The Day Will Come

Right now, as i knew it might, India seems further away than it ever has.  I came home almost 5 months ago and in the midst of the busyness of my life, the fire that burned hot enough to burn me alive when I came home exists, but in the form of embers.  It will reignite when I take time to remember.  Soon enough it will burn again, hot as it ever was, constant and full.

I'm almost through what I call "Christmas Purgatory", or what happens when you work the holidays in retail.  I can't get a single thing done on the sales floor.  The amount of things on my to-do list in any given shift seems to be directly proportional to the amount of people in the store.  If I have a thousand things to do, there will be a thousand things I need to do to help the guests (instead of my actual to-do list).  I only have one more shift before Christmas:  The Pricing Team Overnight.  This is when we come in on the 23rd, put over half the toy section on clearance (this involves printing and placing a sicker on Every. Single. Toy. that goes on clearance, then moving them to designated clearance areas and filling in the holes where they came from) and then we leave after the sun comes up on the 24th.  The weeks leading up to this have been rough, to say the least, and this will be no picnic either.

I'm feeling frustrated on a very deep level, and a lot of it has to do with the amount of money people are spending on things that neither they nor the people they are buying the items for actually need.  People make purchases that are larger than my paychecks.  This doesn't make me jealous.  Rather, it makes me remember that halfway around the world, life . . . heartbreaking and terrifying, restoring and healing . . . is happening, and in places that are more terrible and wonderful than they can possibly know.  We have constructed a comfortable dream world for ourselves, and I am no longer comfortable living in it.  I can no longer fit in, and that's a good thing.

I can not and I will not ever forget this.  I still wear the henna on my heart, and it very much impacts everything see and do.

I have to remind myself that the day will come.  I will see these kids again.  I will look into their faces and hold their hands and sing and dance and get hopelessly muddy on the soccer field.  I will listen to their stories.  I will look them in the eyes as they tell me the horrible places they have come from and I will help to make a change.  People will read these stories and change will happen in their hearts.  If God so wills it, it will help to make a change not only for the boys who tell the stories, but will make changes in the lives of many other kids still in danger on the streets.

The morning after I posted my last blog (Thanksgiving Day, no less) I heard back from BTC.  They said that the trip from June to August sounded fine and that they wanted to have a better idea of what I would like to do while I'm in India.  I told them that I just want to hang out with the kids and be like a reporter, telling their stories so others can hear about them.  I'm still reminded: as amazing as my story in this blog had turned out to be, their stories hold the true power and will blow everyone away.  The little snippet of Sunil's story in here isn't the half of it.  There are pieces of stories I've only heard about secondhand: the gang leader who ended up at Ashagram and then went back to get his entire gang.  The little boy that was deaf until BTC got him an operation (he's in half my pictures, usually holding his hand up behind somebody's head) Alok came to the US and gave parts of his testimony in churches, but I've never actually heard the whole thing.  He wrote a song about living on the streets of Bombay.  Inder I honestly have no idea about, along with Kartik.  I am so looking forward to looking into the faces of the kids I love and hearing them tell me their amazing and miraculous stories of God finding them and them finding God.

Next comes the working out of the budget and the massive fundraising campaign, probably launching in mid-January.  This not only will include support letters, but every single other idea I can possibly employ: selling kettle corn, bake sales, selling candy bars with Aidelle, a swing dance similar to the one I had for my last trip, and any other ideas I can possibly come up with.  I don't know how much I have to raise, but I'd rather not have the "I don't have enough money yet?! OMG! Imightnotgo!" week (um . . . maybe month) I had last time, if I can avoid it.

This also might end up taking on a much larger scope than I originally thought it would.  I'll go to India, I 'll come home and write this book . . . but then what?  Go back and write a book about the girls?  Just move there?  All I know is that there is currently $27,000 in student loans standing between me and moving to India.  This has been a pretty heavy burden for the 5 years I've been paying them.  If God says "go", I'm going.  But this is a pretty good sized giant I'm up against here.

I got a Christmas newsletter from BTC yesterday.  In an earlier post about our trip to Jubilee 4, I mentioned a girl sitting at a table because she was very sick.  She could barely stand.  Casey sat with her while we were there.  I learned later that she had AIDS, and the staff at Jubilee 4 were afraid that she would not live long.

When I opened the newsletter, this is what I found:

Hello, I am Mahek. I am 17 years old and I reside at Jubilee-4.
I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude for your prayers. I was very sick and the doctors gave up on me. But the Doctor of doctors, Lord Jesus Christ, answered your prayers and healed me miraculously.
God has given me this opportunity to greet you and pray for you. I Wish you and your family a very happy Christmas and a blessed New Year. May the Lord open the flood gates of heaven and bless you abundantly. Keep trusting the Lord; His name is Jehovah Rophe, God who heals.
Please continue to pray for my health. I want to complete my studies and be a voice for oppressed women and children.

This was that girl.

How awesome is this?  This is truly amazing.  I'm so excited to see what God will do through this amazing young woman.

This is where I'm going.  All this work and all this effort and all this purgatory is to return to the place where the kids share the very heartbeat of God.
They share it by first being the people for which God's heart beats.
They receive the love and healing that God brings them.
As He restores them, they learn to listen and find His heartbeat.
But by far the most miraculous thing about all of this is: They become the vessels, the messengers.  They share the heartbeat of God with others.  They share it with me.
And as I learn to listen, receive, and share the heartbeat of God for myself, I will then share it with everyone who comes in contact with me, in person or in my book.

The day will come.  Lord, let it come quickly.

The Waiting Game . . .

Every time I need confirmation for this trip, I get it.  It comes in different ways, but it's there.  That's why I can't give up.

Arrangements are progressing on India time.  To me, they seem like they are perpetually on hold.  I want to nail down the dates and the budget, tell my boys I'm coming on this day, get my butt on that plane and get there.  As in most cases with international travel, that is not going to be the case.

The last I heard from BTC was that they can only make arrangements for me to come alone.  I'm fine with that and so is Terri.  Seriously, this is going to be a logistical nightmare for me to even get myself there.  I sent an e-mail back asking about dates, proposing a trip from early June to early August. I sent this e-mail almost a month ago.  I have not heard back yet.  Actually, I haven't even been hearing from the guys at Ashagram as much either.  All things related to India seem to be hitting a universal snag.

I started asking God if I was actually supposed to go.  I'm kind of way too far in this to drop it now.  All those bracelets (over 100 now!  Dear Jesus, I must be nuts) have been earning me money.  That I have started using.  I wanted a little baby computer to take with me so I wouldn't have to use journals to write my book.  I budgeted $300 for one.  Target had a sale on the nicest one I've found, and I looked at multiple places: $197 from $300.  I used the money, bought it, and praised God for the awesome provision.  But this was a big moment.  Up until this point, I had been using my own money for everything.  This was the first time that I used the funds I have raised.

I feel a great responsibility here.  People are me their hard-earned cash so I can make this happen.  On all my previous trips, I never saw the money.  I never needed to launch a fundraiser of this magnitude and whatever I did raise came back to me on a sheet of paper telling me what I had raised.  I never held cash.  Now I have money I have worked for sitting in my savings account.  I look at how it's growing and feel like it's not mine, but I'm only using it as necessary, kind of like borrowing it.  Is this how missionaries feel?

I prayed in church last Sunday, frustrated that I haven't heard back yet, asking God if I was *really* supposed to do this.  I asked for a 'trail marker' so I can know that I'm still going the right way.  As soon as I finished, the guy that runs our missions department got up in front of our church to give us the "monthly missions update".  I had forgotten that this was the Sunday where he did this every month.  He went through our trips for the next year: Bolivia, France, the Dominican Republic, and a few others.  At the end, he mentioned that my parents are planning a trip to the Philippines in February.  Then, he looked right at me and said, "and Erin is no exception here either!  She went to India last summer and now she's going back.  She wants to go for an extended trip this summer.  She wants to go for 3 months." (3?  !  Sure, I'll take that)  I felt my church family looking my direction and nodding their approval.  We then took the offering.  For all I know, I've got money in an "India Missions" account that I technically haven't started yet on the church books.  Renee Lily walked up to me after the service and said, "There's no turning back now!  Everybody knows.  You have to go."

I'm in this now.  I still have to wait for everything to fall into place, but I'm in this now.  May I continue to have the bravery and the faith to keep going.

This just might work . . .

I have officially moved from simply wanting to go to India to taking steps to make it happen.

My prayer daily has been "steps, guidance and confirmation."  I need to know what steps to take, guidance on when and where exactly to take them and confirmation to know that I'm still right where God wants me to be.

Dan and Carmen came up from Texas to ANM and I got to meet them.  They asked if they might be able to present on their ministry to or church.  After much wrangling, I managed to coordinate a place for them to speak to some of our Sunday school classes.  We talked a little about my crazy idea and how excited they were about it.  We'll be talking in the next few weeks about what steps to take next.  At some point, I will be talking directly to BTC about my trip.


