What? Can this be for real? Josh actually updated his blog? We all thought he must have died in India or something. Most of us despaired of checking his blog, each futile effort met only with the monstrous invariable post “India...” he posted like three weeks ago. But nay, vitality and change has once again triumphed in the end. Alright, that’s the epic explanation, and, I admit, rather lame. In reality, Internet has proven to be a remarkably difficult commodity to obtain on this trip. For the past three weeks, we have been in some really mountainous and remote villages where hot water heaters are cutting edge technology.
So much time has elapsed since my last entry, I hardly know where to begin or what to say. Or rather, what not to relate. I could attempt a detailed chronicle of our entire trip as best as I can recollect, but I fear that it would be not only quite voluminous, but would also run the high risk of boredom for me and probably for you, the reader. Instead, I’ll try to give a (hopefully) brief summary of what we’ve been up to the last while.
Where I last left off, we had just undergone the excitement of a near accident with a motorcycle on a wet road, the refused demand for money, and the resulting physics lesson on the capabilities of the kinetic energy of a rock to shatter the back window of our vehicle when set in motion by a very angry man. Although Rachelle ended up with a big bruise on her shoulder, cuts all over her face, and a large piece of glass imbedded in her lower lip, we all thanked God the accident wasn’t more serious. We spent the night in a little town not far away, and were very refreshed and inspired by some astounding views of the Himalayas the next morning.
The following evening we finally pulled into the town of Bageshwar, where we spent the next week working with a young Methodist pastor named Manoj. The town is nestled in a deep valley, so in order to reach the many small villages scattered on the surrounding hillsides, a stiff hike is usually required. As we trekked along some remote trail, surrounded by an amazing variety of flora - everything from oranges and bananas to apples and potatoes - I was often sure we must be so isolated as to be throughly beyond any place where anyone would actually live, when we would come around a corner or emerge from a dense forest only to see a whole new valley with dozens of small clusters of homes sprinkled throughout small terraces of wheat and rice crops. I was overwhelmed by the huge need here. One could be sure that almost all, if not all, of those villages had ever even heard of Jesus, much less a clear presentation of the gospel. As we wandered from village to village, we distributed tracts and when there was a small group of people gathered, we would stop and share with them, using a large chart with pictures from the Bible. Dad would often do some medical work, cleaning and bandaging cuts from sickles or giving medicine for ear infections or asthma. When we would say goodbye and head to the next village, I often looked back at the watching faces of the people we had just ministered to. A certain excitement would rise up within me, knowing this was probably the first time they had ever heard the truth of life’s real meaning and what God has done so they can still experience this life despite their sin. And yet at the same time I couldn’t help feeling discouraged as I wondered what the chances of them embracing this truth really were. The nearest church is an hour and a half hike away and no Christians are around for them to ask questions. Manoj may come by every few months, but there is such a need for more follow up, for pastors and evangelists from the local area who know the people and can teach and live among them.
After spending a week with Manoj, Dad thought we should drive north to a little town right against the Himalayas to see if we could get some good views. The road soon lost the right to be called by that name - wide, rocky trail being a more accurate description - and we knew we were there when it abruptly ended altogether. It was very cloudy, however, and we only got a glimpse of a peak when the clouds parted for a few minutes. I still had a lot of fun, hiking around and hanging out with my crazy sisters and taking even crazier photographs of them. Sometimes I wonder if the “crazy” poses they strike are actually more accurate representations of their real personalities and their “normal” pictures the abnormalities. But now that I think about it, my sisters say the same of me... perhaps they’re right...
Our next stop was to see Mahesh, a young evangelist who lives in the town of Pitoraghar. Sprawling along a high ridge, the elevation is much higher than at Bageshwar and the cooler weather was a welcome change. I came down with a pretty bad case of gastro-intestinal sickness while we were there, though, and spent nearly the whole time in my hotel room. But as it turned out, that was the best time to get sick. India’s rainy season was just finishing up, and it gave us a grand finale. For three entire days and three entire nights it poured rain. It soaked the ground so thoroughly little lakes began appearing everywhere. The steep ground along the narrow roads carved into the mountainsides was so saturated that huge landslides took out whole portions of the road and several bridges were washed out. The ground supporting the porch in front of Mahesh’s house was eroded away and nearly the whole porch slid down the hillside, narrowly leaving the house intact. Everyone else had to stay indoors, too, so if one has to be laid up, it is better somehow to be curled up with a good book, with thunder and stormy weather outside than when the sun is shining and the birds are beckoning you to come out. I read nearly the whole time, and it actually was a very refreshing and encouraging time for me. By Sunday I had mostly got over the bug and the weather finally let up. As we hiked up to the little church Mahesh helps pastor, I turned around to see beautiful, golden rays of unfiltered sunlight pouring down on the valley below, shrouded in mist, with green, steep, round peaks poking through. Far aloft these, the Himalayas towered, with Indian eagles circling high above the valley floor.
