It's here. We're here. Leaving India, leaving this season. A time which seemed impossibly ahead of me, always in my future, has finally come to be the present. Soon, it will be the past. This will be behind me. I will know how this went, I'll remember my heart, I'll feel the nostalgia. As for this moment, though, I'm in the gap, and it seems like a strange dream.
This past week, the impossible time came to say our goodbyes to India, and the kids we've grown to love so dearly. I don't think there are any words to describe the scene of departure, all of the flutterings in my heart and gut. It was a flurry within me, clouds of confusing emotions which brought about sadness with joy. Sadness from the goodbyes, the faces, the sentiment, the driving away. Continual joy from the difficulty of the tight hugs, final prayers, car getting stuck in the monsoon mud, and knowing that the whole summer was real. We went to India, and we loved well enough that having to leave seemed impossible.
Goodbyes at Victory Home were sweet and heart wrenching, imprinted onto my heart vividly and without reproach. Appropriately enough, as the auto pulled up to the lane of the home, huge monsoon clouds were looming on the horizon. We paid the driver our last ten rupees, and began our last walk to the kids. I remember looking down at my Chacos, so dirty and worn, as I crushed through the mud and huge puddles, feeling the rocks beneath my feet. I prayed to cherish the moments ahead, to take even that minute to heart. We passed the neighbor kids playing marbles, "Sista! Look, sista, look!" We passed the house of a woman whose daughter we prayed healing over so many weeks ago. The girl lit up as I remembered her name, "Lakshmi, hello!" But of course I remembered after wanting her so desperately to be healed, to see joy in her brown eyes. I'm glad I remembered. Thanks, God.
Through the big, brass gate, in we trekked to Victory. In the usual fashion the kids ran up to us as best they could, yelling our names, smiles and laughter soaring over the place. Hands together as if in prayer, we were greeted, "Wandanalu, sista." My heart, oh, my heart was in such a place of happiness. Hugs and kisses and handshakes.
Through the commotion I pushed my way through to the CP room and to my precious kids, Cassia (called Shanti in the last few blogs) and Joshua. Little Cassia was asleep on her cot, precious and free looking. No one who would see her sleeping would ever know that she has cerebral palsy, that her body contorts her each day. They wouldn't know that she can't speak, how sweet her smile is, the way she likes to be held criss-cross-applesauce style. If no one bothered to spend time with her because she is special needs, they wouldn't know anything about her at all. As I scooped her up, that thought kept coursing through my mind: What if no one bothers to hold her, to care for her, to love her? I thanked God that even though it was only two months, I was given the honor of being a little mom to her. I thanked Him that Sarah rescued her and brought her to Victory, that her ayah was sweet and cared for her. And as she opened her little eyes and tried to stretch her arms out, I praised Him that she is so beautiful. Again, she is not special because of her needs, but because of how she is loved by a King who created her perfectly. She is perfect.
Suddenly, as it always seemed to be with the monsoons, the rain crashed down, pounding the tiles outdoors. Screams and giggles sounded from children and our team, and it took about 30 seconds to rush out with Cassia. Honestly, I don't know why my instinct was to hold her out in the rain, but that's what happened. We went out and I spun her in the rain, drops falling on her face and soaking her hair. All this time she didn't utter a sound, didn't move a limb, only looked around at the sky confusedly in that way of hers. I kissed her cheeks and soaked up that moment with her, clothes soaked and all. After all, who else gets to run around in the rain with that sweet child in their arms?
Checked my watch, 30 minutes left at Victory. 30 minutes.
Back in the CP room, I set Cassia down on her cot to get dry. There was Josh on the cot right next to hers, looking at me in that way of his. Tongue out, eyes observant, hands together. "Joshy!" I squealed, and he smiled. Climbing over to hold him, he immediately began to laugh. Oh, how he loves to be held! How he loves when people spend time loving him! He curled in, and my heart melted. One look in those eyes, and my love was snatched up. That was just a special time spent with him, holding him in my lap, listening to him laugh and looking into his golden brown eyes. Some of the more mobile kids rolling over us all the while. Such moments of love and Jesus. I thanked God that Joshy showed me love, that he taught me to love with my spirit. I thanked Him that Josh is smart, that he is so full of Jesus. That he is one of a kind, that he kept at me gently until I knew he was meant to change me. Joshua is a special boy, not in his needs but in his heart. I prayed happiness over him, and we went on laughing. With all that I am, I hope he will be adopted. He deserves a family that loves him.
Checked my watch, 10 minutes left at Victory. Only 10 more minutes. But 10 minutes is so much greater than none at all. 10 more minutes to love Jesus more with these kids.
