Hold Everything with Open Hands

It's been real difficult. I find myself struggling with everything they warned us we would struggle with when we got back to the United States.

Sometimes I feel like India ruined me in a lot of ways. It is extraordinarily difficult for me to even want to love people that feel sorry for themselves. People's everyday real complaints about the so-called misery of their lives just make me want to barf. Or maybe shake them and tell them until they wake up to how good they have it. I just have to grit my teeth and say, "I'm sorry..." when really, I'm not sorry "bad" things are happening to them. I'm sorry they feel so sorry for themselves about it.
I was reminded by my roommate last night that I have to have to be gracious-because I can't expect people to know what I now know when they have not had my experience.
I have to remind myself of other things as well. Like that it is really important to talk about India to other people, because it's not fair to the stories of the lives I interacted with this summer to not be shared. And maybe it's a way I can open the eyes of other people like how my eyes were opened. It's not right to keep it to myself or hide it away. But sometimes my heart is still so broken up, I don't even know where to start. It's a weird thing that happens when you feel like you could honestly and easily disappear in a place forever, and then abandon it. Sometimes it's even hard to talk to God about, because every time I just fall to pieces.
I hate referring to being here as "coming back" because I would rather call it "going forward" so that my life can feel like it is continuing and not regressing. And I will hold tight to the belief that Jesus will also continue His work (which was never mine) in the hearts of the people I love (and He loves first) in Goa, in Birla and Vasco and Bogmollo.
I still think about the preschoolers, the kids at tuitions, the women on the beach, the families in the villages, and the church in India daily-hourly-moment-to-moment. I'm still working through the places my heart and soul were taken this summer. I'm still learning how to hold everything with open hands.

So, Jon Foreman wrote this song for me. It sums a little of what happened to me there.

Looking for reasons

To believe instead of doubt

A way in instead of out

There's got to be a reason

Looking for answers

For the beauty and the pain

When they both start to feel the same

There's got to be a reason

Only one breath at a time, she says

All my tears are falling on the floor, she says

I've never felt it rain like this before, she says

I'll sing these black eyed blues into the storm instead

I'll be waiting for the new eyes to arrive

One breath at a time

Kings and queens and little dreams

Are stuck inside these nightmares sometimes, sometimes

And the fairy tales we play

Seem so far away from where we are tonight

Sometimes

I hear her talking to herself in bed

All my tears are falling on the floor, she says

I've never felt it rain like this before, she says

I'll sing these black eyed blues into the storm instead

I'll be waiting for the new eyes to arrive

One breath at a time

Oh, one breath at a time

Oh, one breath at a time

Oh, one breath at a time

Oh, and I'm holding on to you

And I won't let go

The world is torn in two

But I won't let go

You're the only thing that's true

In this whole world of black eyed blues

And disillusioned points of view

When the pain feels like a knife, she says

I'm not giving up tonight, she says

Oh, she says

Oh, she says

I'll be waiting for the new eyes to arrive, she says

She says

Oh, she says

Oh, she says

Oh, she says

I'll be waiting for the new eyes to arrive

Snapshots of India

I finally decided to put the effort into posting some pictures... Here are some small glimpses into what life looked like for me this summer!

These are my Preschoolers!

Rebecca and I after Leela let us all try on Saris at her house

Bangles, an example of how many colors we saw everywhere

Yvette and I after the first time we got mahandi done on our hands

These are some of the wonderful people I worked with. I'm not sure how safe it is to put names up online...

Ragu, Akash, and Vignesh. The boys at tutoring were so energetic and they especially loved it when I taught them colors in English

This is Vijalaxmi from the preschool. Sometimes the girls in India would seem very cold, but when they discover how much you truly like them, it's like they can't get enough attention. It made me consider how so many of their parents feel when they heard the words "it's a girl" and the importance of being wanted.

Sudandand, whom we called "Gopi" was the silliest! Sometimes he pulled his socks up to his knees and slid all over the floor just for fun!

Gulfan was one of the most mean and difficult children I ever encountered. It seemed like nothing we could do would get through to him. Then one day Lindsay just hugged him instead of punishing him. When we simply loved him, which turns out is more important to God than getting him to learn the ABC's, he responded better and better to us and learned more as well. By the end of our time there he would participate in songs, voluntarily hug us, and cry when he had to go home.

