ONLINE STORE

India

Outreach - how you can help

India Presentation

My journey to India began April 2005 with a 39-hour flight, including a 9-hour layover in Mumbai (Bombay). A very prominent businessman, Mr. Brian Lobo, was kind enough to meet me at 2 am and deposit me in a beautiful hotel for a shower and rest before returning with his driver to take me back to the airport for my flight to Kolkata (Calcutta). The bill after my very short stay was 2600 rupees! I was shocked! After doing a little math ($1=42.50 rupees) my mini visit was reasonable.

MS Barbara Ruegger the director of the Kings Kids of Southern Asia which is a part of Youth With a Mission (YWAM) training program for young missionaries met me at the Kolkata airport. She was dressed in very beautiful traditional Indian attire: salwar (pants), kameez (long top) and matching dupatta (long scarf). I was so relieved to have finally arrived but unaware I was in for a shock. As we climbed into a yellow taxi I searched for the expected visions of India, tigers, elephants, the tajmahal and the maharaja.

My anticipation of the excitement of another world was quickly rewarded. My eyes grew wide with wonder as, around our first curve a large cow strolled along the pavement. I thought it was one of the famous cows that are worshipped here and honored as part of the Hindu religion. I remarked in surprise that there was a cow right there inside a large city walking on a busy road and was quickly corrected. It was a water buffalo! It lived in the very small green area along that section of road.

As the taxi driver headed deeper into the city his horn blared loudly almost constantly. The other drivers honked along side us on both sides and all three lanes the other direction. Bicycles passed us jingling their horns; motorcycles and buses added their voices to the din.

Amid this cacophony of caterwauling weaving in and out among the throng of traffic were the buzzing auto-rickshaws like ants. Their black shell covering a 3-wheeled scooter type vehicle and passengers crammed into the back, they crept in around the chaos. No lanes were adhered to, no traffic lights or stop signs to be seen as millions of people wound their way through the city by wheel, or by foot. I was just as terrifying as I imagine bungee-cord jumping would be. The driver’s foot darted from gas to break non-stop. Both hands were busy as he yanked the wheel this way and that with one and leaned heavy on the horn with the other. I quickly understood his interior decorations as pictures of some of the more than one million Hindu gods. The red marks above and below the pictures and statues fixed to the dashboard were where he had made offerings. The limes and chilies strung together swung wildly from his rearview mirror crashing against the garland of flowers he had placed there as another offering.

My heart pulsing with terror, I quickly joined him in offering a fervent prayer for survival to my own God. My heart calmed as I sat practicing trusting that my God had not brought me so far to kill me off but had something more constructive in mind. I believed it was to help the Attachment Disordered children of India. 30 minutes later I gave a silent prayer of thanks to my Lord for letting me survive the ride. To calm myself I believed this driver was merely insane or demon possessed and another would be fine the next day. Naive tourist!

The next two days I rested and studied as I prepared to teach for the week. Monday morning a smiling and beautiful, Barbara and Loch arrived outside the Mona Lisa hotel to collect me. As I approached the awaiting cab I notice the telltale lime-chili offering suspended from the tail pipe. Another harrowing, horn blowing ride careening through the narrow, crowd-filled streets prepared me for my day of teaching by bringing me closer to my heavenly father with non-stop, pulse pounding prayer.

I jumped from the cab ecstatic to be alive and ready to share my joy at surviving! A room of 70 people greeted me. A dozen ceiling fans whirled overhead to cool the open room from the near 100-degree heat. The fans brought air down and the result was, of course, a circle of returning air coming up from the floor. My silly silk skirt and blouse took on a life of their own as I began the day with song and prayer. With fabric swirling around me I met my interpreters, Noel and Ruth, who would translate into Nepali for those who worked with the orphans and street children from the Katmandu region.

A man was there to translate into Bengali for those from East Bengal where Kolkata is. Another amazing man came and introduced himself. I was honored to meet Johan Lukasse from Brazil! He and his wife, Jeannette have spent over 20 years as missionaries to the street children of Belo Horizonte. He had read my book there and wanted to learn more to help the children heavy on his heart. A group came who worked with the women of the brothels and those born in the brothels. Then my eyes connected with eyes filled with a spirit of joyfulness I have seldom seen. Brian bounded forward and introduced himself with zeal. He had written a song based on my teaching and wanted to know if that was all right. I was so honored! His enthusiasm was contagious and refreshing in a room heavy and weary with burdens for those suffering so much.

