Chalo!

(Chalo! is the Hindi equivalent for "let's go!" It literally means "Let's move!")

I’m coming home! And with STYLE… I don’t just mean pretty scarves...

“I will come with the mighty deeds of the Lord God” Psalm 71:16

I come with powerful stories. Stories of rescue and healing; testimonies of spiritual authority; deep convictions about God’s goodness. Amen Amen Amen Amen!

Another girl has been added to the home since I last mentioned it. And three more are ready and waiting. Oh, I will miss their hugs. I will miss how Moni presses her little fingers along the tips of my nails when she sits in my lap. I’ll miss being called “didi” (big sister) and hearing them pronounce my name “Mishahl” in their accents.

But I’m leaving them in very good hands. What I have discovered with a sense of awe and humility is that this will all go on without me or Rebecca. (And that’s how it should be by the time you leave!). So does God need us at all? Don’t we surrender our wills and our talents to Him (which He has given in the first place), to be used for His purposes? Yes, this is true… but I think it’s more about just walking with Him on this journey. He’s blessed me tremendously by allowing me to be part of everything that happened this year. And with that came challenges, struggle, growth…and most importantly, greater faith and deeper love. That’s always the bottom line, isn’t it?

See, the Indians I’m leaving behind, who carry on the day-to-day stuff-—they are my heroes in this work. Like I said, the kids are in good hands.

In fact, we all are…

And so I will board the plane tonight with a song in my heart:

Lead, Lord, with unfailing love
those that You have ransomed
And we will sing out as we go on:
Our God is faithful
Our God is faithful

Oh, India

I have seen so many men pee in the street. Cows have peered into my car window. The baby geckos in my house make me smile. My friend got in trouble for taking Flat Stanley out at the Taj Mahal, because “paper” wasn’t allowed. I’ve lain down in a bunk on a sleeper train as a little cockroach crawled along the wall. Dear God.

The high in Delhi today was 113 degrees. Last night the power was off for half the night, so I slept on my marble floor. I WISH I could take a cold shower, but the water coming from the roof is hot.

I will miss the things that make me say, “Oh India!”

When Rebecca left, she asked me to oversee the transfer of some valued furniture into storage. The most important piece was a beautiful hand-painted cupboard. So I got in touch with the Pastor designated to help, who, instead of sending a truck like I was told, instructed my driver to fetch a bicycle rickshaw dude. So they tie this cupboard onto a rickety wooden wagon, which is attached to a bike, on which a guy is going to ride two miles along a busy highway. Well, I started having a panic attack. Hyperventilating. I called the Pastor just to “make sure” this was what he meant, and I’m pretty sure I offended him. “This is how we do it, don’t worry!” he said. “Trust the Indian pastor,” my neighbors said. My how I was frozen with fear!! I just kept thinking, Rebecca would die if she saw this. I put my head in hands and paced the room, muttering prayers of desperation until I knew the piece arrived. Oh, India!

In April, I accompanied Rebecca to the wedding of her childhood friend. I was oh-so-excited about wearing a sari, but naïve about buying one. You see, you have this long shawl that wraps around your body that is sort of see-through. So you’re supposed to buy a “skirt” to wear underneath it, as a separate purchase in a different store. I forgot about this detail until about 30 minutes before the wedding, opening my sari package in my hotel room. Definitely wanted to vomit. Definitely sprinted five blocks in 100 degrees to the bride’s house to borrow a skirt from her. (Oh, Michelle.)

This past month has taken me literally all over India. Rebecca and I toured the tropical backwaters of Kerala (almost the southern tip of India) and drank coconut milk. The next week, I got to stand above the clouds at the peak of some white cap mountains in Kashmir, the furthest north you can go. Though it wasn’t New Zealand, it served as a sufficient Middle Earth fantasy for a time. Finally, I just spent an inspiring week in British-influenced Kolkata (Calcutta) with the Project Rescue leaders.

This is the most fascinating country: Land of the Almost! Illogical Logic! Place of most extreme dichotomy and diversity! Place of the best hospitality! Where policies and prices are arbitrary, where every state has its own language, where people fit three on a motorcycle (the kid goes on the lap), and ten in a car. India, you forced me to be more polite and gracious. You made me like pretty clothes and colors, spicier food and tea. You changed me in ways I won’t fully see until I go home.

