It’s been over a month and a half since being here.
Some days it feels like it’s been a week and some days it feels like it’s been 148 weeks.
So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and it’s hard to put any of it into words because most moments feel like those “you had to be there” type of moments.
Here are a few good news/bad news updates:
Good news: I finally got a real mattress after being here for over a month! (I still sleep on the floor, as do my roommates, but the mattress makes alllll the difference. My spine is grateful).
Bad news: I got sick this past week. I self diagnosed it as a fever, and I’m assuming my hypothesis was correct because the fever reducing Tylenol I took worked like a charm.
Good news: We live near a little park, and every Sunday there’s a big group of kids who play cricket on the grounds. It’s soooo cute.
Bad news: They play at 6am, and Sunday is the only day we’re consistently promised the morning off. The loud cheers, as well as the morning light, leak through my curtainless windows every Sunday. That part is not so cute.
Good news: there’s a man that works in our building who, every afternoon, likes to go to the rooftop for a nice smoke break, while simultaneously singing at the top of his lungs. He’s an incredible singer, which is great news to those of us who sit on the floor below the roof.
Bad news: The work that we do each day stimulates a need for a smoking, sing-along type of break. The man who spends his time blowing off steam, quite literally, on the rooftop works for another organization that our office shares a building with; however, everyone on our team has immense sympathy for his midday break routine.
Part of my job as a communications intern is to track the news. I follow along with all the local newspapers, magazines, blogs, broadcastings, etc, as well as, all the global media. I spend a good two hours doing this each morning. The articles and posts I read are all in relation to some form of human trafficking, whether it be sex trafficking, online cyber trafficking, or bonded labour. I do this to increase our awareness of how the government and law enforcement, both locally and globally, are responding to these realities. There’s more logistics I could bore you with about how I track and monitor these articles, creating stats and excel spreadsheets, but those details aren’t the things that make me ache for a break. It’s the actual stories I spend hours scrolling through that make my stomach churn and heart stop momentarily.
Last week, I read an article about a woman and her husband being brutally beaten by police officials in northern India (It’s important to note that the article began with the woman’s testimony of that night).
The woman was 8 and a half months pregnant when the officers showed up at her doorstep for no reason. The beating, at its extreme case, resulted in the baby being kicked out of the woman – a premature birth. Both the woman and her child were rushed to the hospital by neighbors who overheard what had happened, but in the midst of everything she was separated from her husband. My stomach grew knots by the second as I read her words. I had to get up from my chair twice in the midst of reading it to take a walk and get some water, holding down whatever it was I had for breakfast that day.
I spent the rest of that day thinking about those officers. What in the world causes someone to get to a point in their life where they can do something as horrific as what they did that night, and yet walk away feeling as if they’ve done their job?
Surprisingly, this story made me think about the gospel.
Jesus was always on the move.
Don’t get me wrong, He also spent a good amount of time resting and eating and praying.
But He was on a mission.
So that we could get complete access to the Father for f r e e.
So that we no longer had to carry the weight of our sins.
So that we could have life, and have it to the fullest.
Imagine for a moment what it would be like if Jesus forgot this mission.
He comes down to earth, is raised in this sweet little family, just living and enjoying life in His Jesus sandals and linen robes...then one day...He’s sitting at home and God says, “okay Son, I need you to get out there. Tell people about who I am. Bring the mission to the people. Share the good news! There are people out there who are lost. Who need hope! They need to know how much I love them. And I want You to be the one to tell them!”
Then Jesus, all snuggled up on the couch with a cup of coffee in His hand, takes a deep breath, and says, “That’s so beautiful, but, oh I don’t know. Isn’t there someone else who could do that for you? Someone who has more access to bigger crowds? Or someone who’s a little more put together than I am? God...I mean, Dad...come on. Look at everything else I’ve got going on. Can we maybe try this again next week?”
Oh man. What a big bummer that would’ve been for you and me.
But thankfully, that’s not what happened. He did it. He did what He was sent to do.
And now it’s our turn.
That might have been the most dramatic way to simply state this thought that’s been floating around in my head:
I’m realizing that the gospel is much, much more about the message than it is about the message carriers (aka less about me) (super about Jesus and what He did). I don’t care who gets the message of Jesus to those police officers, but I hope and pray that someone, somewhere, someday meets them and tells them about the gospel. The police officers who brought me to tears with anger, are in the same family that I am. And in a weird, but beautiful way, it’s my responsibility to be thinking and praying for the day we hopefully get to dance through the gates of Heaven together.
I’m sorry, but also not sorry, for this super long post.
I’m still learning and thinking and processing and growing.
I hope something in here made sense to you.
A few more photos for you! (and by you, I mean my mom and dad, HEY MOM AND DAD!