Sometimes it took a lot to get the girls to smile with their teeth. This is Neelama from Tutoring.

This little boy was almost always content in his own little world. He liked to build towers with the blocks and pretend they were ice cream.

Manjunath is a very very special little boy

Typical moment of singing and slight chaos in the preschool

I got to ride an elephant, in the jungle, in the rain. :)

This is Akash at tutoring, working on schoolwork.

My friend Leela who worked on the beach selling things from her shop to tourists. She can speak good English, but Caitlyn and I got to teach her and two other women on the beach how to read and write for the last week or so.

Gathering with the women after a nutrition class.

Just to give credit where it is due, I did not take all of these pictures. Our team shared them, so some of the other girls are responsible for some of them.

Love With Skin On

I can actually feel the difference that being in India this summer has made in my heart.
It's really easy to think you are one way if you know stuff, but kind of different figuring out that you are really not so much that way as you maybe thought you were, once you try living out that stuff in a different way.
I'm just going to copy one of my journal entries from last week in here since I didn't blog then anyways and all.

July 12th, 2011
I've been reading the book "Blue Like  Jazz" and even though I didn't really want to like it so much because EVERYONE likes it, I love it. Not only because it makes me laugh-out-loud by the absurd but accurate way Donald Miller describes things, but also because of why He believes in God. It's not because of an emotional experience or even intellectual understanding. His faith he describes almost like instinct, and he's okay with that. Jesus is the risen son of God, and he knows it. So why do anything in life apart from Him?
But the reason why I bring this book up is because Don says that we all want to be fancy.
I've been thinking about that a lot because I think it is true of me. I even have daydreams of myself sometimes being in nice places, looking all dressed up and put-together and doing classy things all prestigious-like.
But it's a stupid fantasy because these probably wouldn't even be fun scenarios for me to be stuck in in real life considering all the best times I remember having are when I'm dancing around the kitchen with my sisters in our pajamas, spending all night talking with best friends under the stars--waking up soggy with dew, or when I'm laughing about how funny farts are. I'm not even a fancy person. But sometimes for some reason I think I want to be.
So why do I have this desire to be fancy? Thinking about it gets me thinking about how much I have romanticized the whole third-world missions thing. It's so great and easy to talk all Shane Claiborne and Mother Theresa-like when you're in a dorm-room, classroom, or air-conditioned coffee shop. It's so easy to care deeply for the poor and under-class when they are this idea that you can't feel the dirt on, smell the rotting feet of, or worry about catching lice from. You can't catch lice from an idea. And it's great to be upset and raving about the injustice of the world and claim to be like Ghandi was about war, but we don't come even close to living like he did, and our attitudes still suck.
What made me think I could love the beaten child here when I can't even put forth the effort it takes to continually love the the friendless at home? If I am too selfish to even try to love the stuck up-project member, the difficult professor, the annoying sibling, the clingy freshman, the grumpy janitor, or the friend I disagree with, how on earth did I expect to just travel to the other side of the world and be able to sacrifice my selfishness on a day-to-day basis with people here?
Though I am certain my motives to apply for this trip were not for selfish ambition, it does not matter how unselfish my initial intentions were if I spend every day thinking about only me.
"How is this story going to make me look good when I tell people at home?"
"What can I do to feel less tired, less hungry, more happy?"
"Will this be enough to validate me to those who supported my trip?"
But in reality and in all of life, nothing will ever validate me except that I am loved by God, and His love is the biggest miracle because it doesn't even make sense. And I don't understand it, but I know it, and I can't do anything to make Him love me. He loves me not because of what I do, but in spite of what I do.
People tell you to give of yourself to share the gospel to the nations and to those who don't know Christ. They tell you to love the unloved. They tell the awesome stories of victories over Satan. They don't tell you how hard it is to sleep at night or wake up in the morning. They fail to mention how many more times you fail than succeed. They don't warn you that being amongst it doesn't make the pain you experience when you hear the stories of those suffering lesson when you encounter them yourself. It only increases. Or maybe they did say these things and I somehow didn't hear those parts or got it all wrong in my head somehow.
It would suck to be like Mother Theresa. I adore her because I could never do what she did.
I've been frustrated a lot while being here. I take it out on the leaders or the other team-members or on the fact that "this is not what I signed up for" crap. The real reason behind my frustration, I think, is that I still want to be fancy- a fancy humanitarian. I have to face up to the fact that it is the idea of compassion that I love, but I would rather write a story about it that moves people to tears than go out and be what people need even if it means I get stepped  on and trampled down all along the way.
I hate what I am finding- that I am more about figuring out what I did that made a difference than  I am about the actual difference it makes.
God was wise to put me here. If I couldn't learn to love difficult preschoolers, what was I thinking? How on earth could I care for people who have been damaged and disturbed to the degree that girls taken out of the brothels have experienced?
I can just feel God asking, " Do you have any idea what it is like to love disturbed people? I do."
And then I get real humble and a whole new  sort of appreciation of Jesus coming to earth and dying for sinners, but living for us too--touching us with His own hands. I'm in so much awe of who He is and His love for us because my own love falls so short.