And it’s just about that time…

The Best Teacher

"The heavens hush to hear the children" - Kendra, Rescue Arts Team March 2010

I came to India hoping to teach—-English, music, art, and the possibility of healing and new life. But there are some things that others just teach better.

For example, during a prayer time the other day, Arpita kept rubbing her eyes, as if trying to make out a picture behind them. She told Vinita di later on, “Mummy, when we were praying, I saw heaven.” Taken aback and a bit skeptical, Vinita questioned, “How do you know? It could have been anywhere.” Arpita insisted, “No, the Lord was there. It was very bright.”

I’ll admit, I’ve approached some of our projects this spring feeling doubtful that they would “work” with such young children. I remember one particular day in the car, having to repent of my poor attitude as Rebecca and I prayed over the upcoming session. However, on that day and many after, what I saw was amazing—and it had nothing to do with our teaching.

A few weeks ago, we did Becca’s tried and true illustrated story-book project, where the kids choose an animal they can relate to and tell “its” (their) life story in pictures. To begin, they all closed their eyes and asked God to show them which animal to pick. Nina picked a fish, simply because “the Lord told me to.” After some discussion, she then went on to draw how the mommy fish got taken away in a net—Nina’s mom is in jail.

Moni chose a butterfly, because “they are pretty and fun and playful, and this is how God made me.” In one page of her story, the butterfly is tied to a pole while being beaten. On the last page, representing the present, the butterfly is surrounded by other butterflies and colorful flowers. Through the stories, the girls revealed painful memories, yet their endings were all the same: a bright new life. We were able to close the sessions by emphasizing two principles: 1. The bad things that happened were not your fault. 2. There is freedom in forgiveness.

This week, we’re teaching the girls the meanings of their names. With meanings ranging from “Delicate, Beautiful,” to “Loves the Lord,” their names embody their worth and value. We asked if they each felt their name was true. Most did. For instance, Sima’s real name is about sacrificing to give something valuable to others. Sima beamed as Anu didi pointed out an example of just that—the other day, Moni had taken Sima’s school book, written her name in it, and pretended it was hers. When this small act of thievery was discovered and Moni about to be punished, Sima said, “No, don’t punish her. It’s okay, she can have my book.” How is it that this young child understands the concept of “turn the other cheek” more than most mature adults? And then Moni was broken by this act of forgiveness and began to cry in remorse, experiencing the conviction of the Spirit, perhaps for the first time.

Tina had more trouble believing the truth of her name. She said with a shy, shameful smile, “but I’m bad.” We can only imagine the experiences she’s had that make her feel this way about herself. But we were able to tell her about how God washes away the bad and only looks at the good.

“I keep asking that God, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance…” –Ephesians 1

When the girls get phone calls from parents, have nightmares, or hold on to silent memories, we can see the past tugging on their hearts. With these activities, we want so much for them to understand how precious they are. Yet the Father wants this for them, too, and through His spirit, He’ll make sure it happens. The best progress is made, not because Rebecca and I are super creative, or because the home staff are skilled at leading prayers… but because, very simply, He loves them. He is their teacher.

So much to be proud of...

At 4:30am a taxi brought Jyothi and me to the Delhi domestic airport. I was so sleepy from packing until midnight the night before, that when our flight made one stop for which we did not have to change planes, I briefly saw the runway, and the next time I opened my eyes we were in the air again. I vaguely remember just a few waking moments from the flight where I found my mouth hanging wide open and an Indian lady two seats away smirking at me. Finally we landed in Nagpur, the dead center of India (and hottest), and reunited with Rebecca and Steph to run five intense days of Rescue Arts at the Home of Hope there.

Their properties house 90 kids from the red light area. Most of the younger kids live in the center just on its outskirts, where they are able to hold Sunday worship services for ladies from the district. On that Sunday, the four of us performed a song called "Conquering Lion." I loved the opportunity to play alongside Steph's violin! The song opens like this: "The Conquering Lion shall break every chain." With this hope in our hearts, we began our sessions.

