Once Upon a Time- {How 1 month in India changed my life}

"How did I become to so blessed to grow up in the country that I did? How is it that, what I can pack in 80 gallons worth of backpack space, is worth more than what these kids will ever see in their lifetime?”  It feels just like yesterday, that I nodded in silent agreement, at loss for anything else, at my squad mate’s question.  She voiced what we were all thinking.  It was the same thoughts, questions and conversations with God, that I had each and every day as I walked passed the shanty village, to and from Grace Home; our sight of ministry for the month. 

If I am being really honest with you, India was the one month on the World Race that I was NOT looking forward to.  In fact, I will even go as far and say that I was dreading each and every moment of it.  Nonetheless, it is in India that I found myself in October 2013. 

Despite the fact that India has become one of those months that I don’t find myself talking a whole lot about, I am continuing to realize how perfectly timed it was that God placed it into my life when He did.  3 years later and the impact remains. 

It is in India, where I ate more rice and curry than I ever thought possible and it is in India that I TRULY discovered my love for authentic chai tea regardless of the sweat pouring off my face in the +40 degrees Celsius temperatures.  It is in India, where I (we) aimlessly followed our fearless (female) contacts through a literal wall of fire set ablaze across the street (after having been yelled at in a foreign language, by locals on motorbikes). It is in India, that teammates and I hopped on a Tuk Tuk and told the driver to “take us on an adventure”, all for only 10 cents. It is in India, that I learned that Larry the cucumber was right-not only does everyone WANT a water buffalo…everyone HAS MULTIPLE water buffalos! It is in India, where team mates and I unknowingly ‘crashed’ an Indian wedding.  It is in India, where I discovered that “OFC” was the next best thing to KFC- just don’t ask what the “O” stood for…and, thanks to India, I can officially take “survive an international newsworthy typhoon” OFF my bucket list.  Ironically enough, it is also because of my experience IN India, that led me to even consider the current profession I am in (direct support worker with adults with Intellectual/physical disabilities); I truly believe that my time in India, has given me an unique understanding/perspective (and passion) for my job each and every day.

More importantly; it was in India, that I truly began to become aware of the spiritual world around me.  It is in India, where the Holy Spirit began to make His presence known in my life.  It is in India, where a squad-mate spoke a bold Truth INTO my life; thus challenging me and giving me a different perspective on who I was.  It is in India, where rooftop worship became one of my highlights of the entire 11 months and sleeping in my one person tent-took one a whole new meaning.

It is in India, that I fell in love with the ‘lowest of the low’ on India’s Caste system; (special need) orphans and widows and it is in India, that God showed me what it truly meant to give up everything for Him through women younger than me, foster mom’s Hannah, Sarah, and Jenny.  Young women Natasha and Abby also gave up their lives in North America, to serve Jesus in India.  Shout out to all you ladies-thank you for being an inspiration. In India; God furthered showed me my passion FOR those with HIV/AIDS through Nora, a young girl with a world of opportunities before her.  India is where I met “Wendy”, a young lady who suffered a stroke at a young age which lead to Cerebral palsy; but it is her gorgeous smile, incredible strength and a bold uniqueness that God has used to change my life.  This Wendy also happened to share the same name of my own auntie Wendy- another lady with a story uniquely her own but who shares that same beautiful smile, incredible strength and a bold uniqueness that God has also used numerous of times within my life.  Through both of these ladies, God joined to totally different worlds and used them both equally to begin to teach me the power of (physical) healing power within Him.

I don’t know why God allowed me to be born into the country that I have been.  As I walked by the shanty villages, the thought of ‘that so easily could have been me’ wasn’t too far out of my mind.  Although India was FAR from being an ‘easy’ month on every level, what I experienced was NOTHING compared to what the locals live through each and every day.  Truth is, I honestly don’t know if the young naked child who held my hand every day on the walk to Grace Home, is still alive.  I don’t know if her home consisting of scrap metal, wood, cardboard and anything else random, withstood the latest downfall of rain.  I don’t know the last time she had a bath in clean water, or even DRANK clean, non-toxic water.  In North America; law suits would quickly be set up and fancy lawyers would be pointing fingers at one another because of human right violations…but for this little girl, and those like her around the globe who I’ve had the true honour of walking with and holding, if even for a moment, I can only pray.   I can only pray to God above that, above all else, He will hold them and never let go.  Believing that one day, God will rise them up and place them right next to Him in the eternal realm of Glory.  After all, the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to children such as these.

