It’s a Thursday afternoon; I am kicking up dust as I walk down the reddish-brown roads of Chitradurga, India, the hot sun beating down on my head and back, dressed in traditional Indian clothing, scarf included (fully decked out for a winter Floridian day in 90 degree weather). We stride past numerous cows to our left and right, sidestepping mounds of cow poop as a chicken darts in front of us. We are headed to a local Hindu teacher’s home, Oosha, to do a house visit after a day of teaching.
We head down several comparable roads, with welcoming local women dressed in striking bright colors and patterns, pointing us down ‘just one more road to her house’. Children run after us smiling, laughing, staring, and waving at us as if we are celebrities. A few young boys put out their hands for us to shake as we amble by.
We reach Oosha’s place, and she welcomes us into her brightly painted, concrete abode. We step out of our shoes before entering in, and take a seat on the mat she lays out for us on the floor. On the walls she has two pictures, one of a young boy, another of her and her husband. Several Hindu gods dot the walls on posters and calendars. There’s a small sewing machine on our left, straight-ahead is the entrance to the kitchen and bathroom, the entrance to the bedroom on our right. Oosha prepares us plastic cups of orange pop and then proceeds to take out three photo albums and joins us on the mat. We sit and chat about her day, how she is doing, and begin looking through her pictures.
Pictures really do convey a thousand words; we look through her wedding memories, her family, her childhood, and various festivals. I learn about her three year old son who died of a fever on the drive to the hospital; I learn about her early undesired marriage at the age of 20 years old; her grandparents and parents.
I learn of her frustrations and unhappiness of being married so young, her responsibilities as a mother of a seven-year old little girl, as a teacher, as a wife. She shares her joy of discovering how to sew and use a computer.
We offer up words of encouragement, prayer, songs, smiles, hugs, and listening ears during our visit. Before parting, Oosha tells us one final time how joyful and fulfilled it has made her for us to stop by and visit her.
On our walk back to our location, countless thoughts were running through my mind. What an intimate, powerful opportunity the Lord gave us to share His love to His beloved and beautiful daughter; to share His words of hope and encouragement; for her to allow us to pray over her despite being Hindu; her fourteen years of unhappiness resulting from an arranged marriage at 20.
House visitations have easily become one of my favorite ministry opportunities. It excites and humbles me more than anything. The opportunities we have had to walk into either a brother or sister in Christ’s home, or an unbeliever seeking more from this life, and being able to share God’s love, compassion, and encouragement with them. If they are a believer, to speak those words of Truth that they needed to hear so badly, as they are one of the few believers in the midst of persecution and a country that has over 60 trillion gods that are worshipped. Coming alongside with their cries of prayer for comfort, endurance, strength, and perseverance. To hear unbelievable testimonies of God’s power and authority in a person’s life when they invite Him to be apart of it.
If they are an unbeliever, the opportunity arises to simply share a smile. To share an intimate experience of flipping through their family photos. To learn the core of who they are, what they enjoy, what experiences made them to be who they now are. Their dreams, their fears, their frustrations. To spend time listening and sharing stories.
It blows my mind that on weekday afternoons, this is the opportunity that I have been given to experience. Halfway around the word, meeting beautiful souls I never knew existed. It’s crazy what God will do when we say to Him, “Here I am! Send me!”