For the camp, we worked with the older girls (ages 14-20) in a second home. Steph and Rebecca led song writing sessions where in groups the girls wrote original songs that incorporated scripture and the musical traditions of their own cultures. Jyothi and I taught a fun, upbeat dance to the Bollywood hit "Aal Iz Well" and also a dance drama in which they acted out many healing stories. Sessions would go for three hours at a time, and the ceiling fans could not stop the beads of sweat from pouring down. Sometimes the curry in the air would meander in from the kitchen and make our eyes water. After lunch each day, every staff and child would retire to their rooms for a nap; the four of us would strip down to shorts and a tank top and just lay motionless in our bunks. At night we'd debrief or hang out on the roof top, three stories up in the cooling air. After four days the group performed at the center; even with a few glitches and lapses in confidence, it was a wonderful night with much to take pride in, where sounds about the Father's love no doubt resonated in their hearts as well as out into the surrounding red light area.

Meanwhile, the Delhi girls had been left to work on the "assignment" Jyothi and I had given them-- to choreograph their own worship dance. Calling to check their progress, I was so touched to hear about how seriously they were taking this task. In fact, one night at dinner they were all discussing together which song to do. Once they agreed, they decided to come together in prayer to ask the Lord for dance moves, desiring that the dance would glorify Him and bless other people. Adono said that in this moment, something seemed to sweep through the room and suddenly the girls began to cry. (This is common when people are touched by the Spirit, whether they know it or not!) =)

So when we returned to Delhi, they gave us the most reverent, sincere, God-shaped performance I could have imagined. And Tina did her own solo dance to a second song, just because. Vinita choked up at how beautiful she looked. Just when you worry that some kids might be too young to "go deep" or do anything too complex, you are reminded that they are usually the ones with the pure, child-like faith which can perceive so much. I could not have been more proud, rewarded, or humbled.




The Conquering Lion
Shall break every chain
He will wipe every tear away
He will take all my hurt and pain

And He will lead me to springs of living water
He will lead me to springs of living water
He will lead me to springs of living water
He will shepherd me

And the Lord He will come to us
with a strong hand and mighty outstretched arm
And the Lord, He will shepherd us
And the Lord, He will lead us to
Fountains of living water
Fountains of living water
The Conquering Lion...

"I can see their futures"

Arpita was stuck in the village, but she figured out how to get back home. When family members missed her promised return date, she cut off some of her hair to show her anger. Then Arpita stole away her mom's phone and called the home staff: "Didi, come get me, please hurry, I don't want to stay here." Arpita fought for herself. She says now, "I'll not go back to that place." She knows where she wants to be.

Moni tells her mom, "send my little sister. I'll take care of her." Even Tina, who'd come and gone through several hostels, reports that "at the other places I always cried on the phone to my mom. But I like it here!" She also urges her mom to spread the word to others from the district. Rather than wanting to go home, the girls want their friends to join this new community.




Their bedroom is decorated with an ever-growing gallery of crafts--sock puppets that show their uniqueness, crowns of jewels reminding them that they are valuable daughters of a great King. Last week, a team of college students joined us and blessed the home tremendously with creative activities and gifts. Yet I think the ladies were touched and surprised by the joy-filled children, who on the first day, initiated an all-out dance party in the living room. Then, reflecting on a cricket game in the park one day, someone from the team remarked, "I can see their futures!" A few months ago, these lives were set on a very different course. Now, as we watch them grow, we can imagine so much more.


This week I again find myself in the awesome company of visitors who've come to partner in the work, all with a creative skill and a heart for healing. Becca's childhood friend Steph, a music therapist, as well as Jyothi, a former dancer intern, join us for HOH ministry and a camp with the teenage girls of another PR site.
I'm having a blast leading a dance workshop with Jyothi at the HOH. We're teaching the girls a totally new concept for people of their background--that you can worship God with your body. In one session today, Jyothi performed an example of a dance that was more than a dance, but a prayer and a communion with the Father. Then, I put on a beautiful Hindi worship song and instructed the girls to close their eyes, focus on their "audience of One," and simply move however they wanted. It took my breath away and nearly brought me to tears watching every single one of them apply some dance steps they'd learned but also move their arms spontaneously and mouth the words to their Father--as if He was the only one in the room. Even the home staff fell into authentic worship, and for 5 minutes, each person was lost in her own little world, forgetting about the others...yet somehow we were all connected.

