Commentary

Falling in love with India

After graduating from Sisters High School last spring, I decided to do something a little different for my first year out on my own. Since I was barely 17, I took a year off from the books and instead did a Discipleship Training School in Lakeside, Montana.

My DTS was through an organization called YWAM, or Youth With a Mission. For three months I studied various subjects such as working with other cultures and intercessory prayer, and then for two months I lived in India.

I went with a group of 12 other college-aged students.

We all lived together in the city of Nagpur, which is the geographical center of India. I had heard all the horror stories and warnings of disease and smell, but I was totally unprepared for what happened to me in India: I fell in love.

I fell in love with the children. We went to countless orphanages and schools, where hundreds of kids would come running out to greet us, the "aunties" and "uncles" from America.

They were fascinated by our white skin, our light hair, and our different-colored eyes. While the language barrier was difficult, especially in the rural areas, it was enough to play simple games or even just give out hugs.

I met so many children, and every single one of them wanted me to remember their name. It breaks my heart to think about it even now --they were so desperate to be remembered. Indian orphanages are filled with children, but over half of these little ones have parents who are still living.

Because of inability to provide for their children or simply because they don't want them, the parents will leave the children anywhere: in government homes, orphanages, or even the streets.

I fell in love with the women. I could not walk anywhere in the city without being invited into 10 homes. Even though we often could not speak the language, the mother of the house would make me some chai tea and just sit and watch as I drank it.

They would often offer me all the food in the house, insisting that I eat it, even though I knew that it was the food for the entire family for that day, or even several days. Whatever they could they gave to me, with such graciousness and sweetness that it was hard to accept, but even harder to refuse.

Although I could not converse with them, I could pray for them, which I did earnestly and to their delight.

I fell in love with the culture. Even though I traveled to larger cities such as Agra (where the Taj Mahal is located) and Bombay, I always loved coming back to Nagpur because it was untouched by western influence. Everyday my friends and I would wear the traditional Indian dress, punjabi's and saris. We ate the traditional food, which consisted mainly of rice, curry, dal (soup made from lentils), and a thin bread called chapati.

I went to several weddings, and saw one funeral. The ceremonies were unlike any I had seen before, expressing both joy and grief in incredibly potent ways. I visited Hindu temples, Buddhist monuments, and Christian churches. I have more stories than I know how to share.

It was a life-changing experience. When we got on the train to start our journey back to America, I could not stop crying. After only two months in India, it already felt like home to me. As nice as it was to return to my family, friends, and conveniences of life in America, I find myself thinking about India all the time.

I know I will go back someday.

I just want to thank everyone in this community who has supported me in my adventure. There are so many who have prepared me, financed me, and prayed for me over these past couple of months. Without you this would not have been possible. It is good to be back in Sisters, but there will always be a part of my heart in India.