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Posted in Closing Thoughts by Hayley Robertson on 5/6/2012
Today is the last full day in Barasat, Kolkata.
It hasn't really sunk in yet, but God is preparing me and my heart. I haven't cried- I mean I've teared up a few times, but I haven't grieved. Grief is necessary, when it comes to leaving this place.
God has shone through hard times, hard- hearted people, broken kids, bad circumstances, sickness and even death.
There's been growth. There's been joy. There has been love.
Those things weren't here before we came.
All of it came from the Lord- ALL OF IT.
This was not an easy four months. God showed up here- in great and powerful ways.
He's placed His hand on this place and this place is now prepared for His Gospel. It's gonna shine here. He is gonna shine here. He's gonna wake these dry bones and breathe life into them.
And I've been privileged to be a vessel. I've been privileged to pave the way for the King- even if it wasn't easy.
In fact, I rejoice in the trials and the suffering. It made this journey all the more worth it.
" The Lord has caused His wonders to be remembered." Psalm 111:4
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Posted in Closing Thoughts by Emilie Klinger on 4/28/2012
It all
began the other day when I was sitting in the room at Asha next to Jared. I dont remember any of the other
circumstances except that before I knew what was happening Salem was sitting in
front of Jared asking him The Question.
"You leave
7 May?"
And so it
began. "Yes. Yes, we leave 7 May. No, we will never forget you. Yes, we want to
come back. No, we don't know when."
I was
joking around with Beulah in the kitchen when all of a sudden she was asking me
if I would forget her.
I asked
her if she would forget me.
How could
I forget? How could I leave? How could I say goodbye?
Sarah said
she needed to begin the process of giving the boys back to God.
Giving
them back. How do you give back children you have come to love...children who
love you?
How do you
say goodbye to smiles? How do you say goodbye to tickle fights? How do you say
goodbye to afternoon cricket games and orange slices? How do you say goodbye to
making Vishal memorize poems? How do you say goodbye to forcing Hopen to catch
up on his alphabet homework? How do you say goodbye to puzzles with Sunil and
Bishnath? How do you say goodbye to teaching Salem's class at school and always
being able to count on him to answer the questions? How do you say goodbye to
Subold, the nine-year-old with the most expressive eyes, preaching on Sunday
night about casting your cares on God? How do you say goodbye to Kumar's
precious quirkiness or Pritam's desire to be a hero? How do you say goodbye to
prayer and worship every night? How do you say goodbye to hearing Beulah pray?
How do you say goodbye to Singrai carrying Gladys around? How do you say
goodbye to reading ahead in Janer's English book with him? How do you say
goodbye to Markus's smile lighting up the room? And Saul always climbing, whether
up trees or on Ben? How do you say goodbye to Samu always stepping on your
feet? Or Bourun never wanting to do his schoolwork? How do you say goodbye to
the look on Brij's face when you know he wants to be held but can't ask for it?
How do you
say goodbye to the boys when you've seen their good days and their bad days?
How do you say goodbye to the boys who have seen your good days and bad days?
Who have made you smile on the days you were too tired to look in the mirror in
the morning?
How do you
say goodbye to the hoys who have made it all - the hours on a plane, the
thousands and thousands of miles traveled, the unbearable heat, the dirtiness,
the days at the hospital, the long nights - more than worth it. It was such a
small sacrifice to have the privilege and honor of knowing them.
I don't know
how to say goodbye.
But, I do
know that God knows. And I know that these boys belong to Him. He's their God
and He sees them and He knows them. I know that they belong to Him. He sees
every tear that falls and He hears every voice crying out to Him. He knows that
they need a new home. He sees the worries and concerns and the battles fought
on behalf of these boys. And He's holding it all in His hands. They are safe
and secure because they are resting in the palms of the Most High God. He is
the Father that owns a cattle on a thousand hills, this land, these people,
they are His.
He gave
them to us for four months and said, "Love them. Love my children." And now it
is time to give them back. To release them once again into the sovereignty and
love of God.
Because He
loves them and cares for them much more and much better than I ever will.
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Posted in General Posts by Sarah Wohlgamuth on 4/21/2012
As our time here in India begins to wind down, I feel like I need to share a few moments that have impacted my life in one way or another. I don't know the names of these women and children, nor do I know their life stories. But I feel like these brief encounters with them, either up close or from a distance, collided our worlds together in unexpected ways. Each paragraph holds a special story and exposes an intimate perspective into their world. I hope you enjoy these short snippets and glimpses into this crazy place called India.