                                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~
I know that was long, but it makes up for no blog last week, and really gives a good insight into some things I've been figuring out.
But let me tell you also that God has dug up a love in me that I didn't even know was possible. I hate the fact that I am leaving in a week, because I have come to love these people-the preschoolers and the women living in the villages and slums and on the beach-SO much. I got to share the gospel with 20 women yesterday and tell them about a hope so strong that it makes the bad things in this life not even that important anymore. I didn't want to just pray for them and watch them go. I want to sit down and have conversations with them and find out more who they are and where they are at and who they think God is and what their heart wants to believe. I want to continue doing life with them--eating at their tables, teaching them to read, listening to their stories, showing them by who I am what love was meant to mean. I care about them, more every day. I want them to grow in their understanding of the Bible and God's plan for the world and His promises. I don't care at all if I never feel fancy again.
And I love Jesus. I love who He is. He is the meaning of compassion.

We Happen Once in a Lifetime

Every single moment is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I have been thinking so much about that this week, especially since two of the girls working here (not a part of our team, but involved in the same ministry) left to go back to the U.S. on Thursday. I have found myself thinking about what it will be like when I go home, the time I will get to spend with people, what my first American meal will be, how nice it will be to have a real shower and feel clean... etc.
But what if I never get to go back? What if I get hit by a crazy rickshaw driver and die in the streets? All of those thoughts and energy spent on them would be a waste.
I want to use what I have been given to do all I can where I am. Investing in these people and the work being done here requires a mindset that is ETERNALLY focused. When I think about the time ahead, when I will not be here anymore, I miss out on what is happening in the now. I want to live life on purpose, and never ever live as if I am just getting through it.
So pray for me, that I will recognize the precious value of every hour I spend here. Pray that I don't check out early. Pray that I live fully, as cliche as it sounds, as if each day were my last.

They are Precious in His Sight

I did not anticipate working with children again this summer.
Not in the setting that I am, anyways.
Last summer I spent a whole lot of time trying to get children to do things that they didn't want to do. This summer feels similar, but more difficult, as most of them don't speak English.
I work in a preschool every morning, and it is hard work. I don't recommend trying to teach boring things to two and three year olds. Ever. Everything needs to be exciting and entertaining, or they decide to entertain themselves, and then you've lost all control. It takes a lot of energy, and a massive amount of patience and perseverance.
As this past week progressed, I became more and more frustrated with the task set before me and the children in my classroom. I began to ask questions.
Is there really a point in me pouring into these kids?
Will they even remember anything I teach them?
Can I really get through to them?
Is this making a difference at all?
A couple of the kids behave so badly all of the time, it seems like an impossibility to even continue trying.
As I was reading through Matthew on Thursday night, I was convicted simply by reading about how Jesus talked about children. They were important to Him when his disciples tried to send them away. He made them a priority. He used their hearts as examples for us in His teachings. He loves them so much. When He told the parable about the shepherd and the lost sheep in Matthew 18 and how he left the ninety-nine to find the one, He was telling us to not look down on little children. They are special. He tells us, "In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any one of these little ones should be lost."
Not a single one. If He is willing to leave the ninety-nine to find the one, and my heart is after His, my heart should be all about loving these kids with persistence. It is not in vain. In fact, it's extremely important.
Pray that I would continue to have energy and motivation to care for these kids.
Pray that God would work in ways we can't see, and that I would be okay even if I don't get to see the results.
Pray that our team would be very unified in purpose to do God's work and not our own.

