first stop.

first stop.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Our first stop was the city of V., a quick hour and a half plane flight north-east of where we live.

My brief impression of this little farming city, with its surrounding patchwork-green rice fields, was of a slower-paced life: clean-swept streets and sidewalks, people dressed traditionally – women in saris, men in dhotis, tea stalls, and old-fashioned rickshaws (the kind powered by men, not motors).  It was quaint, like an R.K. Narayan novel.

Our purpose for visiting this city was to meet the group of pastors working with K. in this area (and who happen to include K.’s father and brother).  They had gathered together from surrounding villages for a day-long meeting of Bible teaching and working through some business issues.  Maggie and I brought the kids to the start of it, so that K. could introduce us as families.

Standing in front of these men, of whom I’ve heard so many stories and seen pictures and prayed for, I felt very small and unworthy.  I am one lone American mom, who complains about things like electricity loss and dirty floors.  And they in my mind are the spiritual giants.  The ones who suffer for the gospel in ways I can’t even imagine.  Who travel hours by bus and camp out on the floor I’m standing on in order to meet together once a month and learn the Scripture to take back home to their hungry flocks.

And then, this is what they said to us, through K., who translated: “We have seen others come here to help us, who are older, whose children are grown and gone.  But now we see you, who have come with children still so small and when it is so hard to leave your home.  We are so grateful.  And we consider you apart of our family.”

Those words washed over me like grace.