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To learn more about organization I worked along side; click here 

Jesus, Heal our Nations

My head is spinning, my heart is hurting.

My head struggles with reason, with a countless number of questions regarding the pointless loss of life that seemed to rock America, a Nation less than 15 miles from my very home, this past week.  As an American friend and I struggle through the questions, one text aroused within our conversation that captured my attention the most.  It is a question that has been on repeat on my mind, it is “Really though, how do we fix this?” Even from thousands of miles away, I can hear the pain in her heart for her country and for all the lives lost.  From there, the conversation continued as we debated/questioned/wrestled together, with the thought of how one country (America) is so very different than its neighbour to the North (Canada).  Especially when we, Canada, are literally like a ‘hop, skip and a jump’ away.  Do I have an answer?  My brain wants to give one.  My instinct is to mention the difference in policy, governments and even the mentality of the people themselves, but my heart is quiet.  It is truly weeping for the lives lost regardless of age, nationality, gender, and skin colour.  

I saw a series of post on Instagram recently by a white humanitarian photographer whom I follow.  The posts were simple.  Each post had a black background with one simple word in white making up one of the most popular, current hashtags. BLACK LIVES MATTER.  His message was clear, but as I read the caption below it, tears began to flow from my eyes.  I could relate, somewhat, on a personal level.  He talked about disliking his white skin colour, to the point where he was even ashamed of it and how he wanted to ‘rip it off’.  

I get it.  I do.  I get it in a very personal way.

I cannot even begin to explain to you the number of times I have been approached throughout my travels, by someone of a different skin colour, who simply wanted to ‘touch my skin and absorb the ‘purity’ within it’.  What about the number of times street kids have singled me (or the group of friends I was with) out?  Begging for money or anything else we had to offer, simply because of the skin colour we bore.  I’ve been to African markets with national friends of mine and without national friends of mine and I am tired of being taken advantage of simple because of my skin.  More so, I am tired of how local vendors were completely rude and obscene to my friends but yet ‘as respectful and helpful’ towards me simply cause they wanted to make a sale (needless to say, that vendor did not get any business from us).

What about that time in a Thailand pharmacy when I almost bought a SKIN WHITENING shampoo/lotion?  Seriously, what would have to be IN something like that to physically lightening the skin? The sight of rows upon rows of products like those; further broke my heart. Or that time in India when a gang of men on motorbikes, showed up screaming at the store owner of the small tailor shop we were picking our Punjab’s up at.  The men on bikes were threatening the store owner simply because he was doing business with people of white skin colour (us).  On our way back home, we were caught in a riot of protestors and forced to walk over fire (literally) that was burning across the street.  

Africa is the hardest for me though.  I’ve heard story upon story from those of coloured who have lived through racial tensions.  I recall a conversation I had with Oma, my host grandma during my time in Capetown.  If anyone understood racial tension, it was this sweet, 80+ year old lady.  She had personally lived through the Mandala era and experienced much more in a single life time than anyone should.  Yet here she was, sharing her heart with me, saying how she wouldn’t ever change her skin colour for anything.  How she is proud to be a lady of colour and everything that comes/came with it.  Her dream is that her two young grandchildren could grow up in a world where fear ceased to exist when it came to skin colour and racial tension.  

