This is part two of my three part India series. Miss part one? Read it HERE, first!
“This has been one of the longest days of my life.” The thought flashed through my mind as I sat with Owen, Jamie and Jessica inside our second story residence at the church. Sweat dripped from my un-manicured overgrown beard as I stared expressionless out the barred window.
As I have come to find out, based on my experience, the World Race is founded more upon personal growth with the Lord than it is upon day-to-day ministry with the people we visit. My interpretation of what life on the field with Adventures would be like was so skewed and romanticized by past blogs and stories that ‘having no expectations’ didn’t even seem like a possibility. Having returned from baptisms earlier on in the morning, I sat dwelling on thoughts such as these.
An urgent continuous knocking on the door directed my frustrations away from AIM, and towards India and its people. “Just a second,” I bellowed at the door, returning back to this planet after orbiting my own for some time.
The pastor’s son Jessie was at our door, explaining that we going to leave earlier than planned that day, and so we needed to follow him to the street at once. I flashed an emotionless fake smile, and angrily closed the door. Dance, monkey, dance.
Moments later, Owen, Jamie, Jessica and I sat quietly on the rickshaw as we traveled through the rice fields and into another dark Indian night. “What was I thinking,” I asked myself as my head painfully struck the roll bar of the small vehicle we had crammed into. Why did I think I’d be happy traveling the world in the most impoverished countries, with people I don’t know and who don’t know me.
It had been 14 days since we began ministry in the Republic of India, and my team and I could attest to no healing or miracles of God working through us to the native Indian people in the villages we frequented.
If the Lord wanted me here, wouldn’t I be able to serve the great commission and gain the tangible proof and affirmation I desired? It seemed not and my heart was empty and bitter.
After nearly 2-hours of driving through the stygian forest, the rickshaw motor seized and Pastor Yasoo Kadam exclaimed boldly that we had arrived and could now unpack ourselves. Relief overcame me, just as the annoyance with my surroundings was again piqued.
The service began, and as always the local people sang their songs and clapped sporadically while shouting into the microphones. The portable speaker used to garner attention from nearby homes and its residences, was strangely situated about 10 inches behind my head. Painful blasting sounds compounded my headache and I pondered how I could escape this feeling of hell that again overwhelmed my every thought and emotion.
Before I realized it, I was standing in front of the 150+ villagers that had come flocking to hear what the white Americans had to present. Going through the motions, I offered what I thought would be an effective message for the people. About 2-minutes in I felt a tectonic shift within my own heart, and my mind became blank. I adjusted the rusty microphone in hand, squirming in search of anything to say. The crowd stared at me wondering what was wrong, the kids, sitting at my feet, giggling at my confusion
What is happening? What am I going to say now? God, help!
Part three, coming soon…
