I don’t normally like to write
from the middle of the thing in my life.
I like to have a good grip on my thoughts
and control over my emotions
before I put them into words for the world to read.
But today I just feel like writing.
So as you read, I’m asking for some grace.
Grace to struggle.
Grace to be messy.
Grace for the hard place.
And grace to be real.
I don’t know if anyone can be prepared for India.
But I thought I was.
I left Africa on a total high with the Lord.
I had learned to really hear His voice
and I realized how powerful my own is.
I finally got to the place where I crave and enjoy
my early, quiet mornings in His word (5am club!)
I was truly embracing the Spirit
and I desperately wanted more.
In the end, my heart hated leaving Africa
but I was so excited to take that with me
and finally wake up in India.
I really thought I was ready
but now I’m not so sure.
I wake up every morning in real India.
Honking rickshaws that sound like clown cars
blare through my window way before the sun does.
I peel my sticky body off my sleeping bag and sit up,
feeling around for some semi dry clothes to replace the ones
I drenched in sweat through the night.
Glancing down at my arms I start to count all the places
I had scratched my bites through the skin in my sleep.
And the funkiest combination of smells
fills the air with every breath I take.
Cows. Mildew. Feet. Sweat. Curry.
Good morning India.
I grab my bible and journal
and find a spot to myself.
Sometimes that means staying on my bed
sometimes it’s a hallway
other times it’s the roof.
When 20 people live together in one room
you just have to make do with whatever you can find.
But most mornings it’s been a fight for me to even do that.
If I get much sleep at all,
I wake up feeling like I just fought in a battle.
I feel drained and beat up.
There’s just this unexplainable heaviness on my body.
Every morning we go door to door in different villages
with the local pastor here.
If the presence of the enemy is thick in the cities,
then I'd describe it as suffocating in the villages we go to.
I made it about halfway through our first morning of visits
before my heart literally started to break
and the enemy started to attack.
Words can't do justice to how I feel…
I want to grab the wooden idols off the shelf and burn them.
I want to tear down the posters of these bogus gods-
the creepy creatures with horns and chains and long tongues.
I want to use the scrap pieces for toilet paper.
I want to pull the covering off the women’s heads
every time I pray for them
just to prove that God will still hear the prayers.
I want the demon possessed man to be delivered.
I want to meet the sweet man You created inside of him
that matches the face I saw that night.
I’ve never prayed so hard and so intensely in my whole life.
And yet he walked away still fighting.
Still controlled by evil.
I woke up the next morning physically aching
from praying so hard and wanting it so much for him.
I still can’t get his face out of my mind.
I long for victory.
I want to hold the beautiful girl in my arms
as she stands there looking scared and helpless
while her mother cuts the witchcraft necklace off her neck
so we can be allowed to pray for her.
I get goosebumps and start to cry
when her mom ties it back around her neck
after we’re finished praying for her.
I want the men in India to man up.
When we go to church meetings
and there are 50+ women there and only 3 men,
I just want to run into the streets
and grab them by the arms
and pull them into church with me.
I desperately want them to get out of bed
and step out of the darkness
and love these beautiful women well.
I want the crowd of people we’re preaching to
to know my God as the One True God
and not just another god to add to their list.
I want them to know the God that loves them.
The God that died for them.
The God that will fight for them.
But they HAVE to hear me when I tell them
how God's love is jelaous
and He refuses to share glory with another.
I just want to turn invisible when I enter these homes.
I don’t want to sit in their nicest chairs
or drink their cold drinks
or pray blessings over their buffalo.
I want to sit on the ground next to them
and tell them about Living Water.
I want them to look me in the eyes
instead of bowing their heads to me.
I want them to listen to me
as a daughter of the Most High God.
Not a famous white American.
I want to pray healing for their body
but moreso for their souls.
I want them to come for prayer
because I have the Holy Spirit inside of me
and HIS power and the name of Jesus can heal them.
Not mine.
God I want them to see YOU.
Nothing about India right now is an accident.
It’s actually kind of funny…
last week I preached about the sovereignty of God
and how He’s in control of everything, good and bad.
On top of that, the past few months
I’ve been telling anyone who will listen
about the idea of eucharisteo and thankfulness.
And yet here I am-
struggling to find the bright spots…
fighting to understand God in all of this…
I just had without a doubt,
the hardest week of my Race.
I’m physically exhausted
from a spiritual fight.
I walk around on the verge of tears
for literally no reason at all.
The more people I pray for
the less words I seem to find.
I have to lean in to Him every minute
or I crash.
See, I told you it was messy!
But honestly,
after an ice cream break and air conditioning,
a refreshing skype date,
and my team praying hard over me this afternoon
there’s no place I’d rather be.
Its hard but its good.
It hurts but its fulfilling.
It’s a fight but I’m His.