I might have traveling companions!  Terri Modlin wanted to go to India with us this last time.  She raised all the support she needed, but she was unable to go.  She has a plane ticket that she has to use before June 1.

India in June?  Sounds good to me!

To make things even more awesome, her daughter Joy wants to go with us!  Now that would be cool.  I would love to introduce my kids to them and share just how awesome they are.  I want everyone to go with me!

This whole situation needs prayer though . . . there are some important things coming up for Terri that would determine if she can come or not.  Please pray that it all comes together and they are able to go on this amazing adventure too.



I still have those bracelets tied on my wrist.  About a month ago, I decided to make some to give to the boys.  I told God that I wouldn't make them until I was sure I was going.  I dug out all my embroidery thread, picked out colors for the first one I would make, and bundled them up in the corner of the box.

A few weeks later, I had a green light from BTC.  I found myself finishing my first one, made specially for Sunil (I know, shocker), and moving on completely different colors for Balaji.  I eventually made 8 unique ones, each specially made for each guy with the colors that they like.  Somewhere along the way, I thought that my friends here would love to have these too.  Then it hit me:

I could totally sell these things and take the money to India with me.

I decided to make a few more and charge $5 for them.  I told a few people at Target what I was up to and brought in a few examples of the ones I had already made.  At the start of my shift at 6 AM, I showed them to some of the girls standing around me who were unfortunate enough to have the early morning shift with me.  Chanel liked the ones I had in my hand, but was more interested in the ones on my wrist.  She loved the one that's from Kartik, done in an arrowhead pattern that I have never tried to do.  She wanted one in purple and yellow to match the colors of her daughter's cheerleading squad.  I told her I might be able to figure out how Santosh did it and make her one.  Her response: " Great!  Can you make me 6?  And then I might need more for the rest of the squad . . . "  Then one of my bosses wanted 3 in pink and green, thankfully in a pattern I know how to do.  Another friend of mine wanted Rasta colors and another in earth tones.  I took a few bracelets with me when I went out to eat with my friends and they bought a few, then went to their workplaces and told people about my crazy idea.  Now their friends want some too.

Suddenly, I have to make well over 40 of these things!

I had to start keeping records in a notebook of the orders.  Renee Estes and Brittany have asked me to make a bunch for them so they can take them around and sell them for me in their circles. People at Target have started telling their friends about what I'm doing and now they want some too.  It just keeps getting bigger.

I also have plans to start making really pretty necklaces with the huge stash of beads that I have in my room that I've been collecting for years.  I'll charge $10 for those.  I plan on having jewelry parties with them before Christmas (if I can make them fast enough) so people can use them as presents.

I got to tell the missions committee at my church about my trip.  I showed them some pretty compelling pictures I had taken from around Mumbai and Ashagram.  I told them about how I saw the skyscrapers in Mumbai and also what was between them.  I told stories about my kids and showed them some of the awesome pictures I have of them.  I also told them about my bracelet fundraiser, and showed them the notebook with a full page covered in marks and highlighter ink. I then explained to them the rather huge backlog I have.  That got a laugh.

At the end, I quoted Isaiah 42 about freeing those that sit in darkness from their dungeons.  I said, "I know where those dungeons are.  They are in the basements and the upper floors of the houses in the red light district.  They are the shanty towns, the underpasses and the train stations.  I am so thankful that God is using me to help free people from their darkness."

After I had finished speaking, a guy I had never met handed me $100 and said, "when you get a chance, make me a $100 bracelet."  Thank you Lord for confirmation.

This is another talent I thought was useless.  God is once again using whatever I have to help my kids.  I am like a human toolbox.  All those seemingly pointless abilities and talents I've been picking up for years suddenly seem to be useful.  This keeps happening, again and again.  This is looking like even more confirmation to me.


I also discovered something wonderful at work.  When I was visiting the women's vocational building at Ashagram, they showed me some picture frames they had made and told me that Target had actually ordered 500.  We have one!  It's in the display case in the office.  It serves as a reminder that when I get really sick of work or am really tired from pulling early morning shifts, I remember why I'm working so hard.  I know the girls that made it.  My bosses thought I was totally nuts when I found it.  I got really excited and kept yelling, "No really!  My Indian sisters made these!"


I'm also noticing that my relationships with my boys are continuing.  I talk to some of them on a fairly frequent basis, and I'm actually able to help them with some stuff going on in their lives.  One of my guys has a smartphone he uses to talk to me on Facebook.  He passes it around from time to time and I've heard from several guys that way.  They all whine at me and tell me they miss me.  Some of them have gone so far as to tell me that they're waiting for me to come back.

I haven't yet told them that I'm coming back for sure.  I have to clear the dates with the leadership of BTC: arriving in early June, staying for 2 months.  That sounds amazing!

Lord, guide me as I go.

The Story Continues

So, things appear to be picking up.

I never stopped praying about India.  Ever.  It has been a daily surrender to keep my mindset where God would want it to be.  I want it so badly, but I have to be careful.  I can't let it become an idol in my life. I have to be OK with anything and everything God will do in my life.

But I still have never shut up about it.

One week at church, I was given 5 minutes (HA! 5 minutes. That's a laugh) to talk about my trip to India.  I have no idea how long I actually talked.  I tried to keep it short.  I also tried not to cry in front of everybody.  I told them about what Ashagram is.  I told them a little about Sunil and his story, but I was careful not to give any names.  I told them that I am their sister.  I don't really remember what all I said, but my heart certainly came through.

While I was up there, one of my friends got a bible verse for me.  She didn't give it to me at the time, but she did give it to me a few weeks later:

Isaiah 42:5-7
This is what God the Lord says -
He who created the heavens and stretched them out,
who spread out the earth and all that comes from it,
who gives breath to its people,
and life to those who walk on it:
"I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness;
I will take hold of your hand
I will keep you and will make you a covenant for the people and a light for the gentiles,

to open the eyes of the blind
to free captives from prison
and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.

I needed encouragement.  This was it.  God will take hold of my hand and use me to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.

I know exactly where that dungeon is.  Lord, use me!


Today, I got another word from a friend.  She told me about Chinese bamboo.  This kind of bamboo can grow up to 90 feet tall in 6 weeks!  However, it takes 5 years to germinate and sprout.  She had seen me walking past her during our Wednesday night women's group, and God laid it on her heart to tell me that.  I went home and looked it up:  She was right.  It takes 5 years for this bamboo to even sprout, but during that time, the bamboo is making a massive root system that will support and fuel the rapid growth when it does come.

This May, I will have completed 5 years since graduating from college.
5 years of waiting for God to show me where he wants me to be.

I have built up my root system.  It appears that I need to get ready for something to come so fast it will make my head spin.

Bring it on.



Every single person who has read my blog has told me to write a book.  There have been no exceptions to this, as of yet.  One of my friends liked it so much that he put it on his Kindle.  I'm on a Kindle!

I decided to see if I could actually write a book about my kids.  I talked to my friends at ANM and they gave me some e-mail addresses for people who know the people that run BTC.  It was suggested that I contact them first to see what would be the best way to contact BTC about my book idea.  I fired off an e-mail:


My name is Erin Endsley.  I have been volunteering at Advancing Native Missions as a writer for several months.  I went to India a little over a month ago on a mission trip to visit BTC's ministries in Mumbai and spent the best week of my life at Ashagram.  I spent a lot of time with the guys: singing worship songs, playing soccer, learning how to dance like an Indian and teaching them (of all things) every Spanish word I know, which isn't many.  God used me to care for these guys, and I (by God's grace) was able to give them exactly what they needed.  I felt so fortunate that the little things I was giving them were inspiring and encouraging them.  I fell in love with the kids and the country while I was there.  I have an idea that would help BTC, and Dee Brookshire suggested that I contact you first to help me figure out the next step to take.

While I was in India, I kept a journal.  When I returned to the states, I turned it into a blog.  My friends read it and told me it was quite compelling.  They encouraged me to consider writing more.  I told them I would need to find something I'm really passionate about to write on first.  Only then did it occur to me:  I most definitely have something to write about.

What I would like to do is go back to India and get some of the stories of the kids.  I want to write them all down and put all their stories into a book.  I'd tell not just the stories of how they got to Ashagram, but also share stories of what makes them all so amazing and wonderful.  Some of my friends who are staff at ANM and have been to Ashagram  have told me that there is a lot of attention aimed at the ladies (as well it should be), but not so much toward the boys and young men.  I'd like to change some of that with this book.  Since I'm already close to several of the guys, it wouldn't be very hard to have them tell (or in some cases, retell) their stories and write some really heartfelt stuff.  I'd love to use this book to help get some of my boys to universities and get more kids out of danger and into Ashagram. 

When I told Dee my idea, she gave me your e-mail address and told me that you might be able to help me present the idea to Deveraj.  I know he's a busy man and I would really hate for this idea to get lost in the shuffle.  Would you please consider helping me get this idea off the ground?  I'd love to have a way to contact him so he could be able to begin considering and praying about this.  This is so crazy that it just might work.


