Mother India

"Father God, you have shed your tears for mother India
They have fallen to water, ancient seas...
that will grow, into hands that touch the untouchable....
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak.
Father forgive me for I have not believed
like mother India I've groaned and grieved.
Father forgive me, I forgot your grace.
Your spirit falls on India... capture me in your embrace."

Early last spring my friend Maribeth made me listen to this Caedmons Call cd called "Share the Well." I like the band anyway, so I didn't need to be talked into it. It's compiled of a bunch of songs that they wrote while traveling to India, Brazil, and Ecuador. They wanted to include a lot of the traditional music from those places. It is a fabulous cd, and these lyrics are from a song called ...can you guess it? Mother India. I cried the first five times I heard this song. Not just because it's a good song, but because it really touched my heart. It brought back a lot of memories from my time in India, and the people that we met there.
I really think that there were people on our team who were much more involved than I was. The residual impact for me personally though...well, it was tremendous.
So the other day I was working at this little coffee kiosk I do about once or twice a week. We weren't busy at all. I was just kind of kicking back. This Indian family came up and ordered a bunch of coffees and planted themselves at the tables we have out. There were there for awhile, so when I had a chance I went over and asked them where they were from. We had a great chat. It was so cool! They were from Hyderabad, and I know where that is. They were all excited to hear that I had spent three months in their country. We talked about the differences in culture. One of the things that stood out to the mother, at least, was how far spaced out we are. She said, in India if you are sick or something, your neighbors are there helping, cooking the food an whatever. Here, you are hiding in your house, and your neighbors are behind their door and they are not coming out.
It was so interesting to talk to them! The father's accent was *much* harder to understand than the mothers was. Apparently their son lives in Pullman, Washington where he went to school, and then moved. They were taking a little road trip before going home.

After they left I just felt the tears well up in my eyes as these memories and feelings rushed over me. The impact my DTS had on me, its hard to put into words.
I had this moment where I just felt like...."Wow, I need to go back." =P
Not back to India neccesarily, although I would be okay with that now (I wouldn't have been at first), but anywhere. To YWAM.

Maybe you'll laugh, but I had this thought that maybe if I married a non-YWAMer, I could do another DTS. lol. I mean, he would never have done one right? So we could do one together. It would be fantastic. =p
I was thinking...how differently would I see things now than I did when I was 22??
To be honest, I am trying to remember who that girl was who first went to YWAM, and I wish that I could get in touch with that kind of fresh faith that I had back then. Seasoned faith is good too, but occassionally we need to have a little refreshing. I could sure use some, let me tell you.

So, thats my schpiel. After that family left I called Shawn up frantically and told her what had transpired. She was on my outreach team, and has worked overseas most of the time since. If anyone would understand my enthusiasm, it would be her. I've been thinking about it on and off ever since, and about where my life has gone.
I think about that fairly often these days I guess. Maybe its the impending 30th birthday that causes this phenomenon. =)
*shrug*

"...theres a land, where our shackles turn to diamonds
Where we trade in our rags, for a royal crown
In that place, our oppressors hold no power
and the doors of the King are thrown wide..."