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.