I didn't expect much out of this.  In fact, I thought I'd have to go banging on some doors to get this idea off the ground.  A few days went by, and I didn't hear anything.  Then:

Dear Erin,

Carmen and I are so happy to have heard from you.  Thank you for your heart for BTC!

Sharmila, I have copied you so you are in the loop on what Erin is thinking about (please read below) and can share with Mr. Devaraj at the appropriate time.

Erin, we will be at ANM later this month and hopefully we can chat briefly about this. Please continue to pray about this.  If this is the Lord's will, He will give you a vision for this project that will serve the ministry.

Many blessings,

Dan and Carmen


(BTW, Sharmila is the secretary in the BTC office.)

And THEN!


Hello Dan,

Great!

Yes, we do need help with the boys and are open to the idea; will see how we can work this out. Erin is most welcome to come again to BTC.

In Him,
Devaraj



This is the guy that runs BTC!  He likes my idea!  And he wants  me to come back!  I actually did a happy dance when I read this. 

I haven't mentioned anything to my guys yet.  I will when I have an actual plan with dates.  It's getting hard not to say something when they leave messages that say, "I miss you sooooo muuuccchh! (thank you, Alok.)

Ladies and gentlemen, the story continues.  Watch for the 90-foot growth spurt!

India - 9/4, Epilogue

I've been home a month.  I've had some time to process everything that happened while I was in India, and this blog has certainly helped me do that.  It has helped me remember.

I still struggle quite a bit with being 'present' where I am.  At work, I always have let my mind wander some because my job isn't always very hard to do.  But now, it's so much worse.  I hold myself together well enough and I do my job, but I find myself completely spacing sometimes.  I remember the faces of the girls I saw outside the brothels: the hopelessness and the silent burning anger at the injustice of what was happening to them.  What's even more chilling about this is the fact that I know they're still there, while I'm straightening bottles of shampoo.  Working in retail is a slap in the face after everything I have seen and done.  I'd call it a reality check, but in my soul I know: people around me live in a comfortable dream world, while reality . . . heartbreaking and terrifying, restoring and healing . . . is happening halfway around the world.  It's happening in places that are both more terrible and more wonderful than they could possibly imagine.

How do you explain that to somebody?

How do you explain to your boss that you were trying to pray for the girls still stuck in that hell, and that's why you forgot to move the macaroni and cheese to the right spot?
How do you explain to your coworker, who just walked into the break room and and is seeing tears on your face, that you were just missing your kids and you were praying that God would continue to heal and bless them?

You don't really explain it.  I just keep praying that God holds me together long enough to do my job.


Thank God for facebook.  Most of the older boys are on it.  I have sent messages to them, telling them those things I wanted to say before I left, but didn't have the words for at the time.  I spent some real time writing those.  Sunil's actually took me days to write.  I wrote it in such a way that I said what I wanted in a way that could be easily understood by someone who speaks English as a second (or in his case, third) language:

"Your love for God runs very deep, and I could tell that from just being around you. Your heart is very tender and open, and you have an amazing love to give. God gave you the ability to love others and Him deeply after everything you have been through. Don't ever feel ashamed of it. Don't ever feel like you have to hide it. It blessed me so much. You are like a river that looks calm on top, but has a very strong current underneath. You play and have a good time, but your love runs deeper than anyone I have ever met. You are a very strong man of God."


I'll occasionally catch some of them on late at night.  They tell me that they miss me soooooo much.  They say that they want me to come back soon.  Alok tells me what's going on in his life every few days.  He says wonderfully endearing things, like "Te Amo . . . . toooooo!"  Inder occasionally sends me things, but I think he talks to Casey more often.  :)  I catch Balaji on every so often too.

I have received friend requests from several guys I only vaguely remember.   I talk to them every few nights.  I made more of an impression than I thought I did because these guys remember not only me and the things I did and said, but my attitude and outlook on life. I can tell that they think of me very highly and I appear to have inspired some of them.  Inder's brother Soon is talking to me about going to college in the US.  Apparently, the love that flowed out of me made a wider impression than just on the 5 guys I spent a lot of time around.


Inder gave me a Hindi nickname before I left: Jina.

It means Life.

I had originally thought that he hadn't put much thought into it, and that he just came up with a random word.  But the more I see what kind of an impact I was having, the more I realize that he had it exactly right.

This is how they saw me.

Smiling, laughing, singing, getting dirty in the soccer lake, giving hugs, doing goofy motions, dancing in the dining hall when there was no music, always making room for them at the dining table, finding every single joke they told hilarious, letting them tie and retie scarves on my head, letting them go crazy with my camera, letting them play with my hair and put flowers in it, gratefully accepting their gestures of love and care, noticing the small things they would do for me, looking them in the eyes and saying, 'thank you', finding ways to compliment them, loving just being near them.

As Casey would say, I spoke, loved, and demonstrated life to them.

Sunil approved my friend request, but I haven't seen him on since a few days after I got back.  He did warn me that he doesn't get on that often, and it would appear that he was right on that.  I'm ok with that though.  I'll see him again, one way or another, and that gives me hope.



I do wear my saris in public.  People do stare.  And I don't mind that one bit.  I totally rock them.

I still wear the bracelets the boys tied on my wrist.  If I ever forget (and I haven't yet), they remind me to pray for my kids.  I ended up giving the bracelet I got from the girl at Jubilee to someone who needed encouragement when God asked me to give it to them.

When I got back from India, I went to bed at around 9 after being up for 30 hours or something ridiculous like that.  I woke up at around 3 in the morning.  God was doing something.  I felt like my spirit within me was ablaze.  This has never spontaneously happened to me.  I usually have to really be seeking after God to have this happen.  I picked up the rubber watch that is still set to India time and saw that it was around lunchtime for the boys.

Then I knew:  my boys were praying for me.

Amazingly enough, I could feel it half a world away.  It burned in me like hot coals.  I returned the favor, and I prayed for those boys until the sun came up.  I prayed that God would dump buckets of blessing on those boys.  I prayed for each face I could remember (because I couldn't remember all their names) and got as specific as I knew to be.  I prayed that I could return and be with them again.  Those boys stole my heart, and I'm never going to get it back!

That day, mom and I went down to Lynchburg to visit my youth group kids while they were at camp.  When we pulled in, they were crossing the street to go to dinner.  Mom gave them an Indian welcome:  she laid into the horn.  The kids jumped out of the way, but then came running back when they saw who it was.  My girls screamed and ran over to me almost before I could get the car door open.  They all gave me a huge hug and told me that they were sooooo happy I was home and that I came to see them.  I hugged all of them and walked with them to the dining hall.  Jessie, one of my youth group kids that I love dearly, came back out of the dining hall and gave both me and my mom a hug.

When Jessie first came to youth group, he didn't want to be there.  He was about as disruptive as humanly possible.  Mom was still a leader at the time (she's since 'retired') and she didn't fall for any of his antics.  She lovingly got on his case, and he kept coming.  I picked up where she left off.  I have been encouraging him whenever I can and I basically just let him be himself, whatever that may look like.  He's grown a whole lot, and it's wonderful to see.  I was glad to see him at camp.  When he started complaining about things and saying he wanted to go home, I knew that God was doing a difficult and wonderful work in him.

I was noticing something different about the way I was seeing my own kids: Amazingly enough,the love that went flowing out of me at Ashagram hadn't stopped.  It was just as strong as it ever was, and now 'life' was flowing to my kids here, too.  I knew I needed to use it.

When we went to the worship service that night, they played many songs I had sung with Inder, Balaji, and Sunil.  I remembered the sound of their voices singing with mine.  They played Mighty To Save and I sang it as a person who knew in a whole new way how mighty God is to save.

After the preacher gave his message for the evening, he asked the leaders to come up to the front to pray for the kids.  In years past, I had never done this.  Now, I couldn't stop myself.  My kids wanted prayer!  How could I not pray for them?  It made me wonder how exactly I had sat on the sidelines all those years in the past.  One by one, my girls came up to me.  They would simply walk up to me crying, and I would simply hold them and say nothing for a few minutes.  I then prayed that God, the great restorer, would come and restore their lives and hearts to the way He had always intended them to be.  I had never prayed like that before, and I prayed it like someone who knew He would.

I loved it so much at camp that night that I drove out the next morning again to spend the day with them.  I followed them around that entire afternoon.  They asked about my trip and I could only give them little pieces of all the good things that happened.  Some of them had been on missions trips, so they knew:  There was just so much to tell that words couldn't say it all.

At the service that night, the speaker talked about the 'gifts of healing'.  He said that it didn't just pertain to physical healing, but spiritual and emotional healing too.  I had never thought of it that way.  He then asked all the kids to line up so he could pray for each kid individually.  He prayed for their particular gift of healing, that they would heal their generation.  I stood at the front with the leaders and prayed that God would stamp and seal the prayer on the hearts of every kid.

While I was standing up front, watching the speaker pray for my kids, I thought about how I was going to be different because of my trip.  I've been on mission trips before, and sometimes what I learn doesn't stick with me as much as I would like.  I have good experiences, but I forget the people and all the amazing things that happened.  The mark on my life fades.

