Written by Bethany, Posted by Chelsea - we're a great team

(As the Deer) “I love you more than gold or silver only You can satisfy; You alone are the real joy giver and the apple of my eye.”

Christ alone is the real source of joy; and joy is the oil of the Lord, to keep us going. Like a car is able to run smoothly over many bumps if it has a clean supply of oil, so we also can travel long over bumpy roads of life with a continually fresh stream of joy.

Both literally and spiritually, Chelsea and I have been traveling a lot this month. We have seen and experienced such diverse things over the past few weeks that our physical and emotional selves should be entirely worn out. But the Joy of the Lord—which often comes without reason, or comes from identifying the Lord’s purposeful hand in the situations—has continued to energize us so that we are thriving (gaining more life). Certainly, this is the best way to go through life: alive and eager for more, not downtrodden and always looking to avoid.

Spiritually we have also been run hard. Our Lord is a strict and dedicated coach, set on us achieving the gold medal in the heavenly race. “Lord, I’m tired; must I go another lap?” “Yes; and try to beat your time on this one.” And somehow we do; with Him cheering us on. Looking back we see how we are stronger, our responses are faster, our physical and emotional actions are being trained to react accurately and quickly to the spiritual situations.

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Sunday night through Thursday morning of this past week was another grand adventure, this time heading far north to the top of the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. Just below the southern border of the state of Orissa, there is a village called Hukumpet, a small hill station where people of a different tribe have lived for centuries (not the Yanadis tribal groups which HBA is concentrating on).

We reached the “steel city” of Visakhapatnam (nicknamed “Wysak” and known for its steel production) early Monday morning (5:30am), quickly changed our clothes in a very, very crowded lady’s room (during which we were again reminded how public all areas of life are here), and headed off for a morning of official tourism. On an overcrowded train that took us through mountains and tunnels, we met a very friendly Indian family that joined our party for the touring. Arriving in the beautiful (but still hot) Aruku Valley station, we went for lunch at a tribal family’s restaurant.

Some of the most distinguishing features of these tribal people are their ornaments, their style of clothing, and their facial structures. Women wear two to three nose rings (both sides of the nose and the middle) and snake-like earrings on the side of the ear. These women also tie their saris in a different style with the older generation often not wearing anything underneath the cloth. The men are easiest to identify by their high cheek bones and by the upper/lower jaw bones that are slightly larger than the rest of their facial proportions.

Watching these people interact with the bustling, “modern” society around them I saw very sharply their struggle of being in this new, invasive culture, without being allowed to be a part of it. People are fascinated by their ways of life; but only in museums with live models. Having to share your bus seat or conduct business with them is less favorable. However, the church in the tribal hill station of Hukumpet does not treat these people with contempt. There we saw these people being accepted, loved, and pulled into the truth of Christ through the hands of an elderly couple who moved to the area and have ministered there for years.

Back in Aruku Valley (with our train-friends), we got to tour Borra Cave, a large and famous cavern that was nice and cool inside. On the way out, a flock of monkeys (is that the correct term?) came down to greet us. One even attempted to climb on Chelsea’s back and watch as she took pictures of the other monkeys. A quick stop in the tribal museum, the souvenir shop, and a long wait at the bus station, and we were on our way to the point of destination: Hukumpet.

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The week-long conference we were joining was put on by the same group of pastors and friends who held a conference in February in another village that we had participated in. This made the trip very fun, because we were seeing a lot of old friends.

There were many wonderful speakers there, so Chelsea and I were not needed to fill the program. Our participation was primarily: singing, recording and taking pictures, and entertaining the children. On Tuesday morning we made friends with a bunch of the little village children who then sat with us during the late morning service and made quite a ruckus. We attempted to keep them quiet and out of trouble by supplying pens and paper and utilizing the universal pointer-finger-over-the-lips gesture. They were a lot of fun overall and will probably never forget the day the white girls played with them.

Tuesday morning we had explored the village by ourselves. So on Tuesday afternoon, two of the boys—Hyde and Vijay—took us a kilometer out of town to the river. We happily splashed our feet in the water, leapt across the boulders, admired the wild hills surrounding, and generally made quite a spectacle of ourselves. On the way back we stopped at a house and had our first papaya ever…and it was fresh off the tree in the yard! While eating, we watched the neighbors goats scale the rock face of the hill behind the house.

That evening, after a fiery sermon from Pastor David Dayasagar on fellowship and unity within the church, the five Sunday School girls performed a beautiful traditional-style dance wearing miniature saris, jewels, flowers, and makeup. We recorded the dance, so you can watch it at home if you’re interested!

After a late, but refreshing night of sleeping in the cool mountain air, we prepared to say goodbye to all our new and old friends. Looking back, I’m sure the impression we left with these dear people was not one of dignified American ladies. The whole trip, from the train rides to the touring, and from singing and socializing to playing and roaming, we were like small children set loose on a beach for the first time.

There was a joy and excitement about everything spilling over us. We were quick to laugh and smile; took everything lightly as though the future was not ours to consider. There was no bitterness or anger within us towards anyone or anything; there was no worry or fear within us towards our futures or surrounding situations. All these things are in the hands of our great Lord. “Though you have not seen [Christ], you love Him; and even though you do not see Him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls” (1 Peter 1:8-9).

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The train ride home was quite an adventure. This is traveling season and the train had about twice as many people as seats. For example: at one point I was seated in an 8-person area and there were 13 men all crowded in the bunks above and the benches next to me. Fortunately, none of them seemed able to speak English and I was spared from the usual Indian interrogations. At another point during the day-trip part of the journey, Chelsea (and later I) were given space among the extra luggage stored on the top bunk where we happily folded ourselves up, ate a snack, and dozed.

At night the consideration for others grew as strangers squeezed into bunks together to make room for numerous displaced passengers (incl. us) to sit or lay. Throughout the night we were counting, and at one point we reached 19 people (incl. us) sleeping or sitting in our single 8-person area. Looking down the aisle, it looked like seaweed washed up on a rocky shore (only the rocks were luggage and benches, and the seaweed was people sleeping). We saw a family of six members (mom, dad, 4 little boys) sleeping in one cot. This was accomplished by the dad and two boys laying on top of the 2-ft-wide cot, the two littlest boys sleeping under the cot with their feet sticking out, and the mom sitting on the ground with her head on the corner of the cot.

Our final resting place for the journey was on the edge of a cot where an elderly woman was sleeping. Chelsea, me, and the woman’s grown-up son formed the fourth wall of her bed chamber; a prime spot for us to sit and observe the comings and goings of the various passengers. The young man could speak basic English and helped us and other passengers negotiate room for our luggage and limbs.

At one point I turned to him and said, “Thank you for letting us sit here.” I knew that if we were not there, he would probably lay down on the edge of the cot to rest. “Oh! No problem; no problem,” he said and looked away again. As an afterthought, he glanced back at me and just stated “I’m Indian.”

“I’m Indian”

What a lot that one phrase communicates. He was telling about his culture and upbringing. I’m Indian: I grew up in crowded places; my comfort wants can’t/won’t always be met and I’m okay with that. I’m Indian: I’ve been taught to respect, value, and serve those whom I view as equal or better than me. I’m Indian: I’m exposed to so much need that either I am hard and cold to all needs or meeting needs is second-nature to me.

If I turned to someone and simply stated, “I’m American,” what would that communicate to them? What if I looked at someone and said, “I’m Christian”? …………………

In many ways, a lot of Indians can appear very blunt, very pushy, or very rude; but it is situations like these where we see the brotherly bond between strangers come out and the generosity, servanthood, and concern shine through.