This month in India was…..beautiful, challenging, rewarding, heart breaking….just so many different things. But there was one consistent thing. The entire month was filled with small, special God moments. These moments, these “Little Things”, served to remind me of just how much God loves me and just how much His heart is for the lost in this world. I want to share these moments with you. I pray that the joy and sadness, the laughs and the sobering moments, move your heart like they did mine.
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Stuck on Me
There was a young girl in the village, probably about 3 or 4, who lived just up the road from us. Every time we would walk by her house she would wave and shout “Hi!” or “Bye!” until we were out of her eyesight. I loved her greetings, but she never left the front door of her house so we could meet her. On one of our last afternoon, we were walking back to the house from a trip to get sodas, and there she was gleefully shouting, “Hi! Hi! Hi!” But this time, she was on the road surrounded by a group of adults I assumed were older relatives. I wasn’t going to miss out on my chance to meet the official town greeter.
I walked right up to her, weaving my way through the adults. Smiling, I stuck out my hand and said, “Hello!” She reached her little hand over to mine, and as we shook, her fingers vigorously scratched my palm. Determination furrowed her little brow, and when our hands pulled apart she quickly studied her own hand. I had a split second of confusion, and then immediate laughter. She was trying to see if the white of my skin would come off! I had forgotten that most of the people, especially the children of our village, had never seen foreigners. Her childish curiosity delighted my heart. I shook my head and said, “Sorry sweetie! It’s stuck!” Her family began to laugh as well, and her disappointment wore off. As I walked away, i could hear her happily calling out “Bye! Bye! Bye!”
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A Child’s Tears
Vanay is one of the 8 boys that lives with our Indian pastor’s family. One morning he didn’t go to school with the rest of the boys because he had a terrible headache. When we asked Pastor what was wrong, he informed Libby that when Vanay was young his mother had tried to stone him. The injuries he sustained give him headaches to this day. When Libby shared this with our team, a silence cam over the room. How do you process that kind of information? How do you reconcile in your mind this smart, tough, smiley 11 year old boy to be the same one who almost died at the hands of his own mother? The information was too hard for me to bear on my own, so I gave it to God in prayer.
The next day Vanay still had a headache and once again did not go to school. Halfway through the morning he came up to our room and asked for prayer. We all gathered around him placing hands on his small shoulders and slender arms. As we said “Amen” and opened our eyes he just continued to stand with his eyes closed. Most of us backed away to give him some space, but Libby stayed sitting close by. Then we saw them. The tears began to silently steam down his face. We watched as the pain of his headache and the experiences of his life broke down the tough exterior of this little man. i watched as Libby scooped him into her arms and held him close. I watched as she rocked the 11 year old boy who was deprived of this kind of love from his own mother. I watched as Libby allowed his heartache and brokenness to invade her own heart. I watched as she cried for him while holding him close.
It’s scary to allow other’s pain into your own life. It’s maddening to think that a mother would hurt her child this way. It’s confusing to try and comprehend why Vanay has to grow up this way. But it’s comforting to know that our God is a redeemer and restorer who longs to bless this little boy. And I realized that in that moment, just like Libby was holding Vanay, our Heavenly Father was cradling both of them, drying their tears, and whispering His love into their hearts.
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The Flower Winner
Mondays were our “holidays” this month. We typically tried to make a short day trip, visiting a historical site, or shopping, but on one Monday we had to stay in the village.
Around 4pm, after hours of not doing much in our concrete room, Pastor offered to walk a few of us around the village to see some flowers and get some soda. Libby, Liz, and I took him up on the offer and ventured out. Inevitably we attracted a crowd, and a parade of of about 20 people marched along. We paused for pictures and to shake hands. We accepted the gift of free sodas from a local man. We hugged giggly children.
But the best part was the flowers. Pastor had us stop at every tree to see the blossoms. Deep reds, bright yellows, vivid pinks, and blazing oranges appeared amidst the somewhat dingy surroundings. At each and every tree the children would rush forward to pluck the flowers from the branches and give them to the three of us Racers.
I’m guessing it was because of my position at the end of the line, where most of the children were gathered, but each time I received 5 or 6 handfuls of flowers. Eventually I had to cradle my arms and hold the bunches of flowers like I would hold a baby. When Pastor spotted my armload of flowers, a huge grin spread across his face. Through laughter he exclaimed, “Sister Logan! You are the flower winner!” Others began to look, and laughter rippled through our miniature parade.
It’s moments of small joys like these that remind me of our Father’s love and His desire to provide us with blessings on a daily basis.