I looked at my arm, still beautifully emblazoned with Nazreen's handiwork.  I wished that the marks of henna on my arm would stay for a long time.  I loved having the visual reminder.  Every time I looked at my arm, I would remember the amazing love of God and the love of my kids.

Just as soon as I finished this thought, God sent another 'holy 2X4' my way.  It was:
"The marks on your arm may not be permanent, but the marks on your heart are."

It was then that I knew:  My life would no longer be little.

The speaker then asked the leaders to line up for prayer.  When he got to me, he picked up my hand that had the henna on it and said, "Someone's an artist!"  I told him that I would explain where exactly I got that later.  He began to pray for me.  After a moment of silence, he said, "You are someone that heals with words.  You can give life to those around you by healing words.  And you also heal with your hands.  You touch and hug kids, and it heals them."

I was blown away by this one.

After the service, I told him where exactly I got the henna, who gave it to me, and what I had been doing on my trip.  He said, "That's exactly what you do!  You healed them with your words and your hands."

THAT is exactly what my kids needed, both my kids in India and my kids in Virginia.  My boys in India needed someone to hug them and encourage them and tell them how amazing they truly are.  My girls in Virginia need me to hold them and tell them that God will make everything OK.  All they have to do is let Him.


My words seem to be taking on a life of their own.  This blog has been read by many people, and every person who has read it keeps telling me that I should seriously consider focusing on my writing more.  They told me that I write in such a way that makes them feel what I was feeling at the time.  I went to ANM and talked with some of the people that had been on previous trips to Mumbai and Ashagram.  I read portions of my blog out loud to them.  They told me that God had been placing a burden on their hearts to raise more support and advocate for Bombay Teen Challenge.  They felt as though my writing will help with that somehow.

All I know is, these kids have stories.  I can write them down and tell them.

I want to help these kids get to college and universities.  Whether they want to come here or stay in India, I want to help them do it.  I'm not sure how this will all come together, but I'm going to do whatever I can.

I have a crazy idea:  I want to go back, write down their stories and tell about how amazing these kids really are.  I want to write a book.  A book people would read and care about.  If this blog has proven one thing to me, it shows me that I can convey things on my heart in words that other people can read and feel as well.  Everything that book makes would go right back to them, both to get my kids to college and to get more kids out of the hell in Mumbai and into Ashagram.

I don't know if it will work, but I'm going to try.



I still can't talk about how much I love these kids without crying.  The love is just as strong as when I left.

And somehow I know, deep down, it's only a matter of time before I'm back with them.

This story will continue.

India - 7/31, Ashagram

I couldn't avoid it any longer.  This was our last day.

We got up and went to breakfast.  When I saw Inder, he was noticeably not awake yet.  I asked him what happened and he told me that he was up late writing a song.  I didn't think much of it.  The rest of the boys, thinking they were really smart, had started an hourly countdown for us for 7:00 that night, when we were supposed to leave.  I told them to knock it off.  I wanted to enjoy my last day with them.  Kartik said, "Then you'll be crying!  We'll have to get you a bucket for your tears!  You'll have to take it with you for the plane!"

Thanks again, Kartik.

I actually got up and left the table at this point.  I was going to have to get a hold of myself, because the last thing I needed was to be all upset about leaving before I actually left.  I was going to have to deal with this by myself later.  I sat down at another table and Sunil joined me.  He watched me starting to pull myself together before I completely came apart, and probably to distract me,  he started singing.

For the record, I don't remember what he sang.  It was a worship song I knew, but I can't remember what it was because a few notes in, I got goosebumps despite the oppressive humidity.  This kid could sing.  His voice is a strong and pure-toned tenor.  (He would make it on the cast of any local theater production done in my area.  I can't even make it on those casts, and I take voice lessons.)  I didn't see that one coming.  I kind of just stared at him.  When he realized that I wasn't joining in (or possibly because I was staring at him), he gave me a quizzical look.  I just said, "Wow.  You can really sing."

When we returned back to our dorm, we found that we finally got our saris back from the tailor!  I pulled out the one I had gotten in London, and with the help of some of the girls, got it on for the first time.

This thing was amazing.  I felt like an Indian princess.  I knew I would be wearing these things from that point on.  I was going home to little redneck Waynesboro, VA and I was going to wear these everywhere.  I was going to wear them to church, out to eat, and just for kicks, into Wal-Mart.  I pulled a flower off the tree and headed to the service.

When I got there, they had just started with the worship songs.  I tired to sneak in the back so the guys wouldn't notice me walking in late (saris, I discovered, are labor intensive and time consuming to get on.)  I looked up and realized that everyone I would have tried to sneak in for were now looking right at me: they were all in the band.  So much for hiding.

I hadn't realized it, but all the guys I was hanging out with all week were in the worship band, with Sunil as their leader. Seeing them up front playing songs we sing in my church was really something amazing.  They sang several songs I knew, including Mighty to Save.  Sunil, as it turns out, is a gifted worship leader.  There was a sincerity and attentiveness to the way he led and the songs he picked.  He left space in the songs for worship.  When they sang "Yes, Yes, Lord" I jumped in with the younger girls in the second row and did the motions with them.  Once again, the youth leader in me came out.  The girls danced around me.  I tried not to trip over my sari as they laughed with me and called me "sister".

I hope I never stop doing stupid motions, playing ridiculous games, getting myself completely dirty and humiliating myself in creative ways in the name of creating memories for and showing my great love to teenagers.

At some point, I looked at the floor.  It was clean.  At breakfast, the floor had still been covered with the dusty remnants of the ever-expanding murals of creativity from the day before.  They had dissolved into footprints from people running all over them the previous night.  Now, there was no trace of them.  I really felt bad for whoever had to clean that, because it was my mess to clean.  I figured that I would ask around and see who had to put in that much work between breakfast and the service.

When we went up to sing our songs, they handed me a microphone while the rest of the team clustered around 2 more.  Melvin had almost lost his voice by this point.  I decided that I was just going to have to sing loud and hope for the best.  I had no idea how we sounded, but I could hear myself and I sounded on pitch.  The kids really liked it though, and that's what matters.

Casey gave the message.  She read the story where Jesus cast the demons out of a man and the nearby village asked Jesus to leave.  She talked about how Jesus wasn't always accepted by everyone and told the kids that when they went back to their villages, they may not be accepted right away but to love people anyway.  While she was speaking, I realized that we were creating missionaries.  The cycle was continuing.  The idea gave me goosebumps.  I still pray for these kids, their families and their future ministries every day.

After the message, our team was asked to come up so they could pray for us.  We were given scarves and bags that the girls had made.  Balaji and Inder came up with some of the guys, Balaji armed with a guitar.  Balaji announced that they had written us a song.  "Oh, that's what Inder meant this morning," I thought.  He stayed up all night writing us a song!  I was going to have to try really hard not to cry.

Balaji said, "You are my familia!"  To make it even more endearing, he pronounced familia like "family-a"  I stared at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay in my eyes and not go falling down my face.  Some of the other members of my team didn't even try to stop them.  The kid who didn't know who his family was or even if they were alive had just told us that we are his family.

God told me, "Look around.  This is why you are here."  I looked into the faces of the girls and guys that I had spent the week getting to know and love.  I was their family, even through they had been taken from theirs.  I was their family, even if they had been rejected and left by their own.

I am their sister.

These are my kids.  God gave me the ability to love them in a way that full, huge and unashamed, and completely outside my ability to do on my own.

Luckily for us, Balaji had not written us a sad song.  We would have needed buckets if he had.


Thank you for loving us
Thank you for dancing with us
Thank you for serving us
Thank you for eating with us

We All Are Familia

We all pray for you
God’s will be help you
Wherever you go God is with you!

He started singing different words in the verses.  I wasn't able to catch all of them, but I did hear (and Inder later confirmed for me) "Lady playing soccer, getting dirty, makes me smile!"

I love Love LOVE that God made me a youth leader with a crazy, unafraid heart.

After the service, I took pictures of anyone and everyone.  I wanted a picture of my awesome sari, so Sunil followed me over to the stone wall and got a few awesome pictures, showing the henna on my arm.

I found out who had cleaned the floor:  Inder and the boys had.  Inder was complaining, saying, "what did they DO?!  It was so messy!"  I apologized and showed him the pictures.  "Too messy, " he said.  I told him I thought I would have to clean it myself.  He said, "NO!  I'm glad I cleaned it so you didn't have to!"  I gave him a huge hug and thanked him.  I then went up to my room to change for soccer.

When I got to the field, the boys hadn't started playing yet.  Sunil ran up and stood next to me on the end of the field.  Alok gave me the update on the countdown: 5 hours.  I tried to ignore him.  Sunil made some off-hand comment about not being around when I left.  I slowly turned to look at him and said, "What was that?"  There must have been a look of death on my face, because he jumped slightly.  Casey appeared behind us and said, "Yeah, that's right.  He won't be around when we leave.  He'll be back in his room.  He did that when the last team left."  He kind of laughed a little and looked sheepish.