A young woman walks down an uneven brick road where old trees hang over the walkway and provide shade from the intense heat. Tall, thin, strong. A bright orange sari wraps tightly around her, but allows enough freedom to move about. However, she can't escape the groping reality of the delicately woven fabric. Anklets jingle with each step she takes towards me. I can see she holds onto her necklace with her right hand while her left hand slowly tightens in anxiety. Our eyes cautiously align and refuse to escape. For the first time, she is overwhelmed by love. The depth behind those avenues of sight keeps her lips tight; the depth of pain, the depth of despair, the depth that rejects others from walking down her broken streets.
You're about three years old as you approach it. Your ragged clothes are no reflection of the depth your familial goddess supposedly holds. You cautiously walk up, barefooted, hands filled with broken flowers and look to the left as your mother urges you into action. You toss your handful to the goddess, back away slowly, then turn on your heels and run back into the arms of your satisfied mother. Little do you know the path your little feet are walking down. Little do you know that your offering tightened the chains on your soul. Oh, will you ever know the truth? Will you ever know what it means to be free?
Yes, a small glimpse of ferocity runs across your face, but only because you have to fight for your life. Your home rests on the middle train platform between two sets of benches. Naturally, you prefer the ground. You stand to fluff the old rice sack that holds the plastic gold from the days' work. There's no way you wouldn't use it as your pillow. You loosen your sari in order to adjust the seemingly never-ending tattered fabric, torn and stained from years of life. You expose yourself to bystanders, free from worry and judgment. You've accepted the reality of your invisibility within society. You lie down on your sack in a suggestive pose, inviting whoever desires you for just a moment.
She's about four feet tall and no younger than eighty years old. Her face wears the lines of laughter, tears, joy, and warmth. Decades of stories lie deep within her dark skin. She sits hunched over on the ground and leans against the narrow wall of the gate that welcomes those to the house. With crossed legs extended, she grips a tattered book with one hand as she runs the other across the foreign characters. She enthusiastically reads through her light pink framed glasses from the 80s. All distractions are shut out as she escapes into the world on the pages. She is the epitome of the new woman, regardless of her age. She is beautiful.
As we approach the busy interstate, there is a large patch of dirt that shows no signs of life except the one tiny body squatting down. She wears a torn, sleeveless dress, faded in color and covered in dust. Her legs and arms are not much larger than her frail bones. She holds a miniature chai cup, most likely found on the ground nearby, and scoops dirt into her cup with a tiny plastic spoon. Maybe she's going to be a princess building a castle made of sand. Maybe she's going to be royalty having tea with the famous bears and dolls of the country. Maybe she will one day believe that she is a princess and that she is a daughter of Royalty, who would die to have tea with her.
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Posted in Life on the Field by Hayley Robertson on 4/14/2012
This week was jam packed with unforgettable moments.
On Sunday night I was feeling a little overwhelmed and just kept hearing the Lord speak.
John 21:15-18
" When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?""Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."Jesus said, "Feed my lambs." Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep." The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."Jesus said, "Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." "
"Feed my Lambs," the Lord said. " Prove that you love me"
So on Monday, with the Lord screaming that into my brain, we prayed and sought out new opportunities to bring the Lord's Kingdom to Earth.
In the evening, a few of us went to the train station, where many people live on the streets. A lot of them are young children, many are disabled, some just had no where else to go. In Asia, it takes a lot of time to build relationships with people, so to show that we do care about them our contacts picked out some nutritious food for us to hand out to them. We went to person after person handing them a hard-boiled egg, a banana and some mango juice. There was one man, who really stuck out to me and touched my heart, he was mentally challenged, both feet were club- footed, he couldn't move from his spot and when he received the food he looked up to the sky, almost like he knew it came from the one true God. "Feed my Lambs"
Tuesday and Thursday, we got a few people and went to a refugee camp. Maria Minor wrote a blog on the experience: http://india.adventures.org/?filename=refuge
On Wednesday and Friday, some of the ladies on the team woke up early and went to the school down the road to teach, the principal is paying us with Chai tea to teach three classes a day, two times a week English. Our boys at Asha go to that school and it is so fun and awesome to see them finally becoming part of society, learning and having fun with their school friends. Most of their classmates come from Hindu families and it's great to see my boys living for Christ and setting an example for them. Our boys didn't have the money for books this year, so a couple people with teacher friends got some support from home and all the boys got to have their books for this year. After school on Friday each boy got the books for their classes and it was by far the sweetest thing I've ever seen. It was more that just giving them books, it was giving them hope for a brighter future. A future that doesn't consist of living on the streets and stealing to get by. We got pictures of each boy with his brand new school books and wrote their names on the inside.
