Exhausted after a long day, I trudged into my room, not seeing even the steps in front of me... nothing was going to stop me from diving into my sleeping bag... until I looked up. Lining my bed were the words "beautiful, excellent, royalty, valued, daughter, seen, a treasure, called, writer, capable, humble, loved, wanted, victorious, worthy, worshipper, equipped, and sister"- in pink sticky notes.
Each day Brittany walks around with a tiny little bag, and we reach in and take the name of one of our teammates. We spend the day praying for them, and then at the end of the day give them a note of encouragement, love, or something prophetic.
12 women living together sounds like a nightmare to some... lets be honest... it sounded like a nightmare to us too. But it's turned into a fun, loving, supportive environment rich with encouragement and prophetic, life-filled words. Our lives and our relationships are lit by the lights of the tiny little Christmas tree in our room, warm and inviting.
Every day we're given a slip of paper reminding us of who we are, just in case we've forgotten.
And each night, I fall asleep under my many nametags. "Beautiful, excellent, royalty, valued, daughter, seen, a treasure, called, writer, capable, humble, loved..."
***
The building had a funny smell... almost like a hospital. I walked in full of trepidation. I haven't had any contact with someone with special needs since elementary school when one student was briefly in my second grade class.
With a lack of contact and a lack of understanding, comes a little bit of a fear. The strange smell of the building matched the strangeness going on in the depths of my stomach.
An hour later I was sitting with students as they practiced counting money and making change. In place of discomfort, I was bursting with love and patience. Oh, and there was some laughter too as I watched one student perform a magic trick, just for me. He made a Rupee 'appear out of nowhere' (he shoved it in his pocket, waved his hands around theatrically, and then whipped the coin out of his pocket and onto the table.) They were no longer different from me... they were just kids.
***
There are times on the World Race when you want to rub your eyes and wonder how the HECK you got here. Standing on a stage singing Christmas carols in front of a hundred parents at a school holiday assembly was one such moment. We sang the unfamiliar third and fourth verses of carols that felt to us like home, and looked out at the audience... thinking of how ridiculous this would look to an outsider.
But Indians, Nepalis, Moldovans and Romanians for that matter, really appreciate our amateur singing. We were happy because they were happy... so we sang with gusto and enthusiasm. This is life following Jesus I suppose... you never know where you're going to end up.
***
My eyes filled with tears... it felt like my heart was growing and being squeezed all at the same time. We stood next to the special needs students, with whom we had just CRAMMED into a tiny little bus, at an orphanage where they had come to sing. They wanted to share Jesus' love and some Christmas cheer with the orphans... they wanted to give back.
I couldn't tell if I was crying because of the incredible beauty of the hearts of the students... or at the fact that the large group of kids that I was looking out at didn't have any parents. Going through life with no parents... that has never hit my heart as hard as it did in that moment. They looked so small, so innocent, and so alone, all squished in there in their matching school uniforms.
***
We walked through a park, my guitar strapped to my back, wondering who God wanted us to talk to. Before we could finish that thought, a man on a bench lifted up his camera, indicating that he wanted to take our picture. Used to being treated like a bit of a zoo animal, being white in a sea of gorgeous brown, we smiled and stopped- allowing him to snap an awkward picture of three, incredibly white, walking, Americans.
As we were about to pass him with a quick smile and a nod, he struck up a conversation. Before long, I was sitting next to him on the bench playing him a song.
Less than 10 minutes later, I had played three more songs, and we found ourselves surrounded by five Indian men who had begun to share stories about their lives with each other. Before we knew it, we were a part of a brand new group of friends that had, until moments before, been strangers.
None of them Christians, we got to tell them the stories of how we met Jesus and what he's done in our lives since.
I had a feeling that one of them had back pain, and it turned out to be the man on the bench with me. Brittany and Elizabeth put their hands on him and began to pray while I sang over him, strumming my guitar, hoping that healing would come through the notes.
Within two minutes they were done, and he moved his head around, testing out his body. "The pain is gone!" he proclaimed. He was completely healed.
An hour later we got up to leave. We had prayed for each of the men and each had told us how as they were walking through the park, they were feeling incredibly lonely. "We're not lonely now!" they told us... and they sure weren't. They exchanged phone numbers and contact information, and not one part of me doubts that they'll keep in touch.
***
We were at a church in the middle of a slum in Bangalore. We were guests of honor at the Christmas party for a heart foundation that YWAM partners. The organization provides heart surgery and care to patients who can't afford it.
The pastor of the church came up to us and asked us to pray for the patients. Few of them spoke English, but through some rough translating, we found out that one of the women had excruciating back pain, and another had severe pain in her left arm.
We paused for a moment, looked at each other, and then like doctors in the E.R. we swarmed the women, placing our hands anywhere that was appropriate, and began to pray.
A few minutes later we had them move to see if they were feeling better. Both reported feeling a bit better, but not entirely. So we went back to work.
Two minutes later they stretched, shook, twisted, and smiled... they were completely healed... both of them.
***
I don't want to openly admit that I had a bad attitude about going to church twice on Sunday... but ok... I had a bit of a bad attitude. We were headed to the gigantic Methodist church that we had attended a few weeks before. I was expecting a long service, possibly not in English, and was expecting to zone out for a few hours before heading home.
It's amazing that Jesus doesn't hold bad attitudes against me, because I absolutely would.
I showed up and the service was outside, next to the large, gorgeous church that was DECKED OUT in Christmas lights. It was the most beautiful, Christmasy atmosphere and we were instantly greeted with a delicious cup of chai and a brownie.
The service began with Christmas carols, and after a few minutes of reveling in the familiarity of the story and letting the comforting songs wrap me up like a fuzzy winter blanket, we heard a loud boom. With a bang, an explosion and a twinkle, a fireworks show began right behind the choir... completely unplanned.
My love for fireworks isn't surprising, but it's real. I love the twinkling glitter that decorates the sky... and to be surprised with such gorgeous fireworks, as I was getting drenched with the beauty of Christmas was the best gift ever.
I looked up laughing, almost giddy... Jesus knew what I needed in that moment, and he absolutely outdid himself.
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