The best day of my Race, and close to being the best day of my life took place during our first week here in India.
Our first few days were filled with rest, good meals, and great conversations. The tribe of Indians that we are with are such a king, hospitable people. John, our host, who is over the ministry we are partnering with, known as PMS (Partnership Ministry Society), explained to us the story of how the Gospel originally came to their tribe. At a time when they had the reputation of violence; beheading hundreds of people, God sent a 22 year old man to deliver the Good News and offer them freedom in Jesus. John’s grandfather was the first to receive the Gospel and his father is the one who translated the Bible into their native tongue! Wow!
Back to this “best day” I was referring to… It was Saturday. We woke early for a light breakfast, and then loaded up into two dump trucks to travel twenty minutes to a remote village to help with the construction of their church. There were 30 of us in the truck I rode in and the experience was hilarious. We were filthy, covered in sweat and the grime from the metal floor of the truck carrying us. We were jostled and tossed with every bump and curve, falling all over each other in joyful disbelief that this was actually happening and that this was our lives!
After the trip we arrived, up in the mountains, greeted by the whole village; men, women and children. We were the first “white people” to ever be in that place. At the base of the mountain laid 4,000 bricks… Our job was to transport those brick to the very top of the mountain where the people were building their church. Our whole Squad (54 people) spread out, winding up the trail and passed each brick in an assembly line to the halfway point. We were building the Church, both in the Spiritual and physical realm.
What was most precious to me of the whole experience was the response from the villagers that we were serving. They were so full of joy and gratitude. They walked up and down the whole trail, handing us small cups of sweet lemon tea and crackers. Of the entire village there are two women that I will never forget…
One was quite old.. Maybe in her 80’s. She walked with a stick for a cane, her eyes were squinty and her body skinny and frail. She grabbed each one of us by the hand and shouted “Hallelujah!” waving her other hand towards the heavens praising God that He had sent us. John translated as she continued shouting her praise… “Glory to God! Jesus is King! Let God reign forever!”
The second woman, middle aged, walked the entire length of our Squad, up the mountain, weeping. She took a cloth in her hand and wiped the sweat from our brows, held our hands and looked in our eyes speaking blessing over us in her native tongue. Then held each of us close in a sincere embrace. This experience moved me…
Their love reminded me of the woman in Luke that blesses Jesus…
“And behold, a woman in the city who was a sinner,
when she knew that Jesus sat at the table in the Pharisee’s house,
brought an alabaster flask of fragrant oil,
and stood at His feet behind Him weeping;
and she began wash His feet with her tears,
and wiped them with the hair of her head;
and she kissed His feet and anointed them with the fragrant oil.”
Luke 7: 37-38
She saw Jesus in us… And through us, she Blessed Him. So moving…
