We begin our Tuesday ministry by picking flowers out of our hair and off our shirts. If you’ve never been welcomed into an Indian village by sari-clad women throwing yellow flower petals into the air, you’re missing out. We’ve found ourselves surrounded by huts with palm leaf roofs. Women hand us small bouquets and we’re offered glasses of Sprite, as usual.
We go from hut to hut, praying for people: a man who can’t walk, a woman who has broken her leg, blessings for babies. My half of the team gets into the car just as the rain starts. The others come soon, running down the road, dodging the large heavy drops.
We’re on our way to a school now. Earlier we asked Pastor Edison if it was okay to share the Gospel here. He said sure, the people who gave the okay don’t know we’re sharing about Jesus, all they know is that some white people are coming to speak.
We sing songs, Layne tells the story of Jonah, and then I share the Gospel message. Several of the children raise their hand to say they want to accept Christ! I love what God is doing in India!
It’s still pouring rain. We hop in the car and drive to the local pastor’s house, where we’re welcomed with rice, chicken curry, and some sort of hard-boiled egg. I eat nearly all my rice, and consider that a major accomplishment for the day. Then it’s chai tea and time to sit with my team.
Later it’s still sprinkling, but we walk a bit down the road to where the meeting is planned, Outside. We are just supposed to be speaking to pastors at the training center, but God has another idea. After Crosby speaks the rain starts up again and we’re ushered into a building? House? Room? I’m not sure what you call this thing, but there’s no light except for a couple of our headlamps and the occasional cell phone. Now it’s not just pastors our team is ministering to. Village residents, some who’ve never heard of Jesus have also decided to escape from the rain here.
Michael gives the message, and thunder booms over our head as he leads new believers in prayer. I imagine it’s the sound of heaven rejoicing.
After the service people come and ask for prayer. I pray with an elderly women who is wearing glasses. Afterwards she takes my hands in hers and gives them a quick smooch. I pray with a 13 year old girl who says she loves to pray and wants to be a “sister” like me, and also a doctor, preferably in America.
It’s chaotic in this room, with so many people and not much space, but eventually the crowd thins out and it’s time to head back out into the rain. By this time it’s pitch black outside and the streets are filled with water. At first I try to avoid the puddles but it soon becomes clear that’s not going to happen. Only a couple of us have headlamps, so Solomon (the man who has been driving us this month) hands me his cell phone for a little light. It doesn’t help.
My pants are coming unrolled, it’s pouring rain, and we’re all just hoping there aren’t any snakes in this water.
I keep losing my cheap Wal-Mart flip flops in the mud.
And for the first time since leaving home, the voice in my head that says I can’t do this, that constantly wonders what on earth I’m doing here, that says I won’t make it, is silenced.
I’m only laughing. Big, loud, hysterical laughter that can only come when I realize how absurd it is that I am in a village in the middle of nowhere India, losing my cheap Wal-Mart flip-flops in monsoon season.
Michael finds my flip-flop in the puddle and puts it back on my foot, but it’s no use. It keeps getting stuck and the children who walking with us keep having to find it in the mud for me. At one point I’m not wearing any shoes at all. One of my flip-flops starts floating away from me, down the little stream the pouring rain has created on this road.
Where is the car? Where is the car? None of us are quite sure.
A man walks out of his house and hands us a large umbrella. I have no idea who he is or if he’ll ever get this thing back.
Finally we arrive at the vehicle and pile in, soaking wet and laughing, both of my flip-flops on my feet. It’s been a long time since I laughed this hard.
Will I make it? Goodness what a dumb question. If God wants me to, of course I will. And he just keeps on proving it by sending moments like these.
So there you go, just Tuesday for you.
