I love hands. I know that is a weird thing to say but, I’m saying it. I love holding hands, I love seeing peoples hands, I love working with my hands, and I love watching others work with their hands. Hands are so important, they help us to eat, to show affection, the allow us to express ourselves, and they work, almost constantly, to get things done. Hands are so wonderful that we even call people “handy” because of how helpful they are. Umm… Hello… That is pretty cool.
India has given me lots of hands to come in cont.act with. People here shake hands and say “praise the Lord, sister.” (witch I am sure, for most of them, is the olny English they know) I love it. A chance to feel a life time in a single touch is one of my favorite things but nothing could have prepared me for how I felt each time that hand shake meant I was leaving them, not sure if I would ever see them again.
There are some nights that prove harder than others.
One evening we hand an opportunity to visit the church of the pastor who has been driving and protecting us in the villages, we call him “Uncle” and he is very funny and very nice. Uncle runs the church in his village and on top of raising 3 children of his own he runs a boys home and has 10 other boys that live with him full time. He is a great Father to all 13 of his children.
I had so much fun playing with the children, getting to know them, goofing around and in this short time I had felt very welcome and comfortable with Uncle’s two oldest children. We made jokes and Uncle’s daughter showed me how she cooks rice. It was like I had known this family for year.
After our prayer meeting we got to celebrate Uncle’s oldest sons birthday. That proved to be even more fun because his sister and I got to smash icing in his face. (there was later an attempt to get me back but it failed) I had a blast, food was good and I had made friends.
Then came the inevitable. I could not count the number of hand shakes that were given. There were even a few “I love you, sister”s given. I couldn’t hold it together. Each handshake was a plea to remain her in this moment for as long as we could. 13 young people shook hands till the movement of the van was to much.
I miss them everyday since we left. Every handshake is a reminder of a handshake taken in hope of immobility that night. Is this normal, to meat people you have such a strong heart for in one evening? if so, how do we respond? How do you love like Jesus and than leave?
I have gotten to see Uncle’s to oldest children a little since this day but only shortly and in the busy of ministry.
I hand spent a lot of time in prayer for the right response to my heart break of goodbye and the answer i thought I would reactive was to not love so deeply. To my fleshly dismay that was not the response I got from the Lord.
It is ok to grieve the people you are leaving. It is natural no matter how hard. Morning is one of the was we are comforted by the Lord but choosing to stay there is were you start to make a mistake. I love India, I love the people and I love the food but most of all I love the hands. I’m saying hello and saying goodbye the hands are what have made us connected and I am most thankful for that.
So, in India, after all the things I have chosen to leave here, I have decided to take with me the hands held in love. I place them in my heart in hopes that one day someone will hold my hands and feel the love of this beautiful place.
