BOGGLE ME INDIA
The game of Boggle consists of a jumbled up mess of letters on a grid. Players try and make sense of the chaos by finding words that sit in sequences of adjacent letters. This all takes place on a 4 x 4 tray, and players can still find the task daunting while glancing back at the sand timer, that pesky reminder that time is of the essence. Have you arrived? Can you envision yourself playing the game? Now imagine those dice are people, colors, traditions, religions, animals etc. Your plane has officially touched down in India, as my world begins to play out.
So much can happen in the mind of a woman who wakes up at 2:30am every morning drowning in her own sweat, soaking the buff on her head, returning to sleep two more hours…rinse and repeat. I wake up wondering how India will boggle my mind every single day. My first morning in India was met with so much confusion, and every day is a new puzzle that leaves me speechless.
I wake up to the sound of a man chanting something that is piped throughout Ongole, and possibly all of India. I go to bed to the same chant. I can’t help but wonder his purpose. Is he trying to tell the people of India about 33 million gods or is it a prayer of some sort? And then there’s that. Only one God knows their name, and my prayer is to Him they pray. How different a world this would be if that morning message was that Jesus has risen and God delights in the people of India. I look out every day hoping to find the source of the sound. I want to know the language spoken, the reason, and the religion.
There she is again, that woman sweeping her storefront. From my bedroom window I’m resisting the urge to tell her i it will be covered in dirt 2 minutes from now. The hospitality is overwhelming and women here are always working it seems, and then resting for prayer and praise in the church. I’m looking through one window, and I can only see what the window allows. Perhaps there is more I can’t see. She does this every morning. It’s not a cement floor but the dirt outside the shop on an unpaved path. And there’s the cows. Don’t get me started on the cows! They peer out from the trees looking for grass to graze on, and only find trash. Why do they return? The harvest isn’t coming. One may find cows walking the street alongside traffic, or frequenting the corner grocery store. If only the men next door would plant some grass seed. Every morning I find men spraying wood and cement, and wonder at the process. Maybe they are tackling the foundation and going after tasks that only appear meaningless looking in. I trust time will tell as the walls go up. I love that I get a front row seat.
The other day I had the opportunity to tutor Anita. She’s in the second standard, which means grade here in India. Instead of running out of fingers her teacher shows her how to divide all but her thumbs into 3’s using the lines provided on her skin. Her process takes forever, and she lit up when I showed her how to put the big number in her head and count up on her fingers, until her head can handle the mess of numbers. I’m not saying her teacher’s way is wrong, just different. Maybe I will get to learn why fingers are divided in such a way.
We went to the beach yesterday, all decked out in our punjabi, scarves and long skirts. We were met with men in their underwear. How is this ok? Why is it scandalous for me to sport a bathing suit, and a-okay for them to jump in the water with their skimpies?
Traffic is also insane here. As mentioned before, you don’t need to visit the nearest farm to see cows. ALL in your own lane you will find, tractors, dump trucks, motorcycles, tuktuks, motor cabs, cows, cars, vans, buses, an assortment of bicycles, buffalo, goats, dogs, people etc. How kind of India to make so much available for my sight-seeing pleasure. I love the mess. I pray continually and smile endlessly…especially at the children.
One baby girl per family is a treasure, but two welcomes the need for infanticide. I don’t understand as I treasure every one of them. Once born, mothers here can be found giving their infant alcohol so he or she will sleep while they beg for money and food on the streets. Children who don’t even know the game of Chess, are used as pawns for pimps. They move around asking for money, but they can’t keep it. If they are given food, they can be beaten for failing to deliver. So all I can do is form praying hands by my face saying, “Vandanalu” in Telugu, blessing them while looking into their eyes hoping my smile will fill their bellies. We aren’t allowed to give them money.
I don’t understand castes either. We minister to the untouchables, and they smile as we touch them, not just with our hands and hearts, but with the Kingdom of God at hand. In a span of less than a mile, you can see every level of poverty and wealth dwelling side by side. What is the purpose, besides breaking my heart with what breaks His? No wonder they don’t smile in their pictures, unless I’m smiling back.
I’m hungry as I write. No silverware will be waiting for me, just as toilet paper here is also hard to come by. It takes some adjusting to go without but I welcome the challenge and embrace the experience. I’ll eat with my right hand, so as to not offend with my left. The left hand is for wiping. Not my left hand, mind you, but theirs. I can predict chipati and curry in my future. I’m not a fortune teller, but rice is pretty much the only other option we alternate from. I wish I could help in the kitchen. I miss it and I love to try new things. The food here is tasty, but it can destroy the insides of my squadmates unfortunately, as almost everyone’s body is just not used to it yet. I’ve been a lucky one, who feels highly favored. Undeserving and yet.