I just stared at him for a minute, trying to determine if he was serious.  The hurt must have registered on my face, because when he looked back at me, he completely lost the smile.  I started to grapple with this one: if he wasn't around to say goodbye, it would feel worse than if he told me that he wanted me to leave.  It would feel like he was saying he didn't care.  I knew that I am an emotionally strong person and I can take a lot, but that . . . I would not be able to simply take that one.  That one would really, really hurt.  I looked him in the eye and said, "Do NOT do that to me, Sunil.  That would really hurt me if you did."  He was still looking me in the eye, but I could see that he was thinking about how hard that was going to be for him.  I said, "If you do that, I will find you.  I don't care if I have to go wandering through the jungle, I will find you."   His smile came back, just a little.  He knew I was serious.  I was feeling a little selfish, but this was one of those things that if I didn't speak up and tell him how I felt, I would be packing around that pain for a while.  It was really important to me.

I had been hoping that soccer would be a great distraction.  For a while, it was.  Then I started having trouble.  This was more than just feeling sad that I was leaving.  I was feeling the cloak  . . . the oppressive, constrictive, suffocating cloak that I had worn for 3 months before I got to Ashagram, the one I lost before my feet even hit the ground . . . it was creeping up again.  I had to stop this one.  I made some excuse about needing tea to the guys and walked off the field.  If the guys noticed that I wasn't really ok, they didn't let on.  My guess was that they figured that I needed to go off and pull myself together.  I headed up toward the dining hall and waited for the rest of my team to get there.  I sipped at my chai, but I was already drowning.  I couldn't follow the conversation.  I felt like I was sliding back into everything that bound me before.  The idea was heartbreaking.  Then I decided:

I did not have to.  I wouldn't live like that again.

I left the table and walked down the path away from all the buildings.  I barely noticed that I was barefoot without an umbrella.  I walked until I reached the edge of the property in the grass and bushes.  I finally let it out.  I was terrified that I would have this amazing experience and not take any of what I learned and how I grew back with me.  I did NOT want to go back to my little life at Target, playing my little games with my youth group kids, hoping for something better.  Ashagram had made me thankful for everything.  I felt alive and beautiful.  I couldn't let this oppressive darkness steal all of what I had gained.  I told God I refused to pick up the cloak again and I told whatever was trying to pull me back into the darkness I had been freed from to shut up and go away.  I prayed for God to seal everything I had learned and gained in my heart so I would always have it.  I wanted India to leave its beautiful mark on me.

Only then did it occur to me that I was leaving.  That crashed over me, and I let myself feel it.  I just sat in the bushes and prayed for strength.  I was going to need a super amount of strength and grace to say goodbye to these kids and not sit sobbing in the middle of the dining room floor.  I prayed for perspective.  I prayed that I wouldn't concentrate on the fact that it was so sad that I was leaving.  I prayed that I would be able to demonstrate more love to my kids.  I prayed I would be able to leave them with something wonderful that would encourage them.  I wanted to leave them with something they would remember and cherish.  I wanted to say goodbye well.

Suddenly, my heart was too full to feel sad.  I felt like the love I had felt from God and the kids was sealed in, and I would carry that with me instead of sadness and instead of the cloak.  I stood up, looked around, and decided that I was going to do this.  I was going to tell them I loved them and that I would see them again, here on earth or in heaven.  I walked back down to the dining hall, the last of my tears being washed away by the warm rain.

When I got there, Kartik was playing on the keyboard.  He told me that he was going to break my legs.  I said, "Oh really?  And just why are you going to do that?"  He responded, "If I break your legs, then you can't leave."  I realized this was the best I was going to get out of Kartik. I gave him a huge hug and said that I like my legs, and that I would miss him.  He told me he was going to kidnap me instead.  I told him I liked that idea better.

When I made my way back down to the soccer lake, Balaji was standing under the tree.  He pulled over a chair and told me to sit.  I smiled at this wonderful and loving guy that God had blessed all of us with.  One of the guys from my soccer team knelt next to me said, "You're leaving in 3 hours!"  I looked him in the eye and said, "Yeah, I know.  But it's gonna be ok."  I turned my attention to the game.

A few minutes later, Balaji stepped in front of me.  He extended his hand toward me and jokingly (I think . . .) said, "Will you marry me?"  I laughed and said, "Sure!"  He smiled at me, but I made a point not to pick up his hand.

When it got to be 5:30, I got up to go get cleaned up and go to our early dinner.  I heard Sunil calling me from across the soccer field.  He left the game and ran over to me.  "Where are you going?" he asked.  I told him that I was going to go get cleaned up and that I was coming back down for dinner in a few minutes.  I told him that I'd see him there and then he could go hide.  He picked up my hand again.  I thought he was going to say something, but he turned away from me.  This was clearly not going to be easy for him.  I was aware of the fact that he was holding my hand in front of the 30 guys on the field, but he didn't seem to care and neither did I.  "I'll be back soon." I told him, and pulled myself away.

Up in my room, I made a symbolic gesture: I put on my good pair of skinny jeans.  While it is perfectly acceptable to wear jeans (in fact, most of the Indian girls did), I never did because I loved wearing skirts and my Indian clothing.  I hadn't worn anything strictly 'Western" in India yet.  This was my way of starting to return.  I knew that I would need to leave this oasis, where I was loved and cherished for exactly who I was, not for what I could do or how I looked like I was back home.  This was my way of starting to bring the oasis home.

When I walked back past the soccer field, I noticed that they were still playing, but Sunil had left.  Casey made some comment about him vanishing and that we probably wouldn't see him again.  I was giving the poor guy the benefit of the doubt.  I had faith in him.

Sure enough, my faith was not unfounded.  He had left early to take a shower and get cleaned up.  The rest of the guys were walking off the field and heading to their houses and he was coming up the path toward the dining hall.  I came around the wall to the dining hall to give him a hug and essentially give him a free pass on the whole situation.  He hugged me, but then to my surprise, followed me back around.  He pulled up a chair and sat next to me at the end of the table.

My hair was still soaking wet from when I had walked in the rain earlier.  He picked up a handful of it and began rubbing his hands together on it to try and dry it.  I saw some of the members of my team raise their eyebrows at this one.  I didn't stop him though, and a few more guys came along and did the same thing with portions of my hair.  These boys were showing me love to the last moment, and I was very thankful for them.

I don't think I ate more than 5 bites.  Alok showed up and yelled, "TE AMO, ERIN!" from across the dining hall.  I jumped up, ran over and gave him a huge hug, yelling, "TE AMO, ALOK!"  The smaller boys were packing around us again, giving us hugs around our waists.  Santosh handed me a card that was tied closed with a piece of string.  He told me to read it on the plane.  It had a beautiful flower vine on it that had taken him some time to draw.  I went to go put it in my bag when I realized:  I had brought my journal with me.

Alok was closest to me, so he got it first.  He wrote for a few lines and handed it back to me.  I then saw Sunil.  I handed him my journal and said, "Would you like to write something?"  He took it from me with a look of great relief.  I was thankful that I had found a way to make this easier for him.  He took it to the edge of the dining hall far away from everybody else and started writing.  At that point, Inder walked up to me and gave me a hug.  I said goodbye to him and told him how much I loved being with him.  Balaji came through a few minutes later and I got a few pictures with him.  I gave him a hug and told him he would always be my brother.  Several of the guys asked to pray for me.  They took my hands and prayed for "my beautiful sister, that she would be blessed and would be back soon."

At about this point, I realized that Casey wasn't there anymore.  Neither was Trisha.  In fact, most of the team was either leaving or had already left.  I glanced around and found Sunil, still sitting on the ledge, writing in my journal.  He had been writing for a good 20 minutes, and I wasn't about to take it away from him.  I waited a few more minutes and started walking in his direction.

Everyone else in the room either hadn't noticed me walk over there, or had just decided to give us space.  I stood in front of him, amazed that he was still there. I hadn't expected him to stick around this long.  He signed his name and handed me my journal back.  I tired to look him in the eye, but he dodged that and he pulled me into a hug.  He held me for a second, but then tried to break away.  He ended up burying his face in my hair that was over my shoulder.  I actually felt the prayer for strength and love I prayed earlier kick in, and I really needed it.  When he did that, I was approximately 2 seconds from crumpling into tears on him and making the situation so. much. worse.  God spared us both.

He pulled himself away, but said nothing.  I don't think he was able to.  He was trying to hide his face because he was an absolute mess, but he still wanted to say goodbye.  He started to try to take off, but either he still had my arm or I was still holding on to him.  It was probably both, because I moved right along with him.  I walked next to him, my arm around him, my head on his shoulder.  I told him it was going to be ok.  I told him I would see him again, that this was not the end.  I told him that I would either be back to see him on this earth, or I would see him in heaven.

At this point, we had made it back to the group.  The rest of the guys all pulled me in and gave me a huge hug.  I looked around and saw that I was the last one from my team still in the dining hall.  I was going to have to run to catch up to the rest of them.  I quickly pulled on my poncho.  Sunil hadn't left.  He was still right next to me, snapping up the sides of my poncho.  I was amazed, and so thankful that he stayed.  I grabbed everything, stuffed it in my bag and ran over to get my flip flops at the edge of the dining hall.

