You are invited to a Girl's Night Party!

The first month that I was here I prayed that God would set ministry before me. I had no idea that he was going to bring it to my door....literally. About two months ago 5 young girls between the ages of 7 and 11 appeared at my door step. They live in my apartment building and had seen me and my two roommates coming and going from our fourth floor apartment. I don’t know who dared who, but somehow this day,  they got up the courage to ring our doorbell. (Which by the way plays a variation of different diddles and then says ‘please open the door’). They didn’t really have a plan for much else, just curious I suppose. When I answered the door, they simply asked, ‘Can we come in.’ The logical response of course being, ‘Well, sure.’ We just stared at each other for awhile, and then my roommate, (quick on her feet) suggested that we play cards. 

The girls started coming over nightly, and ringing the doorbell several times a day asking if they could come in and play cards. Being told, ‘not right now’ or ‘not today,’ never discourages them from coming back an hour later with the same hopeful look on their faces. 

Contrary to the children I work with through ICM, these girls are materially well off, and socially of the highest caste level in India, Brahman. They are well educated and speak perfect English. They are also Hindu. I ask a lot of questions and have subsequently learned things like why Ganesh (a hindu god) is honored in this district, why some of them are not allowed to eat meat, and that if you sneeze before you walk into a door, you should wait 10 minutes and then put water on your forehead...or you will have bad luck all day. I also get a chance to ask some questions like ‘Why do you think you get good friday off from school?’ ‘Who do you think Jesus is?’ ‘Do you know what Christians believe about him?’ Its a fine line...but so far our exchanges have just been part of building a friendship. 

Last week, after the first few days of summer vacation began, and door bell ringage exponentially increased, I decided to throw a sleepover party. I mentioned the idea to the girls that I knew and although their mother’s weren’t keen on the idea of an overnight event, they were very excited about a ‘girl’s night party.’ We set the date and made invitations. They were pumped. Each day as I passed by in the hall I would get a new countdown.. ‘Three more days until our party!’, ‘Two more days until are party..’ Ecetera. 

Yesterday morning, the day had finally come. I set out early to clean, buy groceries and, make playlists and set up the room. There was a nail-painting/beauty salon station, a craft station, a games station, a table full of good unhealthy snacks,  and, most importantly, a dance floor. I got a recipe for ‘chapati’ (Indian tortillas) and spent most of the afternoon cooking and trying to remember old line dances from camp.

I opened the gate at 5:55 and the girls arrived at 6:01. They all had on their party clothes and flowers in their hair. ‘Oh you look so pretty’ ‘Nice hair’ ‘Ooh, I love that shirt.’ What girl doesn’t like an excuse to get dressed up!? (or in my case, at least shower...). After a few rounds of UNO, we moved on to the dances. The girls love the Macarena (the Macaroni, as they call it) and they caught on pretty quick to my rendition of ‘It’s raining men’ and ‘Build me up Buttercup.’ Gillian, one of my only American friends, set up our nail salon and the night continued with run-way walking, Nutella filled chapati’s, ring pop’s, art and lots of giggling. 

As they were packing up to leave, each girl hugged me and said, “Thank you so much for inviting us!” They were gone by 8:59 with colored tongues, painted nails, and serious sugar high’s. 

I love these girls. I have learned that while they don’t have very many physical needs like the the children in our development centers and orphanages, they are growing up in a world that teaches them to bow down to idols pray to gods that will never respond. They are not orphans, they are not living in poverty, but their need is one that is much deeper. Pray that seeds would be planted and that they would know that I love them only because their heavenly Father loved them first. 

Adventures in Bangalore

About tuesday of last week I decided that I wanted to take a trip for Easter. I am half way through my internship with ICM, and taking a trip out of Ongole to do a bit of sight seeing sounded like a really good idea. I emailed a friend in Bangalore, bought an overnight bus ticket and was on my way by Thursday evening! 

Night buses are totally the way to travel in India. They come complete with a bunk for each person, drop down TV's, pillows, blankets and headphones...all for about 20 dollars. A nine hour journey becomes just another night's sleep. 