By Monday the stretch of road we needed to get to our next stop was open and we arrived in Champawat late that afternoon. Just outside the town is a small Methodist church pastored by Surrendra Singh. (Actually, as a side note, all three of the pastors and evangelists we visited have the last name of Singh - Manoj, Mahesh and Surrendra - yet none of them are related. It is estimated that around 30-40% of Indians have the last name of Singh. Before the British came, Indians didn’t have much use for last names, and when it was time to think up one, well, let’s just say originality wasn’t their strongest trait.) Anyway, back to Surrendra Singh, he has a wonderful family and we really enjoyed spending time with them. For the week we were with them, we hiked around stopping in local villages, handing out tracts and sharing. Sometimes we ventured far off the beaten path, into some deep jungles that epitomized for me what Rudyard Kipling must have had in mind while writing The Jungle Book. In fact, at one house we visited we were told they often see jaguars roaming the opposite ridge. One of the highlights of being in that area for me was when we came across a group of young guys playing a game of volleyball with a long piece of cloth stretched out across a courtyard for a net and a partially deflated soccer ball. After playing with them for a while, I got to talk with them for a few minutes. They were paying really close attention, and I could see their earnestness and sincerity in their expressions. You could tell they were desperate for real purpose in life, something to pour all their enthusiasm into and pursue whole heartedly. What would it be? Volleyball or Cricket? A good education and then a high paying job? If they pursued something more spiritual, it would probably be in the radical Hinduism and relentless pursuit of making it the only religion in India, or Hindustan as they would like to call it. Oh if they could experience Jesus Christ, the fountain of living water springing up into everlasting Life, the abundant life that gives us true purpose and by His Spirit within us real life itself, the One in whom we find who we really are.
The following Monday (which was also last Monday) we bade a sad farewell to Surrendra and his family and headed out to go down the steep, winding mountain roads in our descent to the hot plains to visit COI’s work in Sitarganj and see Sunnil. This proved to be a nearly epic adventure, with huge portions of the road washed out and landslides to negotiate, a complete standstill when a jeep lost its front axle in a spot narrow enough only for one vehicle to utilize at a time, and our battery dying with jumper cables an unheard of novelty and batteries difficult to obtain. When we finally got the SUV up and running again, we made several wrong turns, and had to make a long detour along narrow village streets because the bridge over a lake was down. We finally pulled up in front of Sunnil’s house around 9:30 at night and had a difficult time staying awake while they served us dinner. The next day we spent with Sunnil, visiting several of his house churches and meeting some of the local pastors he is training. God is really using him in an amazing way. Since 2003, he has started 65 house churches, 30 of them this year, and he has a goal to start 10 more before the year is up. I think a big key to his success is the amount of regular follow up he and the 10 pastors working under him provide. Most of these pastors still live in the village they grew up in, and they know the people they are working with well and understand the obstacles they need to overcome. Also, they do an excellent job of incorporating Christianity into Indian culture. Certainly some aspects of it must be discontinued, such as their reverence for Hindu deities or Sikh gurus, but much of it should still be retained. Most of the struggling churched we visited on this trip were established by British Methodist missionaries at the turn of the century, and not much has changed in those churches since. Attending large, vaulted ceiling churches with pastors wearing long robes before lighted candles singing old English hymns translated into Hindi is difficult for many Indians to adopt. Here, pastors showing up in a village, informally waiting for a crowd to gather in local homes, everyone sitting on the floor, clapping and singing Hindi style songs and sharing testimonies is natural for them. Christianity can become their life, as Indians, without the obstacles of having to also meet the prerequisite of embracing western customs.
Wednesday we survived the long, jarring drive back to Delhi, and that evening and all of yesterday had a delightful time with our translator, Max, and his family.
So that brings us to today. It is our last day in India - tonight we board our plane for the U.S. I am both excited and sad at the same time. More than ever, I have been so impressed with great need there is in northern India. With 300 million people living in the northern Ganges plain - the population of the United States - hardly more than 20,000 Christians are actively working there. This makes it the largest concentration of people with the the least amount of Christian work in the entire world. Truly, God must be so sorrowful, longing for all these precious people to experience all that He meant them to be. I pray that I would never forget, that this burden would always be fresh and impact my heart the way it must burden God’s.
