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.