A little while later we went to a hospital, not just any hospital, a government run hospital. The Indian hospitals I've been to previously have been private and I thought they were disgusting, those hospitals were pristine compared to this place. We specifically went to the neo-natal, baby ward of the hospital. On the way there we saw feces, urine and blood on the floor covering the hallways. There were stray dogs running around and extremely sick people laying on the floor. It was spiritually a very dark place, all the hope had been sucked out and instead filled with despair. The bathroom that the women have to wash off in after they have their babies was about the foulest thing I have ever seen and many of the newborn babies born at that hospital are very sick. We went to a room filled with babies and mothers and prayed over some and just the thought that their could be possibly some hope made them burst into tears.
So although there is only three or so weeks left of my time here in India, I think it is clear that it is harvest time and that the Lord is about to show His glory in some amazing ways.
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Posted in Admissions Department by Maria Minor on 4/13/2012
I stumbled across a campsite. Black tarps lined the fields. "This is strange", I thought. But the thought passed, and I walked on. I was blind, or blinded. A month later, I'm ready to go somewhere. I need to do something. My Spirit is restless. The campsite. We went, and we met them all. They are Muslim, but they wear Hindi clothes. Their faces are covered with mix-matched piercings, and their bodies in mix-matched clothing. Their hair is cut in wild fashions and adorned with colorful ribbons. They are barefoot and strong. They have weathered incredible storms.
I had so much anxiety. I was at such a loss. What could I do for these people: the children, young mothers, child-wives, and poor laborers eating water-rice? What could I do for the homes made out of garbage bags and sticks especially for when it storms, when monsoon season comes? What could I do for the dirt and infections, for the diseases and illness? What could I do for their uneducated minds and wild ways, for their nomadic hearts? They are gypsies. They are refugees. They are the outcasts, the lowly, the profoundly beautiful children of God. And what can I do? I would do anything, surrender anything, give my life, if I could save them. Anxiety, compassion, despair.
"God, don't forget them". I prayed for the names I learned. "Poppi, Aki, Ontara, Onaki, Shaki, Bapa, Ishti, Mouroni, Piya, Munkta, Chikuta, Lota, and who else?" Anxiety, despair. Who else?! Then, name after name flooded my mind.
I know. I know all of them. Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she would not have compassion on her own son? Even if a mother forgets, I will not forget them. Behold, I have engraved them on the palms of my hands....on these hands.
I looked up in shameful pain at his hands. Those hands were nailed to the cross. Even then he knew. He always knew. He loves them in ways I do not comprehend. He has seen every moment of their lives, and I cannot fathom the compassion he has for them, the tears he has shed. His heart is broken, and who will go out? The mysteries of God - that while on the cross in humility and sin, he bore the weight of every soul, memory, and pain. He was a man of sorrows; he was acquainted with the utmost depth of grief. He loves each of these refugees, and he is already there. His presence drowns that place. These are God's people, and he will provide. I cast all my anxieties on him, because the burden is not mine, because he already carries it, because he is all powerful, all knowing, and all good, and because it is only by his power that these people from Bangladesh are saved.