I took a few steps out into the rain and turned around.  There was Santosh, Kartik, Inder, a whole lot of the smaller boys and Sunil.  Still there, till the very end.  I blew them all a kiss, which Sunil returned.  I gave them all a huge smile and started laughing.  I loved these boys so much!  I turned and ran down the dirt path, hearing them yell their goodbyes.  The last thing I heard:  Kartik yelling, "You forgot your bucket!"

Thanks a lot, Kartik.  As it turns out, I didn't need it.

I ran down the path and eventually caught up to our group.  Most of the team was an absolute mess.  I had already done my difficult goodbyes and was simply grabbing my things.  I wondered where all the girls were.  I didn't need to worry.  When I pulled my bag around the corner and toward the front door, there they all were.  Two cars were parked in the courtyard, ready to take us to the airport.  The girls were standing everywhere, getting soaked by the rain, waiting to say goodbye. I hugged them all and told them that I would see them again.

When we finally did pull away, the team was silent. Jill wrote "bye" on the back window and drew a heart around it.  When we made the turn onto the main road inside Ashagram, we saw that Inder and the younger guys had come out that far to wave goodbye and see us off.  I felt huge portions of my heart being pulled . . . I was leaving my heart with these guys.  But strangely, even though I was leaving parts of it there, it was still full and whole.

When we got to our gate at the airport, I couldn't stand it anymore.  I pulled out my journal.  I came across Alok's message first:  To my dear friend Erin, I had a good time with you and getting to know you.  You blessed me with your laugh. I specially thank you for teaching us Spanish.  Te Amo Erin

I then dug out Santosh's card.  He thanked me for being there and loving them.  He told me that I was very special to everyone, and that they would miss me very much.

I turned the page in my journal and found that Sunil had written me a full page.  He said it was wonderful spending time with me and talking with me.  He would be praying for me and our team.  He loved the fact that I was in his life now, and that he would never forget God's love that showed through me and the team.  He told me that he liked my smile and that he really liked my long hair.  He said, "keep your faith in Jesus, he will provide for your needs.  Pray to God for your life partner also.  Always smile!  :)  I love you so much again."


My heart has expanded to contain the sheer amount of flowing water that poured into my parched spirit.  I walked around feeling like a fragmented mess for years.  My heart still resides in different places all over, but what I have in me is healed and able to love again.

I did not know.

I had no idea what to expect when I went on this trip, but I know it didn't involve falling in love with over one hundred amazing Indian kids.  I will always remember them: Alok, Kartik, Inder, Balaji, Nasreen and probably most of all, Sunil.  I understand why Casey was almost jumping out of her skin to get back to Ashagram.  If I ever make it back, (and I pray to God that I will)  I will be freaking out the entire drive.  I will be annoying my entire team until my feet hit the red dirt again.

The worship songs that seemed old and tired will take on new life again every time I hear them: I will remember the voices of Inder, Balaji and Sunil singing them.  It will be something I will treasure and laugh about as I raise my hands.  I will remember the love of my boys and the love that God gave to and through all of us.

What's truly amazing about all of these kids is the heartbreaking fact that these are not ordinary kids.  The girls were in the brothels.  The boys were on the streets.  The stories they tell you don't seem possible, even to me now.  How could the beautiful, graceful girl in front of you, who shines with the love of God, possibly have been abused in such a horrific and awful way?  How could this tenderhearted, strong and protective young man, who has the capacity to love so deeply and sincerely, possibly have been out on the streets, strung out on drugs and begging?

Dear Jesus, this doesn't seem possible, but here it is.  In one hundred different cases, here it is.  They are whole.  They are vibrant.  They have such a love that I can only hope to attain the ability to give in the course of my lifetime.  And they all loved me.  This is a miracle, one hundred times over.

It always costs something to leave your heart places.  You long to go back to where you left it and the people you left it with.  Having a fragmented heart is awful.  You feel it every day.  But I will gladly take it over a heart that doesn't know the love of these kids.  They have been burned with the fire of God and loved me with such a deep and sincere love that I can only hope they felt in return.

 

Reminders

I will gladly leave a piece of my heart in this land where the warm rain drips from the palm fronds and the kids share the very heartbeat of God.

India - 7/30, Ashagram

Today, boys decided it would be a great idea to continually point out that it's our last full day here.  I kept telling them that I am still here, and while I'm still here I want to enjoy every second of it and be present with them.  I told them I didn't want my thinking about leaving to spoil the precious time I had left.  That didn't stop them, but it did help me.


During our team devotion time, we picked a few songs that our team would sing for the service tomorrow.  One of the ones we picked was Your Love Never Fails.  Befitting, I think.  Also, a couple of the girls came up to give our team henna tattoos.  Henna goes on like puffy paint.  Quite a bit of it actually sits on your skin for a while before you peel it off.  It leaves behind ink that stains your skin, but you have to let it dry on you for hours.  When it's dry, you can peel off the top layer and it will leave the design.  Mine was done by Nazarene.  She's been one of our translators for the week we've been here, and I've really enjoyed being around her and getting to know her.

She did the most amazing henna on my arm and hand.  It's like she kept my personality in mind while she was doing it. There are flowers and leaves all over it with little bits of paisley mixed in.  The detail is amazing.  I hope it sticks around for a long time.  It's a visual reminder of the mark the love of these kids and the love of God has left on me while I've been here.

After lunch, I ended up with Inder again.  We sat out on the front porch of his dorm with his guitar and sang more worship songs.  I pulled out songs out of his binder that he didn't even know and helped him learn them.  Balaji showed up after a few minutes and the three of us sat out on the front porch, watching the rain fall and praising God.

The singing was interrupted when I realized that I had just left my camera out in the rain.  I did have the presence of mind to wrap it in my poncho before setting it down, knowing that it was going to rain sometime.  I ran over and grabbed it and it was still dry, thankfully.  When I rejoined the guys, I noticed that Balaji was had gone back into his dorm.  He came back out with a plastic bag and a little paper bag with handles.  He took my camera, wrapped it in the plastic and stuck it in the little bag.  I gave him a hug and told him that I always feel very taken care of when I'm around him.

After an hour of sitting with these guys, I realized that the henna on my arm was ready to come off. I began peeling it off, but it was hurting some because the hair on my arms had dried into it.  Balaji noticed my predicament.  He stuck his hands out in the rain for a few seconds and then sat down next to me with water in his palms.  He sprinkled the water on my arm and very gently began taking off the extra henna off of the entire intricate pattern.  He had to make several trips back to get more water in his hands.  It would have been easier to have me walk the 3 feet to the edge of the porch and stick my arm in the rain, but he didn't want me to get up.  I thought he would give up after a while, but he was perfectly content to sit next to me and gently pull all the henna off of my arm.  I was amazed.  This was was truly serving someone.  I was really touched by his simple act done with a great amount of love.

That afternoon, the girls from Jubilee 1 and 2 came to Ashagram.  We had planned quite a bit for this. We put together a few games, chosen shirts individually to give to each girl and put together care packages.  Melvin had been in the kitchen most of the day making the dinner meal for both the Jubilee girls and the whole of Ashagram.  This was quite an undertaking.

For the first game we played, we gave each team a bunch of long balloons you would use to make animals and a pump.  The girls had to create a costume for one of the members of their team using inflated balloons.  This was hilarious.  At the end of it, we had 4 girls standing in front of us that were absolutely covered in balloons.  One team had created a skirt, another a ridiculous hat, and another was so covered we couldn't tell what was going on with her outfit.

We then had a 'wheelbarrow relay", where one girl would hold up one girl's ankles while the other walked on her hands to the other side of the room like a wheelbarrow.  This was really funny to watch.  We had girls "running", giggling and squealing all the way to the other side.

We then had a relay where the girls had to pass eggs down the line using only spoons.  I, being an experienced youth leader, was afraid of this one.  We were playing on a marble floor.  I was afraid that the eggs would explode, and there would be screaming.  Egg doesn't clean up as well as you may think it does.  It gets everywhere, and it lingers.  We got really lucky though, and the girls were super careful.  They didn't drop one!  I was impressed.  My own youth group kids would not have been able to pull that off (no offense guys, but really.  If I put all of you in a line and did this, there would be egg everywhere.  You know it.)

We then gave the girls a few pieces of chalk and told them to make murals on the floor.  This was not one I came up with either.  In my experience of youth ministry, when you make a game that makes a mess, you get to clean said mess.  I saw them creating all of these amazing and beautiful designs, taking up half the dining room floor with their murals and thought, "Dear God.  I know how this is going to end.  It's going to end with me with a mop.  I just know it."  I prayed that I would just get over it and have a good time taking pictures of them, which I did. I laughed with them as they created ever-expanding murals of creativity.

We then sat the girls down and announced the winners, giving them crowns.  The other teams got things like bubbles, candy and plastic jewelry.  We put all the tables and chairs back in their places and the girls sat down.  We called each girl by name and gave her the shirts we had bought for each of them individually earlier in the week along with the care packages.