What did they see when they closed their eyes and danced freely?
I believe they are also beginning to see a hope and a future.
I believe they are beginning to see Him.

weak, fragile, and strong

Along the street, three guys parade around banging a rhythmic drum beat, wanting some tips for their entertainment. The sound of kids playfully screaming and chasing each other with water guns in the park has brought me out onto the balcony. The sidewalks--and the kids-- are tinted with random splatters of red and purple dye. To my right on the adjacent balcony, a mother, father and son carefully position themselves to throw water balloons at their neighbors below. Suddenly our doorbell rings, and I quietly tip toe to the peep hole while Rebecca mouths, "Don't open it!" Since it's Asha and her little sister, the girls who press clothes in the neighborhood and whom I play frisbee with from time to time, I decide to greet them. "Happy Holi!" they shout. I see that Asha is hiding something behind her back. "No!" I jump behind the door, and they giggle. "Please, just a little!" they plead. So nervously I comply, and Asha smears a thumbprint's worth of yellow powder on my forehead. Happy Holi.

Holi, or "Festival of Colors," is a spring festival observed by Hindus, Buddhists, and Sikhs. It marks the change from winter to spring and is a celebration of fertility. In the weeks leading up to this day, I saw special stands in the markets selling noise makers and color throwers reminiscent of the 4th of July. Some of the more harmless traditions of this holiday include bonfires, and throwing water and colored powder at each other.

Rebecca and I opted to not leave the house. Even just a week ago, Rebecca and our friend Liz were attacked by water balloons while riding in an auto-rickshaw and came home soaked down to the underwear.

Sounds fun, right? Why wouldn't we get out there and go nuts? Well, first of all, the color doesn't wash out of clothes so easily :0) Secondly, some other aspects of the holiday were on our minds. We thought of the red light district, where probably double the customers poured in seeking entertainment.

It's been three days since Holi, and we still haven't left the house, because we both came down with some kind of virus. Aches and pains, upset stomach, yadda yadda. Things are looking up now, and we've made both work and leisure plans for tomorrow.

As per agreement when entering the Home of Hope, two of the girls--Tina and Arpita--were allowed to go home for Holi. We also took Moni to visit her mom, who gave her some sweets and a cute-to-die-for mini salwar set. We praise God that Tina is back with us, but we're still waiting for Arpita.

These days, our bodies feel weak; moreover, our hearts tremble at the fragility of the circumstances. Yet, we muster our faith to remember how strong our God is.

"I will bring them back to this place and let them live in safety. They will be my people, and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action, so that they will always fear me for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them,and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul. " -Jeremiah 32

"A day that will always be marked as epic"

http://rescuearts.com/2010/02/tina-came-home/

Dream cont...

We had a Project Rescue Delhi staff meeting the other day: one director, two home staff, one outreach worker, and Rebecca and me. We began the meeting by sharing one by one in a circle any reflections on what's been happening or thoughts for the future.

The home staff talked of the challenges and blessings of being new mothers and watching the kids grow in the Lord already.

Tilka, the outreach worker, who visits the brothels four days a week, who is sometimes welcomed and sometimes turned away and always stared at, choked up as she began to share:

"Going there every day...this is very hard work. But we are their only hope right now. Who else will go?"

She has spoken to at least two mothers who have expressed the desire to "come out" if given the opportunity. Yet they always say, "but what will I do? Look at my life."

Some of the other Project Rescue sites around India already have options for such ladies, like a vocational training center that offers alternative income, or a rehabilitation home for the women themselves. In every city, the ministry began and evolved differently.

And so PR Delhi begins with this Suraksha (Protection) Home, a prevention and saving grace for children at risk.

Though this dream has come true, our dreaming has not stopped. Because what about the mothers? What about the boys in the district?

And so at the end of our meeting, our director Vinita, her eyes focused and wide with passion, shared her ever-evolving vision: an outreach center in the red light area where we can meet with children and ladies for tutoring, prayer, counseling, Sunday school, and other needs. Eventually: a vocational unit, a place for church services... and one day, a home where mothers can live with their children.

Dream with us, because He is able to do more than we could ever ask or imagine...

Back to "Normal"

A photo of one of the Home of Hope girls running in a park, with more open space and freedom than she has ever known:




Of course, the night Rebecca is supposed to land, Delhi invites a monsoon thunder storm over itself. All day I'm thinking, oh no! Will her return be delayed even more??
But all is well, the Rescue Arts boss is back from her Visa "run" (more like the length of a marathon), and we are settling into some old routines at the apartment, like banana pancakes and Friends episodes.