The single hardest conversation in regards to skin colour, which I have ever had was with one of my grade 10 female students in Zambia in 2015.  A year later, and it still brings tears to my eyes as I think about how her body physically trembled as the pain beside me and how the pain in her voice came through as she shared her one wish with me.  She wishes that she would have been born white instead of black, born North American instead of Zambian.  I could hear how the distaste she had for herself simply because of her skin colour.  This young, beautiful 16 year old, ashamed of who she was simply because of her skin, unaware of the power that her life really held.  As I sat next to her, I prayed for words to encourage her with.  None came.  Instead, we simply cried together.  Black and white.  White and black.  

I didn’t write this post to ‘stir anything up’.  Rather, as a way for myself to process current events, along with past situations both global and personally. 

In parting, I would like to leave it with two simple quotes that have been challenging me lately.  My prayer is that they will challenge you as well and together, we can be unified voices in a world that is crying out for something more, BEFORE another life is lost.

“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented” – Elie Wiesel; survivor of a WW2 Nazi concentration camp and author of the autobiography “NIGHT”

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor” by Desmond Tutu, a black South African social rights activist.

India, Oh India

 The leaves have turned colour and many of them have already fallen to the ground.  The wind has changed.  Instead of a warm summer breeze, the air has become cold and dry.  Above, you hear the familiar ‘honking’ of geese, flying by in their perfectly formed “V”, to destinations unknown to us.  To destinations of warmth, and sun that they will call home for the next few months. Robins are back, also on their way back south.

Classes are in full swing here at Providence.  Assignments, practicums and even mid terms, are filling up the days.  Shorts and sandals have been replaced with jeans and shoes.  (Although my toes, are still finding themselves in sandals).  Baseball caps have been replaced with scarfs and toques in order to prevent the cold air from reaching our skin.

Flags of 4 of the countries I visited this past year, hang on my apartment wall.  Photos and African paintings, remind me of those special moments. Moment in which I truly HEARD God speak to me. Moments of laughter, sorrows and pains.  Moments of bouncing kids on your knee till you felt as though your knee would give way.  Voices of young ones, talking in their Indian language that you couldn’t even understand even IF you spoke their language.  Yet there is no need.  The JOY in their precious faces and the smiles on their lips, say more than words ever could.

Today, right now, I am missing those kids with my entire heart.  I am yearning to be back in Grace Home, overlooking the streets of Ongole with Wendy* as I prayed silently in my heart that God would heal her CP.  To hear the joy in Nora’s voice, as she joked with me and put a smile on MY face.  To hold little ZINNIA in my arms, as she continued to wake up from her nap while Honor told me about her day at school.  Knowing that I would get Jackie’s ‘sass’ every time I would walk into the room…always brought an extra smile to my face and a warmth to my heart…she would fit in SO very perfectly with my family!!

These are just some of the names of the kids God used to change my life last year. 

Truthfully, I fell in love with a place and with a people, that I never dreamed I would. 

India, Oh India.  

To some on my World Race squad, “India” is equivalent to a swear word.  Yet for myself and roughly 12 other ladies that month, “India” became a word with many mixed emotions and feelings.  

Yes, it was a hard month. A VERY hard month on many different levels.  However, it was a month (for me), which brought me to my knees every day.  God became ‘real’ to me and began to reveal past hurts within me which He would (and did) continue to heal for the rest of the race.  He truly opened my eyes, to the community of people around me.  From the foster mom’s we met and worked with every day and their tireless commitment to the kids, to team-mates and squad mates. To say ‘God blessed’ me, would hardly be equivalent in describing the emotions.

October 10, 2013 I wrote these words after a day when I realized how ‘fierce’ the battle we fight daily, truly is.  In some form, it’s a statement, in another way, a prayer.  It is my prayer I prayed daily for Wendy, and one I will continue to pray as long as I am breathing.

“The battle is fierce.  Yet because of Jesus and the working Holy Spirit power within us, we WILL have victory.  WE will have freedom.  When we speak, the earth shakes.  When we ask for healing, healing does happen.”

 Amen.

If you want to know more about Sarah’s Covenant Home, PLEASE let me know and I would LOVE to hang out and chat with you!!!

OR check out http://schindia.com/children/ to see the faces of the children I grew to know and love!!

*Names changed to protect kids*