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Posted in Admissions Department by Maria Minor on 4/8/2012
Some things you can only get in India. Only here can you
risk your life and clothes to save a goat. Only here does chocolate mean
everything from DairyMilk to bubble gum and pineapple candies. In India I laugh every time I hold onto trash
and wonder where I should throw it out (the ground duh). Here drivers would
sooner crash than hit a cow. Sometimes you just have to go places to experience
things. Like the crazy colors and beautiful (not to mention cheap) fabric and
pearls. Like the horribly fried everything. Like eating your food with your right
hand and cleaning yourself with your left (we try to avoid that one ;)). The
spices and smells, the riches and poverty, the old ways and new. Things come
crashing together in India. Somehow we just live in the middle of the chasm,
and adjust because no one else seems to notice it. It's pretty crazy stuff. Only
in India is Asha. In India, we watched the girls' home open in Renegad. We met
the girls and the pastor and his family before they even knew what they were
doing. We were there for the opening; we swept, prayed and clapped, and then we
said our goodbyes. This past week we went back, praise the Lord. It was
amazing. We had a dance party with them in the storage room next to carrots and
eggs (Katy Perry under a green light is where it is at), did their nails, brought
them toys and chalk, colored with them and held them. Lindsey on our team has a special connection
with the girls and thought to buy each of the girls a pair of nice, fancy
shoes. The next day we had to say good
bye, but we have such a sense of joy. God is doing something awesome there. The
girls have a home and are fitting right in. They have beautiful parental
figures and even a big brother to watch over them. God provides. When I looked at the scares on Hemoti's legs,
I cringed and thought wow, "This is the life she comes from. This is what she
knows". This is only where she came from though. These girls will never have to
know abandonment or worthlessness again. They are royalty, daughters of the God
Most High. No matter what they face or where they go, He will always be with
them and protect them. I sat on the roof and watched the girls help each other
take baths and wash their clothes outside by the water pump. I knew then that these girls will grow into
powerful women of God. They will be the mothers of a lineage known to fear and
love God, a lineage of peace and joy. They will break chains, and their
children will be loved, secure, and free. 
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Posted in General Posts by Lindsey Schlingman on 4/7/2012
Looking back on the last few days I feel that the Lord decided to bless me beyond anything I could have imagined. I keep envisioning God talking it over with Jesus as they planned out this time, smiling with excitement as they were getting ready to give me this gift.
It says in James "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights." I have received from the Father of lights a gift specifically and masterfully wrapped.
My team and I had a chance to visit the girls home which just opened up (this home is through ASHA mission the same mission that our ministry is based just a different branch). So we packed our bags and got ready to stay the night with the girls, loving them and providing support/fellowship for the pastor and his wife who oversee the home. I was especially excited to see the girls again and knew that I would enjoy the time with them. I was hoping that we could bless them some how by just being there showing them that they are not forgotten but that they're loved and even delighted in. It's funny though because I feel like I took so much more away from this excursion than I had expected.
After we finished our dinner of rice and daal the night we arrived the clouds started to roll in. And for anyone who knows me you can only imagine my excitement. Rain storms are one of my favorite things. We have been, or maybe it's just been me, praying for the rain to come. Just the other day I stood on our roof and sang to the Lord "Let it Rain" by Jesus Culture. It's been hot here so a nice cool off sounded quite nice. But rain not only cools things down it refreshes everything, it makes it greener and it brings life where there was only dust before. Anyway that night the rain came. It brought with it thunder and lightning. I stood with some of the girls in awe of the storm. I got to see a part of the Lord that I had forgotten, through the lightning strikes and bolts of thunder. Something untamed, its strength and ability to cause so much change to those things below it reflected the strength and beauty of the Lord.
The next morning I woke up to the patting of the girls feet on the floor while they ran to wash their breakfast dishes outside before the rain came again. While I laid in bed I saw the dark cloud cover that was causing the sky to be much darker than it should have been that late in the morning. Through the barred windows I watched as it began to rain again. There is just something about these rainy days that speak to me.
Cuddling up with the girls before anyone else was awake watching the rain fall is something I'll never forget. They yearn for someone to hold them and love them, it was an honor to be with them that morning. One of the very few Bengali phrases that I've picked up is ami tumake bhalobashi. I whispered this into Baby's ear that morning (Baby is the newest addition to the girls home). She smiled up at me with her little white teeth and whispered back to me "I love you too Auntie." This little exchange was so sweet and brought me to tears. Baby has only been with ASHA for about a week and a half. She's been ripped from her family, friends, all of her belongings and everything that's familiar, yet she is still open to love.
I've noticed the older we get the more and more closed off to love we get. We get hurt and become too scared to love. I long to be more like Baby, open and free. Yes, she is vulnerable and might be hurt, but without the risk of being hurt where is the adventure in loving at all. We miss out on so much joy when we close ourselves off.
By noonish that day the clouds started to clear and we were able to go outside again. The pastor needed to go to the market and decided to take me and one of my teammates along for the ride. On the way there I was admiring the green forestry and how the rain had enhanced its beauty when two monkeys popped up onto a fence. Thus far, I have not seen much wild life to speak of. Cows and dogs mainly so you can imagine my excitement when something kind of exotic popped out of the trees I almost jumped right off of our rickshaw and into the mud to get a better look. When I calmed down a bit I noticed they both had their babies with them and had began to run along the fence to keep up with us.
