Minute one,
And life is perfect, but there are tears in my eyes. I don’t think small children or animals know how to say goodbye and I envy them for that. I really do.
Minute two,
And life feels like it’s been stretched.
I feel very Maria-Von-Trapp-esque with my cardigan and my hat and my instruments swinging at my side. But even that lovely thought can’t drown out the enormous monotony of being stuck in the middle isle of a jet plane for an eight hour flight. I end up watching the Tolkien movie twice and drinking over a gallon of water because what else am I going to do? My activity is severely limited due to my grandmotherly neighbor who asks very politely if she can lay down on the seat beside me. I say yes, and she promptly falls asleep on my lap.
My second flight is ten hours long, but it goes by like Christmas because I sleep the whole time. At some point I wake up with the sudden and jarring realization that I haven’t seen my sunglasses in a while. I search for them, am unable to find them, briefly mourn their loss and fall back to sleep.
And then we are preparing to land and they were waking us up to the ever-darkening darkness and they are ordering us to sit ourselves up, turn off our screens and enjoy a full pre-packaged English breakfast.
The birds eye view of India at midnight is so strikingly different from any other landscape that I’ve seen that, for a moment, I have no choice but to gaze, mesmerized, out the plane window. From this view there are no cities, no roads, no cars, no structures. There is only an endless sea of pitch and shadow with tiny, irregular islands of flickering light pockmarking it’s surface, like watery reflections of the hazy constellations above. And then, just before we land, there comes a vast plain of nothingness - no lights, no clouds - everything just gone and for an instant we hang suspended in an infinity with no ceiling before we plummet down toward the unforgiving earth below.
Minute three,
And life feels really, really tired.
Pastor TL meets me at the airport with smiles, prayers and flowers and while I think for a bit that we might die on the loud, crowded highway or hit one of the many stray dogs or be charged by a wandering cow, we make it safely to our destination - the Haokip’s home.
It turns out I’m not the only American currently taking up residence here. Uncle Dan is a lanky, grey-headed Virginian and fellow ambassador of Jesus Christ. He meets us at the door of the Haokip’s home wearing mismatched flannel pajamas and gripping a mug of black coffee. It’s too early here for any sane person to be awake, but soon the pastor’s wife, Ruth, strides into the living room, a palpable aura of graceful power radiating from her small stature.
Uncle Dan leans over to me and whispers, “TL might be the public face of the operation, but when he comes back here he’s smart enough to hand the authority to Ruth.”
I see what he means. Ruth seems like an unstoppable force. As soon as she sees me she pulls me into a rib-crushing hug and states, “I’ll make tea.” For lunch, Ruth serves organic red tea and poached eggs with toast. She is an amazing cook!
I feel useless for most of the day, but I keep reminding myself that I KEEP ASKING WHAT I CAN DO TO HELP. And I am always met with the response, “No, no, get some rest.”
It is true - I’m so tired that I have to fight to keep my eyes open. Back at home my friends and family are all sound asleep, sweetly dreaming on their soft pillows in their air conditioned houses. Within minutes of being in India I am dirty and sweating, thirsty and exhausted.
And I am in love with it.
In an attempt to stay awake, some of us take a walk around the neighborhood. I learn very quickly that calling out a hello to a local without getting a cheerful response and a bright smile in return is a rare thing indeed. There are buildings everywhere but no one seems to belong anywhere. They wander from street to street, sometimes stopping to pet a dog or speak to a friend, blowing with the red dust and smiling with the sunshine.
On returning to the house, Uncle Dan comments, “I made the people very happy today. They love to stare at me already when I go out, but this time I was in the company of a tall, blonde-haired woman. They were having a field day.”
Most of the people don’t quite know how to act around me. They giggle nervously, or touch my hand, or shy away and watch me with suspicion. And I’ve only been here for a few hours. I’m bracing myself for six weeks of being an oddity and trusting that God will be able to break down any barriers that the people put up against me. Already Ruth has welcomed me in and informed me that I’m part of her family now. The love of Christ is the same, no matter where you are in the world.
For lunch Ruth serves organic red tea and poached eggs with toast and for dinner
I find that Ruth is a fervent fan of all things organic and healthy. She orders most of her food from special places in far away parts of the country and is very eager to show me her spice collection. One of her favorite ingredients is the King Chili Pepper - one of the hottest in the world. This gives me pause, but she promises that she’ll only make me try it once.
Minute four,
And life is caught in the dusty Indian night air.
Before we all part ways for the evening, we kneel down for Mai Chan, or family worship. All raising our voices in prayer and thanksgiving for the beautiful day.
I go to bed late, staying up to talk with my mom and grandmother and all the little beans I left in America.
I miss them all.
I miss you all.
But I think I’m going to love it here.
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