In these first days we have had many ministry meetings and personal reunions over chai/tea/coffee. As we map out the spring season, which consists of visitors, teams, and trips, I reflect on how thankful and delightfully surprised I was with our forced two months apart. I look ahead now with a new sense of confidence, a new appreciation for the life I have in Delhi, and some irreplaceable memories.

Some of those memories come from my time staying in the Home of Hope. I won't be staying there from now on--better for them not to depend of foreigners or get so attached to someone who is going to leave-- but during that time, besides really growing to love North Indian food (I'm serious!), I got to participate in so many of those precious, behind the scenes moments of caring for these beautiful three children

Such As...
When we go in the bedroom to wake them up for school and find one child's feet sticking out from under the quilt, another child lying sideways in the bed, and the third fully hidden under the blanket, her head out of sight.

Three kids on two stools crowded around a tiny sink, and someone always gets toothpaste on someone else.

Their complaining about the top button of their school uniforms, and watching them shine their little black shoes so seriously, like little old men.

Girl drama, how they get mad at each other and then love each other 20 times a day.

Teaching them to say "excuse me" before leaving the table, and the power struggle of what they want to eat versus what they should eat.

We took them to the mall, and as we drove into the parking garage and the road spiraled underground, all three girls grew wide-eyed in their seats and screamed, "whooaahh!" Moni propped herself on the dashboard to get a better view.

One time Moni insisted that my ears were dirty and stuck a Q-tip inside, assuring me that she learned how to do it from her mother, and don't worry.

All of these mundane things are beautiful and sacred because I first met these girls a few months ago in a very different place. Arpita and Moni, for example, have been reunited in the home after having been former residents of Delhi's largest red-light area and schoolmates at a dilapidated daycare. Those days I got to comb their hair after a bath, or tuck them into bed and tickle them, I just studied their faces and thought WOW.

During prayer time one night, Moni said with her hands folded and eyes closed, to this God she is just getting to know, who is already revealing Himself to her as real and living and responding and good...she said: "Remember my mom and my sister. And thank you for bringing Arpita here. Thank you for these all these didi's (big sisters) who play games with us and do so much for us. Please bless them. And please take care of us."

Vinita, our Home leader, wiped the tears from her eyes. "How blessed I am! How blessed!"

How blessed.

Mighty to Save

This week we received the second brothel-born girl into the Home of Hope (we have three girls all together.) A few months ago, I had written about this girl, Arpita in an earlier post:

"She has the cutest little voice, and when she counts to ten in English, she enunciates her t's and r's so well that she sounds like the owl in the tootsie roll pop commercial. (One- two - thrrrree). Ugh.

We are praying that Arpita is one of the first girls to live in the new home. Yet, the last few times our outreach workers have visited her home, i.e. her mother's brothel, her mother has been "sleeping upstairs" or passed out drunk.

By grace, her mother went from disinterest in a hostel for her daughter to eventually saying yes. However, on the scheduled day, her mom said No again. Four more times we followed up, and the confusion, doubt, distrust--and even her mom's substance abuse-- seemed to push Arpita further and further away.

"There are unnatural forces in that place which will not allow you to take the child."
We reached out once again to our supporters all over the US and even the world. People fasted and prayed, glued to the updates. When this kind of alignment happens, you can feel the answer coming. Exactly two weeks after our first attempt to take Arpita, we woke up feeling powerful and peaceful. Arpita came home with us that day.

Many people have shared that the recent testimonies about Moni and Arpita have encouraged them in their personal lives. Whether feeling disappointed or struggling with circumstances, these stories have reminded them just how big, loving, mighty, tender, and faithful is our God. Stories like this change our tiny worlds, don't they?

It struck me how this domino effect is the awesome product of prayer partnership. It is both personal and collective. Intercessors are woven together; your involvement is no coincidence.

The chorus of "Mighty to Save" by Hillsong has flooded my heart these days: Savior, He can move the mountains / Our God is mighty to save, He is mighty to save Sometimes in church, you might sing along with a worship song and just vaguely agree with the words by faith; your emotions are dulled by the mundane, your near-sightedness, or a current struggle. But the longer you live a life of faith, the more experiences you have that testify to the truth of those words. What happens then is this: The song starts, the lyrics appear on the screen, my heart burns, I close my eyes and lift my hands...because along with the words are real memories, tangible evidence. The same thing happens when reading Scripture. You think, I have known this, I have seen this. This is actual. In my case the past few Sundays, they were sitting right next to me.