P.S. Sorry I still don't have time to post any pictures. Once I get home, I'll post like 20 of my favorites. And then, I probably will not update my blog for like another 4 months...
So much time has elapsed since my last entry, I hardly know where to begin or what to say. Or rather, what not to relate. I could attempt a detailed chronicle of our entire trip as best as I can recollect, but I fear that it would be not only quite voluminous, but would also run the high risk of boredom for me and probably for you, the reader. Instead, I’ll try to give a (hopefully) brief summary of what we’ve been up to the last while.
Where I last left off, we had just undergone the excitement of a near accident with a motorcycle on a wet road, the refused demand for money, and the resulting physics lesson on the capabilities of the kinetic energy of a rock to shatter the back window of our vehicle when set in motion by a very angry man. Although Rachelle ended up with a big bruise on her shoulder, cuts all over her face, and a large piece of glass imbedded in her lower lip, we all thanked God the accident wasn’t more serious. We spent the night in a little town not far away, and were very refreshed and inspired by some astounding views of the Himalayas the next morning.
The following evening we finally pulled into the town of Bageshwar, where we spent the next week working with a young Methodist pastor named Manoj. The town is nestled in a deep valley, so in order to reach the many small villages scattered on the surrounding hillsides, a stiff hike is usually required. As we trekked along some remote trail, surrounded by an amazing variety of flora - everything from oranges and bananas to apples and potatoes - I was often sure we must be so isolated as to be throughly beyond any place where anyone would actually live, when we would come around a corner or emerge from a dense forest only to see a whole new valley with dozens of small clusters of homes sprinkled throughout small terraces of wheat and rice crops. I was overwhelmed by the huge need here. One could be sure that almost all, if not all, of those villages had ever even heard of Jesus, much less a clear presentation of the gospel. As we wandered from village to village, we distributed tracts and when there was a small group of people gathered, we would stop and share with them, using a large chart with pictures from the Bible. Dad would often do some medical work, cleaning and bandaging cuts from sickles or giving medicine for ear infections or asthma. When we would say goodbye and head to the next village, I often looked back at the watching faces of the people we had just ministered to. A certain excitement would rise up within me, knowing this was probably the first time they had ever heard the truth of life’s real meaning and what God has done so they can still experience this life despite their sin. And yet at the same time I couldn’t help feeling discouraged as I wondered what the chances of them embracing this truth really were. The nearest church is an hour and a half hike away and no Christians are around for them to ask questions. Manoj may come by every few months, but there is such a need for more follow up, for pastors and evangelists from the local area who know the people and can teach and live among them.
After spending a week with Manoj, Dad thought we should drive north to a little town right against the Himalayas to see if we could get some good views. The road soon lost the right to be called by that name - wide, rocky trail being a more accurate description - and we knew we were there when it abruptly ended altogether. It was very cloudy, however, and we only got a glimpse of a peak when the clouds parted for a few minutes. I still had a lot of fun, hiking around and hanging out with my crazy sisters and taking even crazier photographs of them. Sometimes I wonder if the “crazy” poses they strike are actually more accurate representations of their real personalities and their “normal” pictures the abnormalities. But now that I think about it, my sisters say the same of me... perhaps they’re right...
Our next stop was to see Mahesh, a young evangelist who lives in the town of Pitoraghar. Sprawling along a high ridge, the elevation is much higher than at Bageshwar and the cooler weather was a welcome change. I came down with a pretty bad case of gastro-intestinal sickness while we were there, though, and spent nearly the whole time in my hotel room. But as it turned out, that was the best time to get sick. India’s rainy season was just finishing up, and it gave us a grand finale. For three entire days and three entire nights it poured rain. It soaked the ground so thoroughly little lakes began appearing everywhere. The steep ground along the narrow roads carved into the mountainsides was so saturated that huge landslides took out whole portions of the road and several bridges were washed out. The ground supporting the porch in front of Mahesh’s house was eroded away and nearly the whole porch slid down the hillside, narrowly leaving the house intact. Everyone else had to stay indoors, too, so if one has to be laid up, it is better somehow to be curled up with a good book, with thunder and stormy weather outside than when the sun is shining and the birds are beckoning you to come out. I read nearly the whole time, and it actually was a very refreshing and encouraging time for me. By Sunday I had mostly got over the bug and the weather finally let up. As we hiked up to the little church Mahesh helps pastor, I turned around to see beautiful, golden rays of unfiltered sunlight pouring down on the valley below, shrouded in mist, with green, steep, round peaks poking through. Far aloft these, the Himalayas towered, with Indian eagles circling high above the valley floor.
