I have always admired people that are really honest and shameless. Like, whenever I read people’s blogs, especially some of these race blogs, I am shocked by the level of honesty I see and I crave it. I think about the type of people that talk about praying for sight for a blind man and then how they confess that they are not sure that God can heal him. That’s so honest and so real and I think God is honored by it, honored that we know that He knows our thoughts and that there is no use in trying to hide them. So, in light of all of that I am going to be honest and confess some things.
India is hard. The culture shock I have experienced here was intense. You would think that after living in 11 different countries, living out of a bag for a year would have better prepared me for this. I know that I am so blessed. I’ve been blessed by parents that have sacrificed immensely to leave Korea and immigrate to the States in hope of a better life for their future family. I have grown up in plenty, been blessed with a college education. I am rich by the world’s standards. All that to say, the transition was rough. Its hard to go from comfort, life with couches, carpet, screens on windows, a sense of entitlement, hot water, tv, internet, starbucks, green lawns, driveways, sidewalks, coffee machines…to our life in India. I’m not suffering. I’m uncomfortable. I get tired of gnats landing on my face and flying into my mouth when I’m trying to sleep. Its uncomfortable to have large ants crawling on my legs while I try to sleep. The pollution is bad. Preparing dinner is a challenge. We go to 5 different stores to pick up things for dinner for the night. Those things are inconvenient. But, it’s an incredibly humbling thing to look at the staff at the orphanages as they get up at 5am to prepare the orphans for school and for the day. Their purpose is to serve the orphans daily for the Lord. So humbling. Stuff like that just makes you be quiet and gives you some perspective.
Another confession, sometimes I don’t know what to do. I’ve noticed that the lepers don’t really care if we are there or not. Its hard to love people that don’t give a crap that you are there. We drive up to the leper colony, which is on the outskirts of the city. They live in these little one room homes that line both sides of this little alley. We walk up, the children from the slums go crazy with excitement to see white people and me J. We hang out with them for a bit, and then walk down the alley. People look out their windows, pick their heads up from their beds to take a look at us, roll back over and then go back to bed. So, we knock on their doorframe and invite ourselves into homes where we are not welcomed. What else am I supposed to do? I am stuck there for another hour, I am a leader, I’m supposed to know what to do. But I don’t. It makes me realize how powerless I am. How much its not about me. Its humbling. All I can do is pray for them. Sometimes they invite the prayer, other times they are like sure whatever, in deference to us being Americans. Its hard for me to want to go to the leper colony.
Sometimes I wonder why God has chosen me to love these people, to love the orphans, to love the lepers, to love 17-23 year olds. I am so bad at it. I am not loving. I want to be loving, I want my life to be marked by love. Because in the end that’s what everything boils down to. There are so many other people that I can think of that are marked by that kind of love, that would be better at loving these people. But then, here I am in India. But its like God is just showing me how I am not loving, how wretched, blind, broken, useless I am without Him.
I was thinking about all of this stuff as we were riding to the orphanage. And then thinking about how He picked me and how that makes no sense. I am amazed. Its undeserved. Its grace.