This is how you fall more in love with God. Faith grows with the interaction of what you read, pray, and see. Starting with the first step of accepting the Lord, you continue to walk in faith and He proves Himself over and over. Your convictions are lodged deeper still, and these are what you hold on to during times of dryness and doubt.

I am so proud to serve this God, who hears and answers, who loves and saves, who judges and forgives, who fights and wins, who pursues the lowliest of people to hell and back. To HIM be the glory.

Dishes, Doctors, and Discipline

Breakfast at 8am. Tea time at 4pm. Songs and prayer twice a day. Play time and bath time. This is a glimpse into the daily life of the home, which has two seven year old girls now--one from the Red Light Area, and the other from a very at-risk situation without parents who can care for her. We took them to a park yesterday and played tag until the adults almost fainted from self-inflicted asthma attacks. "Bus" (Enough). Inside the house, the most over-played games are the plastic bowling set and the memory game, or "match-wala." But it's not all fun and games. We had to take them to the doctor too for some injections. Poor Moni--she was terrified; the doctors had to hold her down and she screamed and screamed. So what do you do? Buy her a lollipop and you're forgiven. Now chores: The kids are very good with cleaning up one game before starting the next. They're also required to ask to be excused from the table as well as wash their own dish and cup after eating. Moni is a perfectionist-- she would take ten minutes on this one task if we were not constantly calling out, "Jaldi karo!" (Do it fast!) She squeezes out, like, a liter of dish soap each time and then firmly scrubs the plate in numerous circles, round and round and round. Teeth-brushing time, with them standing on a little pink stool in front of the mirror, is also a longer-than-it-should be charade, never without some giggling. At times the fooling around has been too much (as it should be with sisters!), like during prayer. So the other day we had to institute the first disciplinary action: we made them each stand in their own corner facing the wall in silence for twenty minutes! The scene was so cute and funny that Adono and I had to leave the room to let out some laughter. Eventually their tears emerged, but we stood firm! Finally, they had to apologize and they could continue. In closing: I just want to give credit to the two Indian staff girls I'm crashing here with, Adono and Anu--they are running the show and doing awesome. Pray for them!

A New Birthday

Praise the God who “acts on behalf of those who wait for Him”! Many of my friends and family back home have been interceding fervently this week for two specific girls to come from the brothels into the Home of Hope. To our disappointment and heartbreak, on the scheduled day, the mothers backed out. Moni’s mom simply felt apprehensive. You might think that these ladies would jump at the chance to put their daughters into safety, but trust is a big issue for people who have only known exploitation. Arpita’s mom deferred to the authority of her “husband,” who said “No, she can’t go.” For him, it’s an issue of losing future income.

We gave them space. We visited different people the next day. We took up the cross again. We fought the urge to just curl up in bed and cry, but reached out to friends, gathered for worship and were greatly encouraged. In faith we said, “we will go again on Thursday.”

Today, the Home director/school principal came along. Vinita introduced herself to Moni’s mom like this: “Since you were not able to visit my school, I thought I would come and personally introduce myself.” She then showed a photo album of school activities that she’d put together. This act of love made a big impression. Doesn’t it just mirror the way God pursues us where we are when we don’t know how to look for Him? Slowly, through more discussion and questions, Moni’s mother was able to gather her resolve. It was finally decided that she and Moni would come to the school with us right then and sign all the papers there. Moni’s bags were packed, and we piled into the car—4 adults and 1 child in the back of a Hyundai Accent.

Moni was ready to go. She was all smiles. She hopped in like a kid boarding a roller coaster. It must have been pretty exciting because I’m sure she hasn’t taken any car rides in her life. Which is why she and her mom both got car sick. Now, adults know it’s coming. Her mom asked us to pull over and made it to the bushes. But kids? One minute their gazing wide-eyed out the window like an excited puppy, and the next minute, BLEHHH. That’s how it was. Still, I couldn’t stop smiling. I was a smiling fool. I thought to myself, “I look like an idiot. Think of something bad!” The vomit helped…