By Monday the stretch of road we needed to get to our next stop was open and we arrived in Champawat late that afternoon. Just outside the town is a small Methodist church pastored by Surrendra Singh. (Actually, as a side note, all three of the pastors and evangelists we visited have the last name of Singh - Manoj, Mahesh and Surrendra - yet none of them are related. It is estimated that around 30-40% of Indians have the last name of Singh. Before the British came, Indians didn’t have much use for last names, and when it was time to think up one, well, let’s just say originality wasn’t their strongest trait.) Anyway, back to Surrendra Singh, he has a wonderful family and we really enjoyed spending time with them. For the week we were with them, we hiked around stopping in local villages, handing out tracts and sharing. Sometimes we ventured far off the beaten path, into some deep jungles that epitomized for me what Rudyard Kipling must have had in mind while writing The Jungle Book. In fact, at one house we visited we were told they often see jaguars roaming the opposite ridge. One of the highlights of being in that area for me was when we came across a group of young guys playing a game of volleyball with a long piece of cloth stretched out across a courtyard for a net and a partially deflated soccer ball. After playing with them for a while, I got to talk with them for a few minutes. They were paying really close attention, and I could see their earnestness and sincerity in their expressions. You could tell they were desperate for real purpose in life, something to pour all their enthusiasm into and pursue whole heartedly. What would it be? Volleyball or Cricket? A good education and then a high paying job? If they pursued something more spiritual, it would probably be in the radical Hinduism and relentless pursuit of making it the only religion in India, or Hindustan as they would like to call it. Oh if they could experience Jesus Christ, the fountain of living water springing up into everlasting Life, the abundant life that gives us true purpose and by His Spirit within us real life itself, the One in whom we find who we really are.
The following Monday (which was also last Monday) we bade a sad farewell to Surrendra and his family and headed out to go down the steep, winding mountain roads in our descent to the hot plains to visit COI’s work in Sitarganj and see Sunnil. This proved to be a nearly epic adventure, with huge portions of the road washed out and landslides to negotiate, a complete standstill when a jeep lost its front axle in a spot narrow enough only for one vehicle to utilize at a time, and our battery dying with jumper cables an unheard of novelty and batteries difficult to obtain. When we finally got the SUV up and running again, we made several wrong turns, and had to make a long detour along narrow village streets because the bridge over a lake was down. We finally pulled up in front of Sunnil’s house around 9:30 at night and had a difficult time staying awake while they served us dinner. The next day we spent with Sunnil, visiting several of his house churches and meeting some of the local pastors he is training. God is really using him in an amazing way. Since 2003, he has started 65 house churches, 30 of them this year, and he has a goal to start 10 more before the year is up. I think a big key to his success is the amount of regular follow up he and the 10 pastors working under him provide. Most of these pastors still live in the village they grew up in, and they know the people they are working with well and understand the obstacles they need to overcome. Also, they do an excellent job of incorporating Christianity into Indian culture. Certainly some aspects of it must be discontinued, such as their reverence for Hindu deities or Sikh gurus, but much of it should still be retained. Most of the struggling churched we visited on this trip were established by British Methodist missionaries at the turn of the century, and not much has changed in those churches since. Attending large, vaulted ceiling churches with pastors wearing long robes before lighted candles singing old English hymns translated into Hindi is difficult for many Indians to adopt. Here, pastors showing up in a village, informally waiting for a crowd to gather in local homes, everyone sitting on the floor, clapping and singing Hindi style songs and sharing testimonies is natural for them. Christianity can become their life, as Indians, without the obstacles of having to also meet the prerequisite of embracing western customs.
Wednesday we survived the long, jarring drive back to Delhi, and that evening and all of yesterday had a delightful time with our translator, Max, and his family.
So that brings us to today. It is our last day in India - tonight we board our plane for the U.S. I am both excited and sad at the same time. More than ever, I have been so impressed with great need there is in northern India. With 300 million people living in the northern Ganges plain - the population of the United States - hardly more than 20,000 Christians are actively working there. This makes it the largest concentration of people with the the least amount of Christian work in the entire world. Truly, God must be so sorrowful, longing for all these precious people to experience all that He meant them to be. I pray that I would never forget, that this burden would always be fresh and impact my heart the way it must burden God’s.
P.S. Sorry I still don't have time to post any pictures. Once I get home, I'll post like 20 of my favorites. And then, I probably will not update my blog for like another 4 months...