Amy and Patrick moved to Bangalore in January. Patrick works for the same company as my dad and Amy is volunteering as a school councilor at a community, not-for-profit school that brings kids in from the slums and gives them a top notch education. (It's pretty awesome) They are figuring out the in's and out's of ex-pat life and living it up in their first year of marriage abroad! 

Having just arrived a few months prior, and having only three days notice, these two were the most gracious and incredible hosts consistently spoiling me for three days straight. From home cooked meals to Bangalore's finest dining, huge city markets to fancy shopping malls, latte's to hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts (yes, you read right..), botanical gardens to fish spas...I left their apartment ready to take on the world (or at least two more months in Ongole!) My stomach was filled with foods I had not seen in months (Lasagna, salad, strawberries, feta cheese, wine, nutula brownies, molten chocolate cake, snicker's bars, good coffee..need I go on?). Seriously, spoiled. Another treat was an wonderful Easter morning worship service at their International church. There are probably more than 25 nationalities represented in the congregation and between the Nigerian girls who sang in French and the Indian hip-hop team that did a drama/dance to the gospel story- I felt like I was literally in heaven, worshiping with the nations. 

Whole Sale flower Market

Veg Market

Botanical Gardens

Krispy Kreme

Amy is the most spectacular blogger I've ever come across. Actually her daily posts put my spastic, once-every-few-weeks entries to shame. On my last evening in Bangalore, we had quite the adventure trying to get me to my bus. After reading Amy's description of the event- equally entertaining, detailed, and accurate, I have decided that I had to re-post it here. Her post is featured below..enjoy! 

THE DEPARTURE, by Amy Glicker

“Courtney!” I yelled, with white knuckles gripping the interior of the car door. We were zig-zagging in and out of Bangalore’s traffic at a speed I have never, ever driven at (in the States or in India).  “How on earth are we ever going to adequately blog about this experience?!” I managed to say as we were tossed around the back seat of the car, swerving, peddle-to-the-metal, laying on the horn, and running people off the road.

Courtney laughed, and thought for a minute.  “I know! Just tell them... ‘It all began at a fish spa.’”  

And so it did. It all began at a fish spa. 

We had a couple of hours to kill before dropping Courtney off to take the ten hour bus ride back to Ongole (the city where she has been volunteering for the past few months). 

"Let's try to squeeze in one last adventure!... Let's see if we can fit in a trip to the Fish Spa."  I told Courtney and Patrick as we loaded up the car and made our way to Whitefield (the area of town where Courtney would catch the bus).  Little did we know that one adventure would turn into two.

After a hilarious session at the fish spa, filled with uncontrollable laughter as fish suction-cupped their little lips to the bottoms of our feet, it came time for us to head to the bus station.  Now, as you have probably figured out, things in India take a very long time, therefore, it is important to allow an adequate time-buffer from point A to point B.  Seeing that the bus station was only 15 minutes away, we allowed over an hour to make the last leg of our journey and say our farewells and goodbyes to Courtney.   As we prepared to leave the Fish Spa, we called our driver to come and pick us up (yes, I know, it sounds crazy to have one's very own driver... but here in India, that is the norm.  In fact, driving here is truly a skilled trade).  Anyway, I digress...

Patrick called the driver.  One ring, two rings, three rings... No answer.  A text message: "We are ready. Please come pick us up." ...No response. More phone calls, followed by an equal number of unanswered calls. 

"I bet he doesn't have reception in the mall's parking garage." I said. "Let's go see if we can find the car.”

Now mind you, the Fish Spa that we visited was right smack dab in the middle of Whitefield's infamous Phoenix Mall; a mall so big it even has its own rock climbing wall, "snow zone" complete with sledding (yeah, try to figure that one out in Bangalore's 90+ degree heat!), an outdoor concert venue, restaurants, etc.  Needless to say, the parking garage for this behemoth of a structure was equally impressive and equally enormous.  The odds of us finding the car were slim to none.  That said, perhaps it was a small Easter Miracle, but we eventually stumbled upon our small four-door coup. 

