Music is always pretty influential to me, but has most recently been even more so to me since I’ve been in India. God speaks to me through music, shapes my attitude and my perspective, and validates thoughts and feelings I can’t seem to articulate. So when I was filtering through all the thoughts going on my head about what to say in a blog about India, naturally, song lyrics are what came to mind:
I keep on fallin’
In and out of love with you
Sometimes I love you
Sometimes you make me blue
Sometimes I feel good
At times I feel used
Lovin you darlin’
Makes me so confused
-Alicia Keys “Fallin”
As my time on this trip increasingly became closer to arriving in India – a country I’d dreamt about visiting for years – the excitement in my heart swelled. I thought of the beautiful people, the vibrant culture, the delightful food, and the beauty in the chaos I anticipated before me. But upon exiting the plane and taking in the streets of Mumbai from the window of the bus, my excitement began to fade, and turned instead to uncertainty and apprehension. I knew immediately that this was NOT going to be a month where God romanced me with personal space, quiet nights of restful sleep, or other physical comforts I would have preferred. Instead, He brought me to a country outside of anything comfortable I could cling to, so that HE would be my comfort.
So in keeping with the title of my blog, a list of the things that keep me falling in and out of love with the great country of India:
tasting and learning about new foods, drink, and desserts,
and the cheapness of each of them
constantly walking by beggars and people sleeping on the streets,
and knowing there is nothing i can do to help their situation
realizing that prayer is a powerful weapon,
and though i may not see results,
praying for the beggars and street-sleepers is all i CAN do,
and God is faithful
the constant noise, heat, and dirt that are inescapable
standing on the roof, praying and
worshipping over the people, the city, and the country
feeling constantly vulnerable to the stares and sometimes touches of
men on the street or the metro, and unable to do anything about it,
makes me want to act the opposite of Christ-like
working six hours a day pushing a clasp into a piece of fabric
alongside four beautiful women who have been rescued from
working in the brothels
being overwhelmed by hopelessness – the sight of a man dying alone
on the street, or watching bodies burned at a Hindu funeral, or hearing
statistics of children who have been sexually abused or molested
(in Calcutta: 100% of children over age 6)
working with a business that gives dignified work and fair wages
to women who have come out of the brothels – and one day to paint the
front gate with a man who was walking by looking for a brothel
(and found us instead!)
knowing my dirty, stretchedt clothes,
my aching back, and the parasite residing in my intestines
may never fully recover (or exit my body)
being loved, cared, and provided for over and over
at our guesthouse and by our contacts
risking my life every time i cross the street or climb into a rickshaw
learning to trust that God is GOOD, even when i
don’t understand the poverty and pain and evil i see
being overwhelmed by all these things and more – the paradox of loving
and hating India all at the same time, and being exposed
to all that is truly in my heart – the good and the bad
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”
(Lamentations 3v21-24)
Father God, you have shed your tears for Mother India
They have fallen to water ancient seeds
That will grow into hands that touch the untouchable
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captured me in Your embrace
The Serpent spoke and the world believed its venom
Now we’re ten to a room or compared to magazines
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captured me in Your embrace
There’s a land where our shackles turn to diamonds
Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown
In that place, our oppressors hold no power
And the doors of the King are thrown wide
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captured me in Your embrace
-Caedmon’s Call, “Mother India”
