India

India... vivid, noisy, dirty and yet so beautiful... A land of so many contrasts. As we stepped out of the Delhi airport, waves of familiar sights, smells and sounds came rushing towards me. After being in a completely new country and culture in China, I was somewhat surprised to find myself almost feeling like I was coming home, or at least to a place I knew well, as we jolted along the Indian highway, dodging motorcycles, rickshaws and huge Tata trucks. We finally reached our hotel around five in the morning, and as I had slept for nearly our entire 8 hour flight from Beijing, I decided not to try to sleep to help adjust to the new time zone.

That afternoon we needed to change some dollars to Indian Rupees, and planned to head to a central part of Delhi where some of the best conversion rates are. As we stepped out of our hotel, two auto-rickshaw drivers eagerly told us they would take us there for a cheap price. We agreed, and so we took off, each holding three members of our family, plus the driver. If you have never ridden in an auto-rickshaw in Delhi, it can be an exhilarating experience. It is like a three wheeled motorcycle with a top, a windshield and open sides. They can go surprisingly fast, and as they fly around sharp corners, dashing between trucks and cars with only a few inches on either side, you have to be sure to keep your limbs inside the rickshaw or face the possibility of an amputation. When we finally screeched to a stop, we were not at the destination agreed on with drivers. They had taken us to some shopping strip, apparently bribed by the owners to get tourists to buy their goods, and refused to take us farther. When we realized any more disputing was futile, we walked the remaining mile or so, trying to shake off numerous beggars and hawkers all along the way.

After exchanging our money and haggling over prices in the markets for some commodities for our trip, we headed back to the office of COI, a Christian organization we work with, and the home of its director. This time we opted to take the Delhi Metro back, and other than all six of us piling into one rickshaw this time to take us from the station to the apartments, and getting lost a few times along the way, our journey back was relatively uneventful.

That evening we had a joyful reunion with some of our great friends here - Nana & Nani, Jojo, and Max and Della. They are such a blessing, and it was great catching up. We had such a good time and it was so good to see them all again.

The next morning, we started early and began strapping our mountain of luggage to the top of our small SUV to head in to the remote, mountainous and almost completely unevangelized province of Uttaranchal. We were so blessed to have Max able to join us, and by 7:15 we were rolling out of Delhi.

The drive is a long, grueling one along a two lane highway with everything from water buffalo drawn carts to bicycles to trucks whizzing by, not necessarily in their lane. It is slow, hard going, with lots of jolting and stopping for the huge potholes and dodging the slower, unconventional vehicles along the way.

For lunch we stopped in a little shop opening up to the main road. As we walked in, I was immediately reminded of how different table manners are in India. None of the tables had been wiped for a month, the floor hadn’t been swept for at least that long, and over on one table a man was sprawled out taking a siesta. When the food was served, no plates were given as the preferred manner of eating is using a chapati - a wheat tortilla like bread - to sop up sauce and scoop up meat and vegetables from a dish shared by all. Bethany exclaimed to me, “Can you imagine how rude this would be back home? Everyone reaching across the table dipping their bread in the same dish and then shoveling it in to your mouth before the sauce runs off!” The food was really good, though, and I think everyone enjoyed the meal, if not the cultural experience.

All this while we had been traveling along a vast, flat plain and it was so refreshing to see the foothills begin poking their heads out of the fog. As we approached them, I was once again amazed at their steepness. The sides of the hills are almost perpendicular to the valleys below, and the trees seem to grow at right angles in an attempt at being horizontal. The cool, crisp air was so invigorating, and the blue sky - the first we had seen since the United States except for in the plane - was a welcome sight.

The steep, narrow road, undulating up the sides of the hills, was even slower going than it had been in the plains, but it provided us the opportunity to pass out Christian tracts and Gospels of John in Hindi to villagers walking along the road or nearby shop keepers, calling out “Ek tofa ap kelia!” (A gift for you). Most seemed interested or even grateful. Pray that the message of Life will touch their hearts, a shaft of Light in the darkness of Hinduism.