"I found it!" I yelled, as Patrick and Courtney made their way over to join me at the car.  

There was only one problem: No driver.  He was absolutely nowhere to be found. The following forty-five minutes was spent strategically covering every main entrance, corner of the parking garage, and major meeting spots at the mall. Still no driver. We were starting to feel a little frantic.  

"I'm going to call the driver service company." Said Patrick as he dialed the number on the phone.  Soon, the three of us and the Driving Company were all trying to call our driver, however, it was useless as none of our calls would go through. 

The tension was rising.

It was 7:45pm, and Courtney was supposed to report to the bus at 8:00pm (it was scheduled to depart at 8:15).  We took a look at her backpack filled with all of her weekend necessities that was in the back seat of the car, locked. 

“I’m going to break in the window.” Patrick said. I gently reminded him that that probably wasn’t the best idea. 

"What should we do?"  We asked each other.

After careful deliberation, we decided that if there was any hope of getting Courtney on her overnight bus to Ongole, we would have to abandon ship, take a rickshaw to the bus station, and worry about couriering her the backpack the next day.  We sprinted out of the garage and to the street lined with rickshaws just was fast as we could. 

"We need to go to KR Puram bus station... FAST!!!" I said to the rickshaw driver. He charged us way too much, but we didn't have time to negotiate.  The three of us jumped in the back of the rickshaw and made our way towards the bus station.  By this time, it was already after 8 o'clock, and our odds of catching the bus in time were getting slimmer by the minute. 

"Ring. Ring. Ring."  It was Patrick's cellphone.  On the other end of the line was the driver.  There was no time to figure out what had gone wrong at the shopping mall.  Patrick handed the phone to the rickshaw driver and he told our driver where he was going, and said to come meet us with Courtney's backpack.  He then proceeded to hang up the phone, and pull over to the median of one of Bangalore's busiest highways. 

"Get out here." He said.  Your driver is coming.

"Are you kidding me?" Said Patrick. "No! Please take us to the bus station.  We will deal with the bag later."

The driver refused. There was no use in arguing, he clearly wasn't going to take us any further.

There we were, three white kids, at night, standing in the middle of the highway. At last the phone rang again... It was the driving company.

"Your driver is at the petrol station. He just arrived." The dispatch person explained.

We looked around. There it was, and there was his car.  However, there was only one problem.  The petrol station was on the other side of a six lane highway. In the middle of the highway was a fence dividing the lanes in half. To make matters worse, the top of the fence was sharp, making it impossible to climb. 

For anyone who has ever played the game "Frogger,"  you can probably visualize what it looked like as we crossed the busy highway and made it to the half-way point.  We walked along the fence until we found a hole that we were able to squeeze through.  Meanwhile, traffic was rushing back and forth on either side of us.  At last we made our way to the petrol station and arrived at the car. 

Another hiccup: The car was there, but the driver AND the bag were gone.

"You've got to be joking." Said Patrick, looking around frantically for the driver.  After another phone call, we established that the driver had picked up the bag and taken off running to meet us back on the other side of the road.  We had completely missed each other.   

Are you exhausted from this story yet? ... Well, just wait!

At last the driver made it back to the car.  He was drenched in sweat, and breathing so hard he literally couldn't speak. He ran to the driver's seat door, jumped in, and we all piled in behind him.  The race was on!

As I mentioned earlier, never in my life have I been in a car at this kind of speed.  It was complete chaos. We weaved through the traffic, running people off the road, and swerving into every available open space as we made our way through the final 2 kilometers of highway before the bus station. At one point I turned to Courtney and said, 

"If I am ever pregnant, in labor, and late to the hospital... I sure hope this guy is around to take me there!"  

That said, that was about all I was able to say to Courtney because, quite honestly, I was fairly occupied mentally preparing for whatever kind of car crash we were certain to experience. 

By this time it was already about 8:25pm (several minutes after the bus was scheduled to depart).  Now, in any other country, we may have just given up and headed home, however, here in Bangalore, one thing is consistent:  Things never run on schedule.  There was still hope that the bus had a late departure.

