Here are just a few of the memories I'll take from the beautiful country of India.
The first day we drove about an hour or so away from 'the Cross building' to a small village. When we got to the church, people just came and stared at us. So some started playing with the kids and doing silly, fun songs. Sometime during our prayer walk, my team split up and I was with Myles and Nate. I was frustrated and tired, I don't really enjoy praying out-loud or touching people I don't know. But somewhere in there, God changed my heart.
We prayed for a couple who has HIV, a cause close to my heart. I looked up and saw the sunset behind a palm tree and dirt hut with palm trees growing all around. Then the MOST shocking thing happened. I turned to Myles and said "I could live here…"
'I could live here' those words hung in the air.
I have no idea if Myles knew the weight those words had or how they shocked me. India has never been a dream of mine. Sure I was excited for this opportunity, but it wasn't one I ever thought I would come back to visit. Then those four words were said, out loud, and there was a witness! What the trash? (No one freak out. God and I haven't figured out the details or even what those words mean.)
So day one, in the middle of a village in the middle of no where Andrha Pradesh….God had something for me to chew on.
Another evening we talked with our translator, Pastor K about helping make dinner. We had chicken curry, chapati, white rice and dahl most nights. A few of the nights I felt most connected to the women, I had sat and watched them prepare dinner. The first time they wouldn't let me help and kept moving my chair because I was either too close to the heat or in the smoke. The ladies were so sweet and they would talk amongst themselves in Telegu and point to me at times and we would try and have a conversation that usually just ended with the Indian head bobble (like a bobble head seriously) which I used for 'yes' or 'maybe' followed by lots of laughter.
One night we were actually allowed back in the kitchen to help. We helped roll the chapati out, ours being a little too thin and big more so like a flour tortilla. And while Sarah was being put in a sari (check out her blog at sarahbaker.theworldrace.org), I helped 'fry' the chapati. They use oil so the chapati doesn't stick to the griddle and the griddle is hot. It's been over 2 months since I cooked and I relearned quickly that hot oil splatters. It just hit my foot but they felt so bad, even though it was my stupidity that caused it. I laughed it off and they begrudgingly let me try again. I was able to sit in there for a good 45 minutes or so and bond with the women. I helped serve our team as well. It may have been the best chapati the whole month just due to the company I shared.
I do want to share some squatty potty stories but I need to compile some more and confer with my bathroom buddy on ones worth sharing- there are several. 🙂