The entire team then went back into the kitchen to serve the food that Melvin had been preparing.  This guy had somehow managed to make Chinese food for at least 300 people.  There were huge amounts of rice on trays everywhere.  There was a massive vat of soup cooking on the stove.  I don't know where they were hiding the chicken when I went back there, but he had also made enough chicken to feed that many people and he had made teriyaki sauce for it from scratch.  I was hugely impressed.  We were assigned serving stations and got ready to serve everyone their meals.  We started with the soup because it was ready first.  It was interesting trying to serve soup into metal bowls without burning myself or the girls we were serving, but we eventually came up with little metal plates to stick them on so nobody would get hurt.  We then served the rice and the chicken to the Jubilee girls. As soon as they went through, the Ashagram girls and guys came through.  I had a lot of fun serving everyone.  They were thankful and told us that no other team had served them a meal like that.

After all the kids had gone through the line, we sat down at our usual table and they brought us Melvin's creations.  They were really good!  As usual, half the boys in the dining hall were packed around our table and my camera vanished.  I simply sat and enjoyed their company.

Alok kept playfully glaring at me from across the table.  I tried to make him feel awkward and said, "I know you think I'm pretty Alok, but you don't have to stare."  This did nothing to deter him in the slightest.  Inder was at the end of the table, talking to Casey.  For most of this week, we had been teasing Casey that she was going to end up marrying Inder.  Watching the two of them talk that night made it really seem like a wonderful possibility.  They were off in their own little world, surrounded by a dozen people.

At some point, I actually realized that my camera was gone.  I put my hand on the table where I had put it last and accidentally swiped the handle of Melvin's spoon, still in his soup.  I managed to catapult half of his soup on the table and all over me.  In this moment, I found my camera.  Santosh had it, and he was taking a perfectly brilliant picture of me with soup in my lap.

I could only laugh.  Sunil appeared behind me and handed me a box of tissues.

When I got up from the table, I picked up the scarf I had placed next to my plate and found that I also had gotten soup all over it as well. I was bummed.  This scarf was one I had bought in the Indian market in London (I had been coming home from a mission trip to Zambia, and I was shopping for the sari I mentioned in an earlier post).  It was a really pretty shade of dark blue.  I wasn't sure how I was going to get it clean.  I was looking it over and surveying the damage.  I glanced up and saw Sunil watching this happen from across the room.  He walked over to me and asked for my scarf.  I didn't know what he was going to do exactly, but I gave it to him, knowing it was in good hands.  I tracked down Santosh to see what kind of pictures he had gotten.  He had gone into the kitchen to take pictures of the guys that worked there and had awesome shots of the kids acting goofy.  There were also a dozen pictures of me sitting at the dinner table with the guys that I hadn't realized he had taken.  These were really awesome pictures!  I told him he could steal my camera anytime.

Sunil returned with my scarf around his shoulders.  He had taken it into the kitchen and washed it for me.  I was beginning to wonder how this guy was so good at catching when I needed something.  I realized it was because he was paying really close attention.  I could definitely learn something from this guy.  I may not be able to respond like that for everybody, but I could certainly pay more attention to the needs of others.

He was now standing in front of me with my scarf on his shoulders, looking up at something on the ceiling.  I cracked up and snapped a picture.  He looked like he was modeling my scarf.

He caught on and held out his arms to wear my scarf like wings.  Another hilarious picture.

He then pulled the scarf on top of his head, held out the edges away from his face and grinned right at me.

He about knocked me out.  I surprised myself with my own reaction.  I was not expecting that one, and I almost forgot to take the stinking picture, but I would be really glad that I did. (This is how I remember my dear friend: laughing and smiling, acting like a complete goof and loving every second of it.)

He then pulled out a chair for me at the nearest table and sat across from me.  As I was sitting, one of the smaller boys came over and jumped on me.  Sunil smiled, but looked slightly bewildered.  I gave the boy a hug and sent him on his way.  I suggested to Sunil that we go and sit on the outer ledge of the dining hall where it was quieter and I could actually focus on what he was saying.  We walked back and sat down.  Somewhere along the way, Sunil had picked up my camera.  I noticed that he was better at keeping track of my stuff than I was.

A few moments after I sat down, a set of hands covered my eyes.  I put my hands around the mystery person's wrists and found one bracelet on his left arm.  From that, I was able to figure that this was Kartik, and I called him out on it.  Sunil snapped this amazing picture:

After Kartik left, Sunil started telling me his story again.  Not only was he being beat up on the streets, but he also got addicted to drugs at 12 years old.  I could not believe what I was hearing.  He told me about how he wandered around in a drug-induced haze, just trying to get more drugs.  He eventually ran into one of Bombay Teen Challenge's feeding ministries, and that eventually brought him to Ashagram.  He stayed for a while, but didn't really buy it.  He didn't have a personal relationship with God.  He eventually returned to Mumbai and fell back into drugs.  He eventually reached a point of desperation and prayed, "God, if you're real, show yourself to me."  God did.  Sunil told me that he was down by the train tracks and almost fell into an oncoming train, but God pulled him back and saved his life.  Then, he was almost hit by a car stepping off a curb, but God saved his life a second time.  He prayed for a second chance, and ended up back at Ashagram.  He pursued God for the first time and turned his life around.  He learned English, started going to school and learned how to play the guitar.  He then told me all about how he ended up joining the worship band and eventually became the worship leader.

I wanted to grab him and hug him.  I wanted to praise Jesus that this amazing young man was alive and sitting in front of me.  My wonderful friend, with his amazing gentle spirit of great strength unlike anything I had ever seen, had been rescued from the hell I saw in Mumbai.

I tried to tell him all of this, but I had to stop. I ran out of words, and shortly thereafter, the ability to speak at all.  Instead of trying to fill the silence, he picked up my hand.  I looked up at him and saw the divine healing that God had given to him written all over his face.

In that moment, I knew that a huge chunk of my heart was going to end up staying at Ashagram.

He continued to tell me stories from his life and childhood.  He eventually told me that while he said he was 21 at Ashagram, he found his birth certificate when he was reunited with his family and found that he was actually 22.

At one point, Inder pulled up a chair.  He gave Sunil a strange look and I realized that he was still holding my hand.  I didn't really care, but I made a mental note that this was a little out of the ordinary for their culture and probably would make the other guys a little uncomfortable.  Inder started singing the chorus from Oh How He Loves.  I picked it up and sang along softly with him.  He asked, "You know this song?" I said, "It's one of my favorites!" and started singing the first verse.

For a while, they were both singing with me.  I eventually noticed that Sunil wasn't singing, but I was off and running, worshiping with the song.  By the time I got to the chorus again, Inder had stopped singing too. I wasn't about to stop, so I just kept going right into the second verse.  I hadn't initially been aware that I had an audience beyond the two guys, but I looked over Inder's shoulder and noticed that Balaji had picked up his guitar and was playing along with me.  By the time I got to the end of the second verse, I didn't care about what was going on around me.  I was just singing to God.  I was aware that other people were singing with me, but I didn't know that it was everybody else who was still in the dining hall.  The melody everyone was singing was strong enough for me to pull out some harmonies, so I sang some higher parts.  When we finished the song, I looked at the two young men I was sitting with.  They both gave me tender and loving smiles.  Sunil looked a little surprised, but this was nothing new for Inder.  I felt so blessed to be sitting in the same room and singing with such amazing guys, and I was especially glad that I could bless these guys with something I could do as well.

I have started to relearn how to worship because of these guys.

India - 7/29, Ashagram

This morning was the last day that we would do devotions in the mornings.  I tried not to panic as I realized that our trip was getting done.  I hung onto the fact that it wasn't done yet, and I wanted to enjoy the time I had left.

We had all the ladies in one group this morning.  After we did the devotion portion of the morning, we presented the ladies with my contribution to the team:  87 rubber watches.  Trisha had asked our team if we could find them and bring them with us because the ladies had seen these watches and loved them.  The day before I left, I got one more donation for $100.  Since I already had what I needed for the trip, I took that money to Rose's and bought as many of these rubber watches as they had.  I blew through the $100 that way.

The ladies loved them!  They got to pick the colors they wanted as we sat and gave them out.  One thing we should have done:  we should have set the watches before we handed them out.  I didn't know it at the time, but all of us would be setting these watches from that moment that we handed them out till the literal moment we left.

After lunch, the boys reappeared at our table to ask Melvin to work on some more songs with them in the music room.  At some point, Inder must have heard that I can sing (or he may have heard me singing while I was walking around. . . I do that a lot).  He asked me to come back with them and sing.  He handed me his umbrella and off we went.  When I took a look at it, I noticed that had his name along with Balaji's and Sunil's on it.  I was currently using an umbrella while 3 boys were walking around in the rain somewhere.  It made me think that I was in the company of the most amazing young men on the face of the planet.

