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.
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