Then as we weaved our way through the market I looked back at my teammate and was struck with the diversity in this place. Between us and the Indians, the food, the language, the way they shop, the animals, the way they love, the climate, the way they worship I feel like I could go on and on. It's hard to describe but I felt the Lord speaking through the moment. He has given us diversity and creativity. That his beauty is a gift for us to appreciate and accept and enjoy.
One thing does remain the same though. Through all of this the Lord loves us all with a love unimaginable. Like the loud booming of thunder, like a child whispering I love you, like the earth after it rains, sometimes it's new and odd at first but when you look for it it's always there.
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Posted in General Posts by Lindsey Schlingman on 4/7/2012
Looking back on the last few days I feel that the Lord decided to bless me beyond anything I could have imagined. I keep envisioning God talking it over with Jesus as they planned out this time, smiling with excitement as they were getting ready to give me this gift.
It says in James "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights." I have received from the Father of lights a gift specifically and masterfully wrapped.
My team and I had a chance to visit the girls home which just opened up (this home is through ASHA mission the same mission that our ministry is based just a different branch). So we packed our bags and got ready to stay the night with the girls, loving them and providing support/fellowship for the pastor and his wife who oversee the home. I was especially excited to see the girls again and knew that I would enjoy the time with them. I was hoping that we could bless them some how by just being there showing them that they are not forgotten but that they're loved and even delighted in. It's funny though because I feel like I took so much more away from this excursion than I had expected.
After we finished our dinner of rice and daal the night we arrived the clouds started to roll in. And for anyone who knows me you can only imagine my excitement. Rain storms are one of my favorite things. We have been, or maybe it's just been me, praying for the rain to come. Just the other day I stood on our roof and sang to the Lord "Let it Rain" by Jesus Culture. It's been hot here so a nice cool off sounded quite nice. But rain not only cools things down it refreshes everything, it makes it greener and it brings life where there was only dust before. Anyway that night the rain came. It brought with it thunder and lightning. I stood with some of the girls in awe of the storm. I got to see a part of the Lord that I had forgotten, through the lightning strikes and bolts of thunder. Something untamed, its strength and ability to cause so much change to those things below it reflected the strength and beauty of the Lord.
The next morning I woke up to the patting of the girls feet on the floor while they ran to wash their breakfast dishes outside before the rain came again. While I laid in bed I saw the dark cloud cover that was causing the sky to be much darker than it should have been that late in the morning. Through the barred windows I watched as it began to rain again. There is just something about these rainy days that speak to me.
Cuddling up with the girls before anyone else was awake watching the rain fall is something I'll never forget. They yearn for someone to hold them and love them, it was an honor to be with them that morning. One of the very few Bengali phrases that I've picked up is ami tumake bhalobashi. I whispered this into Baby's ear that morning (Baby is the newest addition to the girls home). She smiled up at me with her little white teeth and whispered back to me "I love you too Auntie." This little exchange was so sweet and brought me to tears. Baby has only been with ASHA for about a week and a half. She's been ripped from her family, friends, all of her belongings and everything that's familiar, yet she is still open to love.
I've noticed the older we get the more and more closed off to love we get. We get hurt and become too scared to love. I long to be more like Baby, open and free. Yes, she is vulnerable and might be hurt, but without the risk of being hurt where is the adventure in loving at all. We miss out on so much joy when we close ourselves off.
By noonish that day the clouds started to clear and we were able to go outside again. The pastor needed to go to the market and decided to take me and one of my teammates along for the ride. On the way there I was admiring the green forestry and how the rain had enhanced its beauty when two monkeys popped up onto a fence. Thus far, I have not seen much wild life to speak of. Cows and dogs mainly so you can imagine my excitement when something kind of exotic popped out of the trees I almost jumped right off of our rickshaw and into the mud to get a better look. When I calmed down a bit I noticed they both had their babies with them and had began to run along the fence to keep up with us.
Then as we weaved our way through the market I looked back at my teammate and was struck with the diversity in this place. Between us and the Indians, the food, the language, the way they shop, the animals, the way they love, the climate, the way they worship I feel like I could go on and on. It's hard to describe but I felt the Lord speaking through the moment. He has given us diversity and creativity. That his beauty is a gift for us to appreciate and accept and enjoy.
One thing does remain the same though. Through all of this the Lord loves us all with a love unimaginable. Like the loud booming of thunder, like a child whispering I love you, like the earth after it rains, sometimes it's new and odd at first but when you look for it it's always there.