Once in the music room, we started practicing the songs the boys would be doing for the singing competition later on that day.  We started with a Hindi song the boys had written.  This was a great song!  They had done a wonderful job with it.  I had the phonetic Hindi spelled out on a little sheet of paper, but I had no idea what I was singing.  I invented harmony parts and just sang along.

At one point, Inder wanted to practice his song: Give Thanks.  We went out on the front porch of the music room and I sang it with him.  We then started going through a huge song binder he had.  This had over a hundred songs in it, and I found that I knew most of them.  We do a lot of them in my own church.  He kept playing and I kept singing:  Offering, Clean Hands, Mighty to Save, and several old Delirious songs that I have loved for a long time.  We sat out there for hours. I began to notice that he would start singing a song with me, but then would drop out halfway through.  His explanation was that he liked to hear my singing, and he didn't want to tire out his voice before the solo competition.

After the rehearsal, we went back to the boys' housing and set up our team's contribution to the boys' half: a volleyball net.  While Melvin started to teach the boys how to play, I opted not to humiliate myself.  Playing soccer is one thing: I made them laugh.  Playing volleyball is quite another: I didn't think the guys wanted to chase the ball when I would hit it over the buildings.  Luckily for me, Santosh has also opted not to play and instead offered to give me a tour of his bunk house.  At first, I turned him down due to the basic rules of youth ministry.  I explained the concept of "boys are blue, girls are pink, no purple".  He didn't really get it.  However, one of the guys' overseers heard our conversation and offered to give me the tour.  I now could accept Santosh's invitation.

The inside of the building was quite nice.  It had colorful murals everywhere that the kids had painted.  The bunks were double stacked in rooms on either side of the entryway.  Every one of the guys had two square lockers to store all of their stuff.  It was simple, but very clean considering this was the home of the boys that I had completely covered in mud the day before.

We headed back up toward the dining hall for the boys' teatime.  It had started raining, but nobody had grabbed the umbrellas because it was only sprinkling.  Santosh insisted that I stay on the porch while he ran back in to get his umbrella.  It was a lucky thing he did too, because a few seconds later it was raining buckets.  The rest of the boys ran through the rain while Santosh and I huddled under his umbrella, laughing and jumping in the puddles.

While at teatime, the guys were picking up my hair and playing with it again.  Santosh told me he was jealous of my hair and that he wanted to cut it all off and stick it on his own head.  I said, "No, not my hair!"  I picked it up and stuck it against my head.   Kartik standing behind me was no help:  "Yeah, we'll cut it all off and stick it in an Ashagram museum.  Other teams will come and they'll be like, 'what's that?' and we can tell them that it's Erin's hair."

Thanks Kartik.  Thanks so very much.

After teatime, we all went on the soccer field again.  I was stuck on the same team as last time, and they knew just where to put me:  Defending the swampy half.  In fact, in less than 3 minutes, I slid through another mud puddle and was completely muddy from toes to ponytail.  My head was laying in the mud.  To add insult to injury, the ball was nowhere near me at the time.  I just fell.  When the rest of the guys heard my team yelling, they all turned around to see me flat on my back for no apparent reason.  I heard them laughing as I pulled my head out of the puddle.  I pulled my ponytail over my shoulder and was met with a solid stick of mud.  I was glad it wasn't braided, because I knew from experience that it would have taken approximately 30 minutes to unwind the mass of mud and hair just to get it out of the braid. And even then, it would have taken more conditioner I had with me to get the nasty snarls that would ensue.  As it was, I already knew I would need to cut that ponytail holder out of my hair.

Over the course of the game, I managed to get myself even dirtier than the day before.  That was probably because I kept wiping my hands off on the front of my clothes where it was still dry, and because I didn't have the rain to wash away the layers of mud between coatings.  At one point, Sunil jokingly told me that I looked Indian because my skin was looking darker from all the mud.  I rinsed some of the mud off my arm in a puddle to demonstrate the fact that I am in fact, Irish, and my skin was never going to get any darker.  But there was a problem.

He was right.  My skin was darker.  But only in patches.

I scrubbed at the patches a little, but realized that scrubbing muddy patches with muddy water was not a solution.  I didn't really know what was going on, but I was happy that my skin looked darker.  Being almost transparent like I am, you are happy for whatever you can get.

After the game ended, I walked back to the girls' housing.  I came onto the compound and was met by a bunch of gasping and giggling girls.  They had seen me dirty the day before, but the rain had cleaned me up some.  Now I was just an absolute mess.

The girls ran to get buckets full of water.  They then ran back to the courtyard where I was standing and started dumping and splashing the water all over me in a vain attempt to get some of the mud off.  I got a bucket and scrubbed my arms and legs while they dumped bucket after bucket over my head.  I found this completely hilarious, and so did the rest of the girls a safe distance away on the balconies.

Once I got in the building I jumped right in the shower.  All the muddy clothes went into the laundry bucket with a huge amount of laundry soap.  Once I started to get myself clean, I took a closer look at those mysterious patches.

It seemed that the mud was staining me, but it was only staining the places where I had dry skin.  There were two lines of orange running down my forearms.  My elbows and knees were orange.  My face and neck had patches.  There was a big patch across my lower back.  The tops of my feet and places around my ankles were a nice shade of burnt sienna.

I looked like a very bad self-tanning accident.

When I got out of the shower, Casey and Jill told me to go back in because I looked like I still had mud on me.  This was bad.  I explained to them that I was, in fact, clean, and that my skin was stained.  They didn't believe me at first, but  the patches didn't wash off in the sink when I tried again.  They found it absolutely hilarious.  I was going to be late for the solo competition, so I pulled on some of the nicer Indian clothing I had purchased earlier in the week and just went, stains and all.  I grabbed another white flower off the tree on my way out the door.

All the boys that were in the music room that afternoon went up first.  They sang a few songs that Melvin had been teaching them along with their Hindi song.

Then they got to the competition.  They had judges like American (or Indian) Idol, minus Simon Cowell that would encourage the kids after they sang.  It was pretty cool.  Inder got up and did a great job with his song.  Then Balaji got up and sang a song he wrote about his family.  This was especially impactful for us, as we knew Balaji's story.

Balaji told us that he didn't really know where he was from.  He boarded a train to Mumbai when he was 4.  He has had no contact with his family, and he doesn't even know if they're alive.  He wrote the song about missing his family and as a prayer for them.  I wanted to run up there and give him a hug.

At one point, the judges asked if there was anybody else who wanted to sing.  Melvin next to me yelled for Sunil to get up there and sing.  The girls behind me all started giggling and cheering.  Apparently, he had a fanclub.  I was thinking, "Dear Jesus, he sings?"

At dinner, some of the small boys stole my camera.  I saw them running around taking pictures of everything and thought that I would have some really interesting ones when I got it back.  As it turns out, a third of the pictures they took were of me in my Indian outfit.

Check out my arm.  That's not the light, that's what the mud did to my skin, but only in patches.

The rest of them were of them taking pictures with the older boys and putting their hands behind the older boys' heads.

At one point, Alok grabbed my wrist and gently picked my arm up.  I knew what he was looking at.  He got a napkin off the table and poured some water on it.  I tried to tell him it wasn't going to come off, but he was scrubbing anyway.  After a few seconds of this, he just cracked up.  "What happened!?  You're not still dirty!" he yelled.  "I told you!  The mud stained my skin!" I yelled.  Inder standing next to him said, "Oh, so you're more Indian now!  Your skin is getting darker!  Now you have to stay here."

After dinner, Sunil sat down next to me at the table and started asking me a few questions about my life.  He asked me when I came to God and when I felt a calling on my life.  When he determined that I had never done any real wandering from the Lord, he stared at the ground for a second.  I could sense something shifting around in him, like he was deciding whether or not to say something.  I waited for a moment for him to sort it out.  Eventually he met my gaze again.  He said that his family kicked him out of their house when he was young because he wasn't going to school and he didn't have a job.  He left his village and went to Mumbai.  Once he got there, he found that the street like was really rough and hard.  He got beat up a lot.  I was thinking,"who in the world would beat up Sunil?  I mean, really?"  That was hard for me to picture.  I didn't know it at the time, but that was not Sunil's biggest problem out there.

At that moment, Trisha behind me yelled that it was time for our team to go to bed.  For the first time in our conversation, Sunil broke eye contact with me to glare at her over my shoulder.  His shoulders slumped forward and he sighed in irritation.   I hadn't realized it, but I had just been talking to Sunil for an hour and a half.  I had no idea what went on around me or even where my camera was.  I had only vaguely been aware of the fact that there were still people running around me while I was sitting at the table.  When I realized I didn't have my camera and started looking for it, without asking what I needed, Sunil jumped up and tracked down the smaller boy that still had it.  I thought "Dear Jesus, can he read my mind, too?"  He ran back to me and handed me both my bag and my camera.  I was wondering how exactly he could anticipate the needs of someone else that well.  I gave him a hug and told him that I really wanted to hear the rest of the story, and that I would sit with him tomorrow night and hear the rest.

I didn't know it, but I was about to be even more amazed by this young man and the awesome power of God in his life.