"There it is!" We yelled as we approached the make-shift bus station.  Sure enough, a line of busses filled the streets.  Now to find the correct bus.  We scanned the names of all the bus companies written across the back window of each bus. 

"THERE!!!!"  We shouted. Sure enough, up ahead was the name of Courtney's bus company.  We weren't sure if it was the correct bus that was heading to Ongole, but at this point, we had no other choice.  There was one problem: The bus had already taken off, and was making its way toward the freeway. 

Our driver, a crazed look in his eyes, pressed the gas pedal to the floor. We took off towards the bus as through we were competitors in a NASCAR race.  We came along the side of the bus and our driver pushed the horn as far into the steering wheel as it would go, letting out a piercing honking noise to let the bus know we were there.  Next he swerved back and forth into the bus, as though he were trying to run the giant vehicle off the road.  Finally, he stepped on the gas once more and, honking incessantly, pulled in front of the bus to intentionally cut it off.  Meanwhile, the three of us passengers were waving our arms at the bus driver and yelling for him to stop.  (Yes, it was quite the scene).  At last, the bus driver signaled to the left and began to slow the vehicle.

Our driver stopped the car in the middle of the highway, turned on the emergency flashers, and, with the car still running, we all dove out of the vehicle and sprinted towards the bus.  Not yet stopped, the bus slowed to a crawl and opened its doors. The driver through the backpack in with all his might, and Courtney dove in behind it.  At no time did the bus ever come to a complete stop.  

She was off. 

The three of us (Patrick, the driver, and myself) got back into the car, out of breath, and dripping in sweat. 

My phone rang. It was Courtney.  I will never forget what she said...

"Amy!... That was AWESOMMMEEEE!!!!"  

Yes, yes it was. It was an adventure. A totally, crazy, awesome adventure.

 

Just a Typical Ride Around Town

Sometimes you get lucky and you happen to flag down that special auto with speakers installed in the back and blue neon lights lining the ceiling. When my driver began to blare 'Gangnam Style' in the middle of his random Bollywood mix the other day I decided to start filming! It's a bumpy ride...Enjoy! 

Gone Running

You never know exactly what you are in for when you head over to the track. Some evening there are tons of women doing laps in Sari’s and sneakers, other nights its mostly men smoking pipes. Sometimes there are a million kids that want to do a lap with you, and other times you almost get run over by motorcycles. Just depends on the day I guess. We definitely stand out as ‘Runners,’ not to mention ‘American Runners...’ Here are a few of my favorite interactions. 

One side of the track

The gang: 

About 10 children have watched me do 10 laps at this point. Every time I pass them they cheer and say ‘Hi! Hi madam!’. Finally I get to my final lap and the kids have decided that they will join in. 

Kids: One round madam? One round? 

Me: Um, ok!? (What the heck is a round?...O, ok, one lap...)

The kids start to run with me, barefoot, I might add. We all laugh our way through half a lap and then..

Me: Ok, ready? 

Kids: Yes, yes! 

Me: Ok, go! (I start to sprint)

One boy keeps up for awhile and then we slow down and left everyone catch up. We are almost back where we started and then...

Kids: Madam, Speed! Speed Madam! 

I have created a monster. They all start to sprint again and leave me in the dust. 

Chubby Boy on a Bike: 

Boy (Riding up beside me on his bike): “Excuse me, ma’am” 

Me (Startled, taking my headphones out): “Hi”

Boy: “Hi, How are you?”

Me: “I’m fine, How are you?”

Boy: “Fine. Jogging?”Me: “Yes... What is your age?” (Ask, ‘How old are you’ and they stare at you like you are crazy!) 

Boy: “13.” 

Me. “Oh, wow” 

Boy: “Ok, bye!”

Me: “....bye!”

***5 minutes later

Boy: “Excuse me, ma’am”

Me (again, startled, taking my headphones out): “Hi! yes?”

