Sitting cross-legged in a tiny hut, on the other side of the world, drinking chai, with as many people that you could pack in that tiny dark-lit space. There is hope in this room, the people's stories are incredible that stretch across time, and even if I have just one hour will this family, will I use it to share the never-ending love that I have? The unbroken hope that lives inside me?
Oh India is all you can say, when you are driving down the street and pretty convinced you are going to hit another car, horns honking and cows EVERYWHERE, holding baby chickens that randomly walk into the hut. I've been here a week and have had probably 300 cups of chai tea. The food is so painfully spicy sometimes, but the Lord is giving me grace. I try to pronounce children's names but end up cursing the place the apples come from... teaching duck duck goose as hen hen cow and seeing so much joy in their faces..
There is trash everywhere, but this place is so beautiful, you can see it when you look into their stunning eyes. The poverty is not so overwhelming when you see the way they face it with strength. They are a people of worship, the story of Jesus is a strange one for them to accept, but I believe our love will show them still a better way.
Because when I look into the eyes of little girl whose eyes are so full of wonder because someone is showing her an ounce of love, my heart breaks because this is something so new to her. When the children laugh because they think it is so silly that I cannot pronounce their words, and all I want to do is tell them Jesus loves you, but the language barrier is almost the same as miles. But I've learned to give love by looking into their eyes, touching their hands, that no one else will touch. My heart is shattered as I walk through a hindu temple and watch a mother teach her child how to lay on the ground, still, worshiping idols that will never breathe. My heart is with the woman who was alone, cursed by witchcraft, in her tiny hut who just longed to feel our touch. The children didn't follow us into her home like they did the others, maybe she was untouchable, but touch is a language that reaches in and destroys the pain. Looking into the eyes of a woman, who hasn't quite found healing for losing her mom, and being able to share the healing God has brought to me.
Well, lunch is ready, so I gotta go! Thanks for your prayers and such!
Prayer Requests:
The Indians need rain. It hasn't rained her in Madurai and it is making them live in hopeless poverty. Pray that it will come and they'll know it is from the Lord.
That we will be able to be bold and confident sharing our faith.
Oh India is all you can say, when you are driving down the street and pretty convinced you are going to hit another car, horns honking and cows EVERYWHERE, holding baby chickens that randomly walk into the hut. I've been here a week and have had probably 300 cups of chai tea. The food is so painfully spicy sometimes, but the Lord is giving me grace. I try to pronounce children's names but end up cursing the place the apples come from... teaching duck duck goose as hen hen cow and seeing so much joy in their faces..
There is trash everywhere, but this place is so beautiful, you can see it when you look into their stunning eyes. The poverty is not so overwhelming when you see the way they face it with strength. They are a people of worship, the story of Jesus is a strange one for them to accept, but I believe our love will show them still a better way.
Because when I look into the eyes of little girl whose eyes are so full of wonder because someone is showing her an ounce of love, my heart breaks because this is something so new to her. When the children laugh because they think it is so silly that I cannot pronounce their words, and all I want to do is tell them Jesus loves you, but the language barrier is almost the same as miles. But I've learned to give love by looking into their eyes, touching their hands, that no one else will touch. My heart is shattered as I walk through a hindu temple and watch a mother teach her child how to lay on the ground, still, worshiping idols that will never breathe. My heart is with the woman who was alone, cursed by witchcraft, in her tiny hut who just longed to feel our touch. The children didn't follow us into her home like they did the others, maybe she was untouchable, but touch is a language that reaches in and destroys the pain. Looking into the eyes of a woman, who hasn't quite found healing for losing her mom, and being able to share the healing God has brought to me.
Well, lunch is ready, so I gotta go! Thanks for your prayers and such!
Prayer Requests:
The Indians need rain. It hasn't rained her in Madurai and it is making them live in hopeless poverty. Pray that it will come and they'll know it is from the Lord.
That we will be able to be bold and confident sharing our faith.
Beautiful words, Leah. Praying that you will be bold and confident as you interact with these precious people. The story that struck me most was the mama in the temple teaching her child to worship the idol. Lord, open this dear woman's eyes to see that there is a living God who loves her, sees her, hears to her, and speaks to her. Turn her heart toward you. Bless dear Leah's hands as she touches the untouchable, and use her to draw people to yourself. Please save the Hindu people for the glory of Your Name. Amen.
ReplyDeleteWonderful! God bless you and your work. And have fun! :)
ReplyDeleteWonderful! God bless you and your work. And have fun! :)
ReplyDelete