have had so many of those moments since I have been here. Just wanting so badly to be able to hold these people and whisper the truth in their ears that they are loved by a God that operates not on chance, but in covenant, and to tell them that He loves them dearly.

I am just a witness to the pain. I walk through the city, I don't live here. I don't run up grabbing the arms of strangers; I don't sit in a brothel and wait for customers; I don't honk my horn as I barely brush by the cars and buses on my right and left. I am merely a bystander. Yesterday, as we walked through the slums, I was numb. I saw babies pooping on the sidewalk, bodies squeezed into a small 4x4 square to sleep. Dirty clothes, dirty water, dirty walls, dirty homes--eyes were the only things not covered in dirt. On the flip side, I saw TVs, cell phones, women brushing one another's hair, smiles, laughter. I felt so conflicted. The more I processed it, the more I realized how American my view of Christianity can be. While these people have next to nothing, they seemed so content. this is all that they know, so to them, it's okay. But it's not okay. They didn't choose to live like that, they were born into those circumstances. It's not fair, and God's heart breaks for the poor, but while these people are physically poor, even more--their souls are poor.


One of the guys on our team brought up the song "break my heart for what breaks yours..."and he said--Lord, I can't handle that. It's the truth. we can't handle it. We've seen such a small glimpse of what breaks the heart of our God, and we are left shaken. "How can this be, God? If you are who you say you are, how can this be?" we cry out. The reality is, materialistically, we cannot bring to these people homes. We cannot bring them each a pair of shoes and plumbing for toilets. How can we stand here and say that is what they need? There is nothing we can do for them except recognize their spiritual bankruptcy and yearn for their salvation. Seeing them living in brokenness reveals their need for Jesus even more. Yesterday, the best thing we could do was pray--for we know our God hears the cries of our hearts.

Jesus, I thank you that when we can't, you can. I thank you that you are the God who sees, and that you see and love each person here in this big city in South Asia for they all bear your very image. God, I thank you that these people will not come to you through the materials that we hold in our hands or by the words that spill from our mouths, but that it is only by your doing that anyone can come to know you. So, Lord, I ask that you would remove the shackles from their eyes to reveal the richness of eternity--to the richness of relationship with you. Would you open their ears to hear, and their eyes to see and their hearts to receive your grace? Lord, in thinking about home, I am reminded of the multi-million dollar slums back in America. Those people may have material wealth, but they are dead in spirit. Will you show them their need for you too, Father? I love you and thank you that you are the God of redemption. In your name, Jesus, Amen.

"The Lord is not slow to fulfill His promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance." --2 Peter 3:9

"Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for He has said, 'I will never leave nor forsake you.'" --Hebrews 13:5

Jesus must be our treasure, here in poverty, and home in wealth. Even amidst suffering, He is here. So as I keep walking through this city murky with sin that makes me want to barf, the Spirit gives me grace to swallow my fear, and I move forward. I keep walking by faith and trusting that more real than the smell of garbage is the fragrance of hope, and more vivid than the colorful sacrifices to Hindu Gods is my sin made white as snow. This city needs Jesus. Pray that He comes...

Never have I ever...

Have you ever felt like the air was so humid and you were so wet that it didn't even seem worth it to change your clothes? Have you ever longed to reach out your hand, but had to remind yourself that it was, in fact, perpetuating evil? Have you ever worn a pair of shoes for the very first time, gotten home, and thought to yourself that there was no way you would put them on again without washing them? Have you ever seen a 3 year-old, barefooted child run through crowds of millions all alone? Have you ever had a street vendor follow you, asking the same question--"Picture? 200 Roopie. Picture, Mam, Picture, only 200 RPI..." Have you ever looked into round, black eyes that were created to be so full of life, but instead were dulled and manipulated? Have you ever been in a place where the only people who smile, smile wantingly? Have you ever held the hand of a little girl who had no home, no family, no guardian, no shoes, no soap, but had a name, stories of lions and monkeys, and a head full of lice? Have you ever smelled garbage, spices, inscence, and marijuana at the same time? Have you ever learned to say "Hello, what is your name?" in another language, just to find that you're too afraid to actually ask anyone? Have you ever heard the whispers of Evil in your ear saying, "You want good whores? I know where to find them"?

Never have I ever experienced anything remotely close to something like this until about 10 hours ago. Even with preparation for chaos, I am overwhelmed. I got back to our home here, and couldn't even try to convince my heart to refrain from feeling trampled on and shattered into a million tiny pieces. Tears flow easy here, just like the rain. They come down, then they let up for a few minutes, and then return even harder than they started. I sit here with my pen and journal, unwilling to write any further, but at the same time having so many loose ends to tie up. I wonder if they ever will--be tied up, that is. Not by me, that's for sure. There is only One who can do that. There's only One who can bring restoration to a city where 14 million of 24 million live in abject poverty. There is only One who can fully delight in, fully satisfy, fully restore a "used-up", scarred, HIV-positive woman who takes her customers while hiding her children under the bed on which she works. There is only One that can return lost years on the streets. There is only One who can see it all. There is only One.

Why, O LORD, do you stand far away? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? In arrogance the wicked hotly pursue the poor; let them be caught in the schemes that they have devised. For the wicked boasts of the desires of his soul, and the one greedy for gain curses and renounces the LORD. In the pride of his face the wicked does not seek him; all his thoughts are, "There is no God." His ways prosper at all times; your judgments are on high, out of his sight; as for all his foes, he puffs at them. He says in his heart, "I shall not be moved; throughout all generations I shall not meet adversity." His mouth is filled with cursing and deceit and oppression; under his tongue are mischief and iniquity. He sits in ambush in the villages; in hiding places he murders the innocent. His eyes stealthily watch for the helpless; he lurks in ambush like a lion in his thicket; he lurks that he may seize the poor; he seizes the poor when he draws him into his net. The helpless are crushed, sink down, and fall by his might. He says in his heart, "God has forgotten, he has hidden his face, he will never see it."

Arise, O LORD; O God, lift up your hand; forget not the afflicted. Why does the wicked renounce God and say in his heart, "You will not call to account"? But you do see, for you note mischief and vexation, that you may take it into your hands; to you the helpless commits himself; you have been the helper of the fatherless. Break the arm of the wicked and evildoer; call his wickedness to account till you find none. The LORD is king forever and ever; the nations perish from his land. O LORD, you hear the desire of the afflicted; you will strengthen their heart; you will incline your ear to do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed, so that man who is of the earth may strike terror no more.
--Psalm 10
Jesus has sent me here. "'You are my witnesses,' declares the Lord, 'and my servant whom I have chosen, that you may know and believe me and understand that I am He.'" -Isaiah 43: 9, 10. I am one of the servants whom He has chosen, and if He has me placed here in this dark place so that under ALL circumstances, I may know, understand, and believe that He is God, then it's worth it. He is the God of South Asia. I will not fear for He is with me; and I only know and believe Him and press on because I am "precious in His eyes, and He loves me." Isaiah 43:2

Until next time...
Linds