As we continued down the road, we came to a place where the traffic had come to a complete stand still. When Max asked someone what was going on, he was told that a Hindu procession was taking place. Max and I ran down the road a little ways to see if we could get a glimpse of it. As we got closer we could hear bells ringing, gongs, enthusiastic chanting and an ominous rhythm beaten out on large drums. They were moving the idol from one shrine to another, and all were so wholehearted and earnest in their commitment to this deity. I was keenly reminded of just how desperately these people are pursuing religion and how fervently they are seeking to fulfill the spiritual vacuum in their hearts. I thought how painful a sight like this must be to God. They fear, revere and even love these gods who not only do nothing for them but even in their legends and stories are just as or more corrupt and perverted than man, while the all perfect God, the One who created them, cares for them, and loves them so passionately above all else is not even acknowledged. How much God must long for them to return that love.

The following day we were once again on the road when torrential sheets of rain began pouring down. The rainy season in this area lasts from about June to September, and each storm can last for several hours or even several days. The roads were starting to get quite slick when a motorcycle came flying around a corner. The roads up here are too narrow to have two lanes, so when one is going around a corner, it is difficult not to drift into the center of the road. When the motorcycle saw us, he braked hard and spun out, falling off his bike and skidding along the road a ways. Fortunately he was not injured except for some minor abrasions and his bike was fine, too. He was very upset, however, and demanded Dad pay him for compensation. Dad refused and started to drive off. I felt bad for the young man, wondering if we had done the right thing, when my thoughts were interrupted by a loud smash and the sound of glass shattering. In his anger, the man threw a brick sized rock into the back window of our SUV. Rachelle and Sarah were sitting in the back, and the rock narrowly missed hitting Rachelle on the head, careening into her shoulder instead. When I looked back, I saw blood all over her from cuts from the shattered glass, and a large piece embedded in her lip. We all praised God for protecting Rachelle from a more serious injury. Later, once we were back on the road again, while Rachelle was leaning across Bethany’s lap holding tissues to her mouth trying to stop the bleeding and while Sarah and I were in the back attempting to keep the rain out of the car with a make shift tarp, I struggled with feelings of discouragement. What were we really here for, anyways? Had we really handled that situation as Christ would have? What if God had allowed that man to have his accident with us so he could have the chance to come into contact with Christians? I felt God was using it to teach me just how important t is to abide in Him, to be tapped into Him for strength and real newness of Life. Without Him, we have nothing to offer; without Him we really can do nothing.

It was getting dark, and so we stopped in a little town we had never been to before for the night. As we were unloading our bags from the top of the car, Dad suddenly pointed to something high above the clouds. When I saw what it was, I stopped short in amazement. Towering far above the valley below was a portion of the Tibetan Himalayas. They were the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen, so sharp and rugged, so insanely high, they appeared to be from another planet, even as if heaven had opened up in the sky. The valley at their bases was around 6,000 feet above sea level while the top of the peaks reached to around 21,000 feet - we could see a 15,000 feet elevation gain. I was so awed by God’s majesty, the smallness and insignificance of man, and yet the fact that the same immensely powerful God who formed these magnificent peaks cares for us above all else on earth. The words from a song ran over and over in my mind:

From the highest of heights to the depths of the sea
Creation’s revealing Your majesty.
From the colors of fall to the fragrance of spring
Every creature unique in the song that it sings
All exclaiming

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name
You are amazing, God!
All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees as we humbly proclaim
You are amazing, God!

Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go?
Or seen heavenly storehouses laden with snow?
Who imagined the sun and gave source to its light?
Yet conceals it to bring us the coolest of nights?
None can fathom

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name
You are amazing, God!
Incomparable! Unchangeable!
You see the depths of my heart and You loved me the same
You are amazing, God!

P.S. The only internet cafe here is really slow, but I'll try to post some pictures later.