Boy: “Jogging have very nice habbit”

Me: (wiggling my head in agreement) “Yes, very nice. Thank you. Bye” 

Boy: “Bye!” (Turns around and rides away) 

“I love Americans” 

Two girls came up to me one day one on each side, trapping me in with their bikes...doesn’t really startle me anymore. 

Girl 1: “Hello!”

Me: “Hi, how are you?”

Girl 1: “Fine! What is your name?”

Me: “Courtney, and yours?”

Girls 1: (I have no idea...some names you don’t even try to pronounce)

Me: Oh, good. You go to English Medium School?”

Girl 1: “Yes, Madam! I am 10 years. Girl, red shirt, American?”

Me: “Yes, that is my friend.” 

Girl 1: “Oh! Your friend? What her name?”

Me: “Andrea”

Girl 1: “Oh...can we talk to her?” 

Me: “Sure! Just go up and say, Hi Andrea!”

Girl 2: “We love Americans” 

Me: “Oh yea? Why?”

Girl 2: “They have such white color skin...”

Me: “......”

Girl 1: “You come back tomorrow?”

Me: “No, next day”

Girl 1: “Saturday, ok, we come jog with you”

Me: “Ok then, bye!”

Girls: Bye! (giggling.....)

Notice the flip flops and bare feet...

**Two days later I ran into the same girls again. They followed me all the way home..literally to my doorstep. They said they would walk me home the next time I came also...so thats fun! 

I often get children who simply shout “America!!” When I turn around they just wave.. 

It’s getting hotter every day, so I’m not sure how much longer we will be able to actually run outside, but I’m loving it while it lasts! 

A day in the life of a local missionary...in India...in a village....far far...FAR away.

Before you read this post try to clear your mind of any expectations that you might have stored away in the back of your head of what ‘missions’ and 'church' looks like. Let me remind you, as I constantly have to remind myself, that India is far, far...far away from the Western world, not only physically, but also culturally and, in many ways spiritually. God is a God that never changes, but the way that he moves, the way that missionaries work, the food, the climate, the lifestyle, the big and the small are for the most part, different. For many of us that have (well, had...) not visited India, things are so different that we really can’t even grasp the ways that culture would actually effect things like spreading the gospel. So, let me see if I can paint you a small picture...

  Last week I went on my first ‘overnighter’ outside of the city. I tagged along with a worldrace team as they made there way into different villages hoping to get an inside look at the daily life of  rural village pastors and their congregations. 

We loaded up a van and set off....and when it broke down 20 minutes outside of the city, we loaded up another van and set off again! Rule # 1, when in India...be flexible.

Take Two!

The first village we arrived in was under the charge of Pastor Dasubabu. He currently ministers to three villages and shepherds three house churches, one Covenant Church and a Covenant Children’s Home (CCH) Orphanage. The CCH, the Covenant building (where we stayed) and the pastor’s personal living quarters are all connected on the same lot, and all share one bathroom. We set up camp in the church and then headed out, further into the village.

CCH home right behind Church

Two of the 10 CCH kids

The first home that we arrived at was the location of one of Pastor Dasubabu’s house churches. We were welcomed in, given chairs to sit on and offered cold drinks and snacks. While we waited there (for what exactly, we didn’t know..sometimes in India you just wait) we had a chance to interview the Pastor and ask him about his own testimony. He became a Christian when God healed his wife of sickness. He was so grateful that he dedicated his life to the ministry and decided to become a full time Pastor. Many, if not most, of the conversions and proclamations of faith that I have seen in India have been the direct result of healings, visions and other miraculous signs. He received minimal training and was sent out to to make disciples, heal the sick and proclaim the good news in three villages near his hometown. That is what he has been doing ever since. 

Eventually we began to see what it was we were waiting for. Women and children trickled in, heads covered, bibles in hand. We were going to have an impromptu service- Tuesday morning at 11:30am. I have no idea how the word spread, but before I knew it, the room was full! They sang. We sang. The Pastor preached. We preached. He prayed. We prayed.

