They called it love...and now I know it's love.

Her name is Lakshmi. She has a smile that begins with a sparkle in her eyes and ends with a giggle that touches my soul. Her hand fits perfectly in mine and her heart was made to pull me into its beauty. We wander the grounds of the New Life Children’s Home arm in arm, much of the time spent with her nervously checking every few minutes to make sure I still remember her name. When we see my father, she turns to me with an impish grin and exclaims, “My father!” No matter how many times this exchange occurs, I can’t help but laugh and reply in protest, “No! My father!” We argue back and forth until finally we agree that he is our father, and that makes us sisters. It is a conclusion that never fails to delight us both.

This world is unlike any I have ever known. It is vibrant. It is insistent. It is alive. From my diluted perspective it seems that each moment is a raw fight for survival. The rickshaw drivers run with the weight of their family, their homes, and their lives on their backs. They make the choice between earning money for the present and cutting their life expectancy in half with the slow death of suffocating manual labor. The beautiful people that face abject poverty every day make the choice to build their shelter out of dried palm leaves, knowing that any moment their decision may end their lives in a fury of flames. In a matter of seconds, one spark could literally bring their lives crashing down on top of them. The darling children who press themselves against me, their stomachs swollen from malnutrition and their eyes unsure of what I have come for, have all had to make the choice between allowing their thirst to overcome them or to drink from the filthy water sources that are responsible for 80% of sickness worldwide. These are the realities that have sliced open the bubble of happiness that has surrounded me since being here. Thankfully, my blessed relief has come in the form of the children that have been rescued from these harsh realities.  When they tug at my hand, I feel a welcomed tightening on my heart. God is good.

This morning we began our journey to reach villages that Wells for Life has recently brought clean water to. The car window created a frame for the flashing insights into injustices, triumphs, and realities. I felt torn between our celebrated destination and my burning desire to know the story behind hooded eyes and veiled pain. The landscape rose towards the heavens in layers of color-rich rice paddies and palm trees embracing the sky, mountains that seemed alive enough to move, and perfectly muddied waters reflecting the entire breathtaking scene. It never ceases to amaze me that such beauty could be intertwined with a part of God’s creation I will probably never understand.

My bag is lost somewhere in the world, condemned to roam for an unknown amount of time. The clothes on my back are borrowed while the dust and smell of this land are beginning to coat my skin. My heart aches with the love I have experienced and the suffering I have witnessed in this provocative country.

The past few days have been entirely indescribable. But as is my style, I will no doubt do my best to describe the indescribable over the next few weeks, though I have braced myself for failure. Please pray for us as we experience the joy of God’s love with the incredible people of India.