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Posted in Life on the Field by Kayla Koontz on 4/7/2012
The boys home we are working at consist of 15 energetic boys who are always off on a great adventure to slay the Dragon(who is usually Jared) and to save the damsel in distress or a fellow brother who has been captured. Everyday the war rages on between the forces of good and evil and the fearless knights never reject an opportunity to take down the empire of the evil one.
The other day I was watching Pritam run around the room taking down the enemy with all his "smooth" karate moves. He ran up to me and flexed his arm muscles to show me just how amazingly strong he is. As I oohed and awed over how awesome he is he declared, " I am Jesus, the winner man." This took me off guard and I wondered if I should correct his obviously wrong thinking but then a thought hit me; Jesus is his hero.
At home in the U.S. it is extremely common for young boys to dream about being Superman, Batman, or Spiderman because they watch t.v. shows, read books, even dress up to imitate their hero's. Our culture shouts out those type of characters. Everywhere you look you can see posters of soon to be released movies to entertain those dreams. Yes, those characters are here in India as well but they are not as common. Instead, everyday these boys hear stories about the ultimate hero and sing songs about Jesus, the winner man. Every night before they go to bed they hear about a real man who walked this earth and overcame the darkest evil there is. A true hero to be worshipped and admired. Why wouldn't they want to be just like their beloved hero?
Today I watch 15 boys pretend to slay the Dragon. Today I hear them cry out to their hero on behalf of their lost family and friends. Today I look into the eyes of 15 fearless warriors. Someday they will realize that there is a real war at hand and how each one of them is playing a role in an incredible story of love and victory over darkness.
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Posted in Life on the Field by Hayley Robertson on 3/24/2012
A couple of weeks ago the entire team was sick with some sort of viral bacteria thing. It was pretty serious and a few of us had to go to the hospital. I never have seen anyone so sick before and when I got it, I was very fearful.
I was in the worst pain I have ever been in. I was laying on my bed holding my knees, crying out to the Lord. I cried myself to sleep and the Lord came to me in a dream.
He was standing in front of my bed looking at me with such compassion. He was looking at me contemplating what to do to help me. Then He bent down a little bit and moved His fist back and punched inside of my stomach, He grabbed all the infection and junk and ripped it out. It was by far the nastiest thing I've ever seen, but it didn't intimidate the Lord. He brushed His hands off, looked at me and nodded His head with accomplishment.
I woke up feeling 100% better. No fever. No chills. No aches or pains. No vomiting. No nothing, the Lord healed me.
That's what the Lord does, He's a healer, a fighter, a lover, compassion is who He is.
The next week I got a call and found out that my mom had passed away. How do you properly handle something like this? What do you do? How do you grieve properly when you're so far away? How can I be there for my family when I'm not there? I honestly don't know. Needless to say it hurt, bad. I feel like I numbed myself because I didn't know what to do and just tried to bottle up everything.
The team was told we were going to a village on that Sunday morning for three days. I was fearful because I didn't think I would have enough energy to preach and to pour into unreached people groups, when I was barely getting through myself. We got our gear packed into the taxi and as we were hopping in to the vehicle Pastor Sam lets us know we are going to the beach- not a village. It was a rough six hour drive with 12 people crammed into an eight passenger vehicle, but well worth it.
When I saw the water, I heard the Lord speak, He said " I give good gifts to the children I love", I laughed and cried. We took an early afternoon and swam in the Indian ocean. We played in the waves and I remembered how much my mom loved the ocean. I remember us going deeper and deeper in and my dad and brother being too scared to follow us. I remember walking down the beach in the early morning picking up seashells with her. We went to this beach restaurant later that day, and they had tomato soup that tasted just like my mom's.
The Lord removed the numbness from me and reminded me some of the best memories I had of her, which obviously was painful, but good. The Lord gives good gifts to the children He loves. It was not just a coincidence that out of all weeks I have in India, that the week when I would experience tragedy would be set aside for rest.
On that Wednesday, we headed out to downtown Kolkata to meet field support on Park Street ( a really European upscale place) for Mid- Debrief. Debrief is also a time set aside for rest; field support comes in from AIM and their job is to pour into you, to rejuvenate, encourage and remind you why you are there. The Lord was totally part of that as well. Although, I still am hurting and sad, God really is reminding me of His love, His compassion, His promises over and over. He is not letting go of me, He will fight for me, He will never forsake me and He makes all things work together for my good and the good of those who love Him.
Lord, you give great gifts.
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