This is how the day went. We would go from house church to house church calling services and meeting together with the Christians that have become part of the congregations. At each service we would worship and then one of us was asked to speak. I was so impressed with the world racers that always carry a 'word in their back pocket,' ready to give it at any moment. Like one of them said, 'You should always have a few cakes baking in the oven, cause you never know when people will be hungry!' 

I know I talk a lot about worship in India, but it is the most beautiful thing. I can't say this enough: EVERYONE PARTICIPATES. Sometimes there is a drum, sometimes there is microphone and sometimes there are just our hands and our voices. Even when we sing in English everyone is clapping and dancing along side us, longing to be part of the sound that is lifted up to the Lord. When, where, with who...it doesn't matter- they love to worship! In a country where spiritual darkness is a real power and a real enemy, worship of the one true God is both the best offense and the best defense.

Second House Church

Covenant Night Service

At night we were fed and ...groomed...by the women in the field. They are good to us.

Prayer is a huge part of the Christian walk, and missional movement here in India. Day two was spent visiting the houses of Christians, praying for them and encouraging them with scripture. I have gotten used to Indian women walking up to me, covering their heads and asking me to pray. They usually point to a part of their body that is afflicted, or to their womb, or their children, whatever it is that they want to lift up in prayer. They never understand what I am praying over them, but they pray along with me in Telugu. At first I was scared that, as a foreigner, they thought I had magical prayer powers, or some sort of special ability, but, I have found that they don't expect anything magical from US, they just love to pray. They are so thankful for prayer and really feel loved at the thought that we would travel across the world just to meet with them and pray for them. Its an act of honor, of love, and of trust in the Lord.

House Visits

What prayer often looks like in India

To be honest, I spent a lot of my time playing with Children, teaching them songs and a bit of English. They love to sing 'The love of Jesus', 'Waves of Mercy, Waves of Grace,' and 'You came from heaven to earth...' Those never get old! (#middleschool #thegreatescape..anyone?). I would say I'm more gifted in 'play' than in 'prayer' but, thats just my own opinion! 

Can I take a p

When the second afternoon rolled around we were told that we were going to get to see a baptism! The man who was being presented was 76 years old and had been following Christ for 7 years. He had never been baptized, and had recently decided that he was ready and willing to take that step. We all piled into a van- again unsure of exactly what was going on. Was he being baptized in the church? Were we going to have another service? Were we headed to another house? After about 20 minutes in the car, I really started to wonder what was going on, so I asked the translator, 'Uday, where are we going?'. 'To the water,' was his reply. To the water, of course. You need water to get baptized, right? Another 20 minutes later and we arrived at a beautiful waterfront. It was just in time for sunset and so we all ran down to the water, and the Pastor walked right in. For the amount of time it took to get to this place..7 years, plus 40 mins in a car- the actual baptism went very quickly. In and out and yes- rejoicing! I have never seen such joy in the face of a man who, most people would say, was 'out of time.' He knows that his life is just beginning and thanks to Jesus, he has been given an eternity in Glorious Heaven. I'll let the pictures do the talking here.

One last service that night- worship, preaching, prayer, food- and we were on our way home. Is God moving in India? So fast that I can hardly keep up!!! 

Second Saturday's

One of the projects here at India Christians Ministries is called CCH, which stands for Church Children’s Homes. The homes are family style, churched based orphanages where the children not only have the pastor’s immediate family taking care of them, but the entire church family nurturing them as well. It’s as if each pastor adopted ten children but the entire church body takes responsibility for parenting them. ICM currently runs 40 homes and they have hopes to open 20 more in 2013. 

UNICEF estimates that there are over twenty five and a half million orphans under the age of 17 living in India. There are more orphans in India than there are people living in Texas or New York. Only about 60% of orphans aged 10-14 go to a school of any kind and many are left to fend for themselves. Indian Christians have found it impossible to stand still. They don’t just hear the statistics on the news or look them up on google, they see them. They live them, and they are taking seriously their call to ‘care for the Orphan.’ 