As Moni’s mother put a thumb print on each page of the affidavit (thumb and ink because she can’t write her name), I wondered if she fully grasped the significance of such a moment and how it will change the fate of her family. But Praise God for giving her, a twenty-something who has been in “the business” for eight years, the strength, courage, and sense to let her daughter go. When it was time, she got teary eyed and gave each of us a hug. We were cheek to cheek and she mumbled something in my ear; though I didn’t understand, I’m sure it was along the lines of “thank you” or “take care of her” :) I said, “Aap meri behen hai.” (You are my sister.) She said, “Tum bhi,” or you too. When Vinita, Moni and I got in the car, she came up to the window and called out to her daughter with a wave and some restrained tears. “Moni! Aram se.” Aram se is the equivalent of us saying “be careful” or “take care.” Then, we drove away. It was a beautiful moment of love, sacrifice, sadness, and hope all mixed together.

After a shivering bucket bath and a hearty plate of khana (food), Moni began to explore the house like a kid in a candy shop, opening and touching everything. I kept asking how she felt, but her attention was on all the cool new stuff she couldn’t believe was for her. And all these new didi’s (big sisters)! But finally, when things had settled down a bit, I asked again, “how are you feeling here?” To my delight she suddenly ran over, threw her arms around me, and kissed my cheek. How incomparably precious!

While Adono and Anu, the other current home staff and volunteer, went to the market for some supplies, I spent 2 hours alone with Moni. In those two hours, I discovered that she might be the coolest person in India. She is so funny, so smart, and so full of joy. We played a round of nearly every game stocked up in the cupboard. Every five minutes she’d point to a new one and say “ye wala kailengee” (We will play this one). We cracked up as we blew up balloons and then let go and watched them deflate in crazy circles around the room. I had to chuckle when I took her to the bathroom and she stood up on the toilet seat—she is used to a hole-in-the-floor squatty-potty. But she knew other stuff; i.e. when brushing her teeth, she said to me, “you brush 10 times up and 10 times down.” [My uncle Doug would be so proud.]

Above Moni’s new bed hangs a colorful Welcome poster. On the bottom, left-hand corner, I wrote today’s date: 21-1-10. I also hung up the picture she drew while her mom went over the paperwork. 21-1-10 is written there as well. Since Moni’s mom does not know Moni’s date of birth, this date will be her new birthday. And she picked up on it quickly. When Adono and Anu presented her with some new clothes, she said “this is for my birthday!” One day she will understand that this date symbolizes a much more profound kind of birth, into a new life.

It is my prayer that this good testimony will begin to ignite hope for other mothers in the brothels. I also pray that you would taste the joy of this victory. Though the battles are not over and we have a long way to go, know with conviction that we are on the side that always wins!

Anyway…kids usually get up pretty early. I might regret staying up so late to blog… :)

Are you nervous? A little… Are you? Yes, quite!

This was the conversation between Vinita di (the home director) and I as we sat on the bed after I unpacked, bundled in fleeces and scarves, warming our hands in our pockets. It was a sober moment as we contemplated that within another week or two we could actually have a few children living in the home, with all the controlled chaos that comes with it—the cooking, cleaning, the daily routines of getting them bathed and dressed, to and from school, enforcing homework, play time, prayer time and bed time. Not to mention the emotional struggles the girls will go through. So here is Vinita, a strong, go-getter woman of God, a progressive pioneer of ministry to whom many look up, a wise spiritual leader through whose hands the Lord has done miracles…and then there’s me. In that moment I felt the awesome kinship that exists in the body of C, a reminder that before the Lord we are all the same—wholly dependent, working things out “with fear and trembling.”

On Sunday night before I came to this new home, I sat in my living room surrounded by four friends. It was dark except for the glow of a computer screen that played worship music. While the girls prayed over me, I realized that in my first three months here I hardly knew any of them. So many people came out of nowhere when I needed them the most. Afterward I said, "You girls have been God's way of taking care of me this past month." During this time, He gave a family to host me, a family for Christmas, and some new roommates and lots of fun social time. Now things will be totally different, but His care will be just the same.

Last night I cooked in a kitchen that some ladies and I had scrubbed mud out of for seven hours. Adono and I had a cooking quiz. We made sabjee (a veggie/potato mix) and chipotes. The first time I tried to flip the flat, round dough straight onto the stove’s flame with my hands, I got scared of the fire and ended up flinging the chipote across the counter. Anyway, the meal got positive results along with some constructive criticism. Next time, less salt and oil (my stomach is paying for it now.)