Soon I’ll have to take out the trash, but the garbage man isn’t coming. I don’t know that he ever does. We toss it across the street with the cows and it breaks our hearts all the days. The teacher in me wants to go to the corner store and teach India how to play “Magic Trash.” It’s a game we play in my classroom where I get to reward the student that finds the piece of trash I have my eye on. I’m hoping someone will explain the trash situation, as my only guess is that they burn it.
When you travel to a foreign land as a scattered people, you never know what you’ll find. Like any country, India is a great teacher. I’m learning a lot about myself as relief from the heat never comes, and I’m learning a lot about God. What seems purposeless in life through your eyes, has value in another’s. India has it’s reasons, just like God has His. So much happens in a lifetime that we don’t understand as God weaves His masterpiece. I’m learning that if I want to know more about India, I have to lean into the people and ask questions, but ultimately go to God because He is the one who gives you a heart for people you know nothing of. I came here to join God in His mission, so India I am your eager student.
As for you who stand boggled in mind and heart. Yes, this is a place of honor and shame, and yes, we need your prayers. Pray not how we can figure out the puzzle called India, but how God can move the pieces into place, returning honor to the people and exalting His name.
UPDATE: I love writing updates to my blogs, because this is a journey, and if you just stumbled upon my blog…welcome! The above blog was about painting a picture of what it looks like to take in the chaos, love the mess, and see the beautiful. To leave everything behind, get off a plane, and step into the world of people God had already given me a love for. My friend Christy has been trying to get me to move to Hyderabad for years, to help in her children’s home and teach the children. I’ve been a Compassion Advocate for 15 years speaking at local conferences and concerts about my passion for God’s kids knowing God and His heart for the nations, and it’s killing me to know how close and yet so far I am from my parent’s sponsored child. Sadly, none of my 15 kiddos live here. I specifically chose this route for India, and had the honor of getting a glimpse of it through taking Perspectives on Global Missions. A 15 week course I highly recommend. But now I’m here, and I’ve fallen even more in love with India. Her colors amaze me, I adore her people, her food makes my tummy happy so far, and I’m finding that in the chaos of the traffic it’s a different kind of chaos and I love it. I still prefer silverware, but it’s refreshing feeling so in touch with my food making the experience tangible in the best way possible. The honking doesn’t elicit the feeling of anger for drivers, it’s just how they communicate their presence and their needs. Oh, and I finally found that man who chants morning and night. I still don’t know what he’s saying but I love watching him on his bike. I’ve gotten to know the woman with the storefront and the man across from her. In fact he goes straight towards his freezer when he sees me coming because he knows what kind of chocolate I like. She knows I’m coming for Pulpy Orange Minute Maid. I met his precious niece the other day. She still needs a name after 20 days, but I trust her mother will pick a perfect one. We minister to kids at a new village every day, so building relationships is hard, but we have so many opportunities right here where we live, to both make an impact and be impacted. As I always say, I am blessed far more than I am a blessing. I’m still tutoring and starting to learn why Anita’s teacher divides her fingers to help her count. India has been a fabulous teacher thus far. As I wrote recently, it’s a lot like my relationship with God. He gets me, and I don’t have to understand His ways. I still love to ask questions as I lean into the people here, but really I just have my eyes open and I see Him in this place. India gets me, and I don’t have to understand her ways. I love that she is different, because that makes her unforgettable. In 8 days we have to say goodbye, and already I miss her. I can’t say I’ll miss the heat. Thank you for all of the encouragement as you comment and I respond. A sweet friend of mine, and former racer wrote me with perfect timing saying, “Brooke, I just wanted to let you know that I’m praying for you tonight. I have been receiving updates about the blog comments you’ve been receiving. And although, I know you’ve been handling it with such grace, I just wanted to let you know that I hear what you’re saying, even if others have misinterpreted your heart. I believe that these comments were attacks from the enemy to discourage you. I pray you don’t let him have that ground. There is a reason you were chosen to be the story teller for your team. God has given you a gift and the enemy doesn’t want God to get the glory from you using that gift. Hang in there girl…keep writing…keep pressing into the hard moments, because these things truly do draw us closer to the Father. I love you and hope you have a good weekend.” SUCH A TREASURE!