Every second Saturday of the month Indian children have the day off from school. (Oh yea, did I mention that India works on a 6-day school and work week!?). Each month, on this special school-free saturday, the 15 CCH families in our district come and meet together at the office for a day of worship, games, food and medical check-ups. 150 children and their ‘parents’ pack into the upstairs level (roughly equivalent to a fellowship or prayer hall) that is made to comfortable seat about 30 to 40 adults. 

They spend the morning singing, dancing and worshiping all together. In this country, when its time to worship- everyone participates. The five year old kids who can’t sit still for more than 5 minutes, the over zealous 10 year olds, and the awkward middle-schoolers ALL raise their hands with the Hallelujahs, clap and jump along to the beats and sing at the top of their lungs. The best part is that none of these kids are annoyed that they have to spend their free Saturday at ‘church.’ Exactly the opposite- they are ecstatic to be together and to be praising God. 

After lunch- which was paradoxically chaotic and quite organized- the kids went back to worship. I kept waiting for at least the little ones to poop out, but its like they know that they were made to worship and they never get tired of it! Another hour went by before we transitioned into games and crafts. 

Duck, Duck Goose was on the agenda but when I was given 30 energetic kids of all ages, half of a room barely big enough for all of them to stand and an hour to ‘play,’ I quickly had to re-consider. Deep Breath. Thank goodness much of my life has been spent at summer camps, retreats and children’s programs. I jumped up onto the couch and motioned for everyone to come close and watch carefully. I held up 3 fingers and grabbed 2 other children. We formed a group of 3. Then I held up 5 fingers, grabbed 4 kids and we made a group of five. I nodded to see if they understood and then started shouting out numbers. They screamed and giggled and started running around trying to form the right kind of group. When they found the right number of people they would raise their hands and shout ‘Aka, Aka!!’ which means ‘Sister, Sister, look!!’  Thumbs up. A different number- more squeals, more laughter.

After four rounds of screaming the Hokey, Pokey- Three versions of Simon Says, Five speeds of ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes,’ and 20 minutes of just making animal sounds and motions, I was finally told that games were over. Praise Him. I have never thought about God’s sustenance in terms of ‘getting through game time,’ but let me tell you- He provides in every circumstance. 

Tired out from the day, sweating and smiling the children said their goodbyes and headed back with their pastors to their homes. The older kids shake your hand and the smaller ones (with no reservations) point to their cheek and ask for a kiss, each one screaming ‘Bye aka, bye aka!!’ 

Many of the homes are still looking for financial sponsorship- please pray that God would be moving hearts in this direction! Check out ICM’s website for more info, or ask me- I could talk about these kids till the cow’s come home. (No pun intended....) 

HOLY COW!

In my few short weeks in India I have constantly been comparing what I see and experience here to the ‘norm’ I know in South America. There are so many similarities between India and Ecuador. The streets of Ongole look so familiar- food venders, small shops that sell..everything but what you are looking for, lots of people, motorcycles, dusty roads, dogs, smoke rising from burning trash piles and the smell of..well, all of that put together (plus Indian spices, yum!). The one thing that I can just not get used to seeing here, however, are...get ready for it...the holy cows! Cows leisurely roam the street, laying under bridges, confronting traffic and pretty much just hanging out. They are often adorned with chalk flowers drawn onto their skin or ribbons. 

One of the Hindu gods is a White Cow, and while I have yet to see the people here bow down and worship these street cows, they are most definitely revered. Cow products would never be found in Ongole, and even in bigger cities, all beef, milk and other dairy come from Buffalos. In Man on Earth John Reader wrote: “Hindu theology says 86 reincarnations are needed to transform the soul of a devil into the soul of a cow. One more, and the soul takes on a human form, but killing a cow sends the soul all the way back to the form a devil again...The priests say to look after a cow is in itself a form of worship. People..put them in special sanctuaries when they are too old or sick to be kept at home. At the moment of death, devout Hindus themselves are anxious to hold the tail of a cow, in the belief that the animal will guide them safely to the next life.” 

When that becomes normal, I’ll know that theres no going back...