How do you even put it into words? It feels like being copy and pasted into a scene from a movie. Walking around in my faded jeans, stretched out from lack of washing, I am inundated with new sights and sounds. And by new, I mean new to me.
I am face to face with an ancient culture.
As I walk to the streets, I am inoculated with the beauty.
I don’t have a camera with me, so I’m trying to download the images straight into my long term memory, trying to lock away every minute detail.
Every brightly colored sari, every swarm of flies on street side cow patties, every curve of wrought iron, every fruit stand and gawking passerby.
THIS is New Delhi.
I’m not in some nice air conditioned hotel, nestled away in a tourist section of the city.
I’m in the city. A witness to the ebb and flow of daily life.
There’s a small gathering of men on every corner. I imagine them talking about the latest cricket match or the weather as they smoke their hookah.
One group in particular is trying (not so discretely) to steal a photo of the crazy white people with sweat stains (also not so discrete) marring their clothes.
At the beginning of my World Race journey, I was the inexperienced globe trotter, frightened by the unknown. But arriving to India in the middle of the night, getting off a bus and trudging down a (little too quiet) ally in the wee hours of the morning, I felt no fear or anxiety. I might have had my fists ready to brawl, but I am find myself increasingly calmed.
I keep quoting Psalm 139:5, “You go before me and you follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.”
And I believe it. I know that the Holy Spirit has literally walked these winding streets before me. I can sense his presence even amidst the Hindu markings that line the streets.
And at lunch today I found myself digging in to curry, rice, vegetables and tofu with my bare hands (like any good Indian) even when utensils were available. And I’m not just forcing down what’s on my plate, I’m grabbing unwanted portions off of the plate of my teammate and going for seconds after that.
Who am I? Is this really the same little girl who ordered meatless cheeseburger happy meals at McDonald’s and pulled the cheese off of cheese pizza?
And the answer is: no. I’m not the same girl.
Each culture that I come into contact with has represented a new encounter with Jesus in my life. A new awareness of his presence, a new understanding of who He is and subsequently, who I am.
So no, I’m not the same.
I’m not some lucky tourist, checking cultures off of a bucket list.
I’m not just collecting beautiful textiles and post cards and trinkets.
I’ve become a collector of the supernatural. Of seeing the supernatural and the extraordinary in the every day.
And it just so happens that the things that have become my “every day” experiences are way cooler than I could have even asked or imagined (Eph. 3:20).