.bloggage.

This week I was at a new (as in different than last week) ministry site. WE still taught preschool in the morning, but in the afternoon we did tutoring (which they refer to as "tuitions", which doesn't even make sense) with the kids in the village. I think that preschool is difficult and frustrating. Sometimes it feels like we are doing so little that it would make no difference if we were there or not. But on e of my roommates and I were talking this morning about that quote from Mother Theresa (bless her India-loving heart)-- "We can do no great things. Just small things with great love."
I have been thinking about how much better everything would be if I would just stop trying to accomplish something and instead be satisfied by loving. Simply loving. It is in the small things that God's great love is shown. Nothing is pointless.Or at least it doesn't have to be. And in loving it benefits me as well.
I am learning better what it means to share the gospel in a closed culture. During house visits on Thursday my new friend Saresh encouraged me and pushed me a lot to ask questions to the mother of the household. As her eight-year-old son translated, I was able to tell her that Jesus Christ is the only one who can save us. It reminded me of how the Word says, "From the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise"
There are a lot of girls from the ages of 13-20 that I see every day. These are at the most risk for being trafficked. Pray that I would think of creative ways to love and serve them. Though we are not encouraged to directly share the gospel, if they ask, we can answer.Pray that opportunities to explain the truth would arise and every kind of hope and strength would shine through it. Pray for doors and hearts to be opened and strongholds demolished!

Color and Dirt

After a week, I think I am finally adjusted to life here in India. No bathing every day, washing clothes in a bucket, everything being slightly damp (if not totally drenched) all of the time, and only drinking water from bottles or jugs. Most of the work done at Rahab's is prevention against sex-trafficking. We go into a small town nearby in the slums and work at building a better community that will empower the women and give them good options for work as well as a resource center to come for if they need any kind of help. We spent each morning this week working in a pre-school and each afternoon/evening in sewing classes with women from the slums. My favorite part is when we have the translator sit with us and translate stories that we share from the Bible and from our lives with the women. Sometimes they get to open up and share as well.
On the day that I shared, I told a story about my life and how God worked in it for the morning class. But for the afternoon class I felt lead to share the story of Hannah who prayed for a son and gave him over to serve God. I learned later that one of the women, Netra, has been struggling for a long time because she cannot have kids. She cried when the story was over. A lot of the women have struggles with their husbands and with their families because of the religious animosity towards believers. Many fathers and husbands have drinking problems. Most of the girls are married at a very young age. My friend Cincoa was married at eight years old to her uncle, whom she is now seeking a divorce from.
I'm not sure I anticipated how hard it would be to hear about other people's sufferings, and to even watch it happen. I feel like I don't know what to do or how to help a lot of times. They language barrier has been really difficult for me. I struggle because I feel like I have nothing to offer.
But yesterday during women's nutrition, I stayed outside and played with the kids. It was a riot because Soni, a girl in my pre-school, had a live crab on a string. They were dragging it around like a pet. There was one little boy whom I started to play with. He was responding so well to me, even though he didn't know what I was saying. We played the whole class, just different little games and he laughed a lot. When the class was over one of our team members informed me that he was deaf, and that his family did not take care of him so he spent a lot of time with one of the other women who comes to translate for the nutrition classes.
It was just really cool because I know that I communicated with him yesterday and that we both found joy in each other. It didn't matter that he could not hear me. He understood me. It gave me hope that if I could give the message of love to this little boy, then there are ways to love all people without necessarily being able to speak words to them.
I would love to have your continued prayers for strength and persistence. Pray that God's love would be shown as strong as it really is, stronger than any darkness in the world. Pray that more opportunities would be evident, and that we would have truth always on our hearts, ready to share. Pray that I would be more and more willing to rely on my team members for help and guidance. Pray that we would work as the body of Christ is supposed to. Pray that we don't get discouraged, but grow stronger each day. Pray that in all the dirt and grime, we would celebrate and praise God for the beautiful colors. Pray that walls would tumble down and the truth be obvious, that Jesus Christ is the one true God who saves us.