My mind flashed back to the throng I had whizzed past that morning on my death defying cab ride. The bronze skinned toddler, crouching alone, defecating in the road as the taxi swerved to miss his small naked body. The emaciated turbaned men sitting along the roadway with their lower half wrapped in rags. The women working in the road construction that was done by men swinging heavy hoes overhead as they dug up the road and the women scooping their basket full of earth and carrying them on their head to dump elsewhere. No John Deer tractor in sight. The miles of shanties I had seen from the air as I flew out of Mumbai days before. The poverty and hunger were endless. The task these committed people had undertaken for God was massive. I spent the week teaching, praying and lifting and encouraging those that I met.

After teaching my second day I visited Mother Teresa’s orphanage and was escorted by a nun dressed in the same white with blue stripes that Mother (as she is addressed here) wore. The building was beautiful with stained glass and beautiful tile work. The 130 cribs were all lined up neatly and colorfully in the room with purple plaid sheets and yellow paint on all the metal bars. Each contained a small caramel colored baby with a white cloth tied on for a diaper. 12 staff stood around the silent room and leaned over and patted the nearby babies. Upstairs, the 120 toddlers were being fed by workers. About 5 little ones per staff were lined on the floor or a small wooden bench and fed rice and dal (lentils). Sister showed us a room full of napping little ones who were being treated for malnutrition and then would return to their homes. As we left the pristine orphans’ home the gates opened to the mass of hungry humanity huddled outside the door. A young beggar girl with a baby approached me and said, Milk! Milk for my baby! Her unwashed hand stretched out to me and her baby blinked blankly from her other arm. My heart broke for her and those around her. I vowed to teach with more passion to give more hope and more tools to those commissioned to do this priceless work here as I offered her mere money.

The following day I taught with renewed vigor and was encouraged as I saw more hope filling the tired eyes of the class. After class we went to Saint Mary’s home for boys where over two hundred boys are cared for by the brothers, led by Brother Steve Rocha. As we strolled the beautiful flower filled grounds of this 156 year old facility, led by Judy, the German Shepherd dog, Brother Stephen shared his wise vision to help the boys and some of his great ideas to assist those struggling and failing at their studies. They had a garden, welding shop, craft program etc for these boys in the afternoon. He had seen success as they had taken the pressure off the schoolwork and put the focus on activities that gave a sense of success and confidence in the boys. They saw it actually improving the boys’ grades in school! We saw, class rooms, chapel, a massive meeting hall watched over by a huge photo of Mother Teresa with some of the boys when she had visited years before. One of the boys in the photo was now the gentle hearted man standing next to us, Brother Xavier Jordon!

Brother Xavier had been attending my class and was keen to show the work he had been doing with the boys. He had been raised in Saint Mary’s and had a deep understanding of the needs of the boys. His heart was dedicated to helping others, as he had been helped. Brother Xavier’s arts and crafts program at the school was part of their quest to build confident young men from abandoned boys. He proudly showed the fruits of the boy’s labor with boxes of beautiful greeting cards, candles and gifts that they created. The items were sold and profits put into a fund for each budding artists future. I was impressed with their program and hopeful they would add the attachment work to help the boys.

A wonderful and generous man, who has asked to remain anonymous, sponsored my trip to Bombay (now Mumbai). His heart is heavy for the adoptive families of India and the orphans there. He worked with Guarang Mehta, president of the National Association of Adoptive Families in India (www.naaf-india.org) to bring me to that part of India as part of my trip. Mr. Mehta is a big man in stature and in heart. He and his group had invested many hours to help the myriad of families with adopted children in his country. The conference room in the hospital was full of parents and professionals seeking answers to help the children. Mr. Mehta and his efficient assistants Sandra, Ahilya and Mohita had invited a huge room full of eager parents and professionals. I was honored to have several esteemed Chairpersons; Dr. Harish Shetty, Dr. Liza Mishra, and Dr. Kalpana Kwatwani. These highly skilled, dedicated professionals were wonderful to have at the conference. After the conference they introduced me to more great people and delicious Indian food and the coffee! It was great!

Sister Ann Henrietta of St Josephs Convent in Bandra spent the day with me as we visited St Catherine’s Orphanage and school. It warmed my heart to hear babies crying and see them picked up and cared for by loving staff. To see toddlers with laughter and joy as they played with smiling caregivers. The severely handicapped children were being so lovingly nurtured and cared for I had to hold back my tears of joy it touched me so deeply. One elderly lady sat at a child’s bedside rubbing her tiny twisted back and singing softly a song of love. They were doing an outstanding job of an overwhelming task.

I did not see a Bengal tiger while I was there I saw a people with a fierce will to live. I did not see a powerful elephant, I saw a powerful people. I did not see the jewels shining in the Tajmahal; I saw the eyes shining in the children and the people who are giving so much to help them. With my heart full of love for the great people in India I boarded the plane for home to the arms of my cowboy that I missed so much and the 12 inches of new snow blanketing the Colorado mountains.