Two years ago, I spent a week in China.
When I was there, I was told that I would most likely not see the sun.
It proved to be a true prediction.
Thursday, I flew into Delhi with A-squad on our way from Moldova to our current location of Kathmandu, Nepal. When we touched down, and I stepped outside, I was struck instantly by the similarity. Beijing is a city of approximately 19 million; Delhi is the home of 16 million. When I looked at the sky, I was brought back to the time I spent in China. In my mind’s eye, I could see the dirty streets, the bare-bottomed babies, the insane traffic. I remember blowing my nose and seeing black snot on white tissue.
It physically hurt me to see the similarities when I stepped off the plane the other day. I knew coming into this year that I would spend time in poor countries. I saw poverty in Romania, in Moldova. I’ve seen pictures and heard stories of India.
Yet I am dumbstruck by my reaction to the sky.
I haven’t even seen any of the country yet.
I had forgotten how hard it was to see pollution.
I had forgotten what it was like to cough when I’m not sick
I had forgotten what it looks like to see face-masks on everyday people.
I guess it was easy to forget after spending only a week, two years ago.
And now I’m back, for 2 months: Nepal, and India.
Who knows what the rest of Asia looks like.
After making it through customs, I sat alone and wrestled with the Lord.
God – why? just, why? How can I expect these people to have hope when the very atmosphere is bearing down on them? How can I ask them to choose joy when my very being wants to curl into a ball and cry until I have no more tears? My soul is weighted down by the grey. I can only see for feet rather than miles, there’s no air, I feel stifled. How have I never counted breathable air as such a blessing before? God, this place is depressing. I feel smothered. Lord, I can’t imagine living here. I don’t want to breathe this in for 2 months; how can they do it for a lifetime? Day in, day out… if they don’t have you, life would seem so dreadful.
“What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient? Do I have the strength of stone? Is my flesh bronze?” – Job
I admit that I would find it hard to look at that sky every single day of my life and still have faith that the Lord is good. Maybe it seems trivial, what with war and cancer going on, but think about it. The air you breathe. Those precious blue skies and that clean air you inhale? All of a sudden, it seemed like a huge deal to me. I am not invincible.
I stared into oblivion for a while in the airport. I tried to not think about it, because maybe then it wouldn’t hurt my heart to look outside. I could not avoid it and turned to the only thing I knew would help – the Word.
The hope, which I so desperately cling to, is called “an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” Faith, a few chapters later is defined as “confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”
Everyone in the world needs hope. Everyone. We put our faith in something, whether we're willing to admit it or not. Though it's hard, I will spend two months there, and I will trust that the Lord has something in store for these countries, these cities. I will find his light in this darkness. I will turn to him when I cannot imagine going another step.
The sky outside of the airport was just a preview, a reflection of the despair and hurt that I will encounter. In my heart I know it isn't simply that I'm pained by the grey; there is an overwhelming burden, and the looming smog just makes it all the more tangible.
"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." – 2 Corinthians 4:8