I ended up with both Cassia and Joshua in my lap, holding them both and letting my spirit take rest in the time that had passed. Remembering all the hours, all the prayers, all the laughs, all the singing, all the sweet times that changed my life and heart, I lost myself in a flood of summer memories. I looked at their faces and took it all in, knowing that my time with them was up. This season of ours was over, and that was okay. As God sent me to love them for this time, He will send someone else right behind me. These kids will have love in their life. And as hard as it is, that is enough. These kids were my summer romances, and for that I will remember them forever. God set it that way, He planned it since the beginning.
"Mary Grace, it's time to leave."
Checked my watch, we were supposed to leave 15 minutes ago. I had been given extra time with my angels. Thanks, Jesus.
Propping Joshy back on his pillows, I tickled him goodbye. He laughed that Joshua laugh and I kissed his cheeks goodbye, I kissed his hands goodbye, and he said goodbye in his own way, smiling. Thank you, Joshua.
Cassia was laying on her pillows, just as she was the first time I ever saw her. Arms out, legs sprawled, face emotionless. I leaned down and kissed her face and fingers and held her hand tight. So desperately I wished she had a mom who I could hand her off to, a mom who could hold her and never put her down. She hadn't smiled the whole time I'd been there, yet I knew she had it in her for me. I knew she could, I prayed she would. I kissed her cheeks again, said goodbye, and then a last I love you, "Nenu ninnu premistunanu." And right then, she smiled. She smiled her beautiful, Jesus smile. I said it again and she let out a little giggle. My heart, oh, my heart.
I heard the rest of the team calling for me to leave, and as I turned to see the two kids who have my heart, they were both still smiling. They were smiling. That was one of the sweetest gifts God has ever given me.
Walking away was still hard, as one of the boys asked as the gate closed, "Sista, next week coming?" My brave teammate, Alexis, told him no. That we loved him. And then we walked away, down the path, rain and tears falling. A few of us held hands, forming a chain, and that was that. That season with the kids had ended, and it was okay. It hurt, but it was okay.
The next morning, we said goodbye to the amazing group of boys that have been living within our gate. That hurt just as deeply, we had come to really care for these young guys in all of their antics and craziness. Tossing the frisbee one last time, I thanked God for them over and over again. The ache in my heart for them as we drove away was too much, but it was okay.
At the airport, our team has to say goodbye to one another. We will hug one another one last time, knowing that the likelihood of us all being in one place again is low. Our times eating breakfast together at the big table, taking auto-rickshaws to get cheese grills at NFC, and walking the streets of India together have come to a close. I'll probably (definitely) will cry. We are more than teammates, we are sisters, and that is a bond finer than gold. I'll miss them with my whole spirit, and that will be okay.
This season of India has come to a close, and that is okay.
Actually, it's better than okay. It's better than great. It's sad and hard and confusing, but God has more than what we've each received this summer and that is worth getting excited over.
God is good to give us feelings. Sitting here typing this, I am still sad to know I cannot hold them today, or walk down the road to hear the kids ask us over and over again, "One picture sista, one picture!" It hurts me to know that for the first time in two months I'll wake up alone, rather than in a room with at least 8 other girls who have come to be my sisters. But if I didn't feel the sadness, I wouldn't know that I love them. I wouldn't have any desire to keep loving them if I didn't miss them like crazy. Even more importantly, sadness is temporary. Believe it or not, happiness is temporary as well. Neither will last. But brothers and sisters, joy is eternal and everlasting beyond circumstance. In my sadness and mourning of leaving India, I am joyful. With Jesus, there is a joy that always bubbles up within me and I hope within you. Extra feelings on top of joy are just reminders that I am still on Earth, that there is still work to be done, that I can still love people more. So in my mourning, I am joyful. In my remembrance, I am joyful. In my nostalgia and readjustment, I am joyful. Because there is the One and Only King Who is alive and moving and is worth it all. This season was never mine in the first place.
I could write forever and ever about the goodness India has brought me and the love I have for this nation, but in the end all it comes down to is Jesus. For all my days, He fills my heart to overflowing. His hand is over India.
Thank You, God, for the sadness. Thank You, God, for the mourning. Thank You, God, for such memories of happiness and smiling. Thank You, God, for seasons. More than anything else, thank You for Your joy. Thank You for such sweet times with Your India this summer. My heart will sing of your joy for the rest of my days.
"I let go of all I am just to have more of You
And no matter what it costs I will follow You
Jesus, every thing I've lost has been found in You
When I finally reach the end I'll say,
'You are worth it all.'"