Living in this home will be another round of culture shock for me. I’ll learn to live with Indians, with Indian habits, an Indian diet and an Indian ministry budget. I’ll sometimes ride the busses and metro. I’ve been instructed to conserve electricity (limited entertainment) and water (i.e. taking a shower and doing laundry via bucket). I definitely plan on hiding a stash of what I’ll call “sanity snacks” in my room. But I’m thankful for the challenging simplicity and the opportunity for spiritual focus that it brings.

Adono and I are trying to get into a routine—eventually we’ll have to wake up at 5:30am each week day. Last night, Vinita di took us for a walk around the neighborhood markets to learn where we can get things. It’s quite safe and convenient. (But some days I just wish I could walk into Target.)

Yesterday during outreach, my colleague actually talked to Arpita’s “father” on the phone. She is ready to go any day. It seems the Lord is ready to begin this exodus into the Suraksha [Protection] Children's Home. Is the house ready? Are we?

Well, ready or not……

The Holidays: A Summary

On Christmas, I didn't feel normal.
I didn't lay under the lit up tree with my cat.
I didn't pretend to help my mom and aunt make ribbons and honeybows.
I didn't go see "the tree" in NYC.
I didn't eat fried pizza dough, linguini and fish at midnight.
I didn't lay around in my pajamas all day with my family and watch old home videos.

Instead, I was in a mountain "city" called Bimtal, with some great friends. Upon arrival, I met the goat that would be served for dinner. Abnormality #1: seeing your dinner run around the yard first. The Indian live-in help for this family was very upset about the goat; she let it stay in her bedroom. Throughout the day some guys came to set up a tent and terrace. All I knew was that we were having some friends over. Then I saw a spot for a campfire being put together, surrounded by chairs. Abnormality #2: Chesnuts roasting on an open [camp]fire. Beautiful. I hope the smell of campfire gets on my clothes and never goes away, I thought. I love it. I thought the party was just getting started when in marches a gang of children from the Bimtal Children's Home all bundled in their winter coats. We kept warm by having a dance party. The DJ played some classical Christmas music like Shakira. Abnormality #3: dancing with Indian children to music that reminded me of a Hoboken Club.



All missing family, old friends, and normalcy aside, my Christmas was prettttyyyy darn awesome.

I'm freezing. We don't have heat. It's freezing in Delhi. Ok, you all have snow, I know, but you also have HEEAAATTTTT.

I'll admit, of 7 days in Bimtal, I only took 3 showers. It was such a dreadful experience.

For New Years, I felt very normal. I got together some other SWF's (single white females). Over the course of both nights, we went to a mall, ate at a TGIF's, cooked a huge American breakfast, went to the movies, banged pots and pans outside, sang the traditional new year's song "Auld Lang Syne," made ice cream sundaes and watched Aladdin. (We all felt we could connect so much more with the movie now.) The movie theater is such a uniform place. Sitting there I imagined that I could simply walk outside and be at the SONY in East Hanover, or walk into the parking garage at Headquarters Plaza, get in my car, and be home. I think a big part of me was longing for that. The internet and phone tower in Bhimtal didn't work on, of all days, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and I seriously almost bugged out for want of communication with my family!

[Insert: shout out to Tim and Liz for giving me a family for Christmas]

[Insert: shout out to Avatar for being awesome]

I've been thinking about what in my "old life" parallels these exact dates. Right about now I would have just gone back to school after a nice lengthy break. I remember how that last Sunday felt. Your good sleeping pattern is gone by then, and your procrastination in grading and lesson planning is now getting its reward. You feel like you've forgotten how to teach, and you look ahead to the longest stretch of school year without a break. This year, on that same Sunday night, I was more eager and excited to get back to work then I ever had been. I was eager to see the children of Delhi's red light district again. To connect with those mothers who are looking to send their daugthers to our home. To team up with my Indian colleagues in getting that home ready.

I have two thoughts about the new year:
1. The event that marks the real meaning of Christmas brought the fulfillment of many prophecies. So, the holiday is a reminder that God fulfills promises. We need to know them and claim them and live like they are true. So Happy New Year.

2. Restoration is addictive. You can never encounter it enough. So let's give a New Year's toast to all that the Lord will be restoring in 2010, here in Delhi, and wherever you are.