A Beggar's Heart

I've been sitting here wondering how on earth to begin this - actually for the past 5 or 6 hours. That seems to be the hardest part, just beginning. It has seemed to be a trend thus far. Somehow processing the past few days & sharing my thoughts & my feelings has become nearly impossible.

I arrived Tuesday night but had only been able to see India in the dark from the backseat of a vehicle. It was quieter than I had expected, less activity than I expected; but the heat, that hit me all at once - the moment I walked out of the airport Tuesday night. That was a part of India I expected, a part of India I hoped was pretend & make believe.

Wednesday was my first full day here. I was able to venture a bit with a friend, who I will be working along side of. We went to lunch & then she showed me a few of her favorite shops in order for me to buy some Indian clothing that I'd be wearing during the next 6 months. Eating lunch was a breeze, buying clothing was exciting, but what came next once I stepped outside of the shop, left me on the sidewalk in my friends arms weeping like a baby, repeatedly saying, "I don't know what to do; what do I do?" Not only was I seeing, smelling, tasting, touching & hearing India... I was feeling India. I had been approached, for the first time, by children-beggars.

I had shared with another friend (who picked me up from the airport & is working with the organization I am in India with) during our ride from the airport that beggars was the part of India that I, in no way, felt prepared for. I told her that the moment I realized this reality that it would wreck me. And it did.

We were walking out of the shop after buying some clothes & all of a sudden I heard little voices. It didn't sound like they were saying full sentences; just broken words that I could barely understand. It took me a moment to realize what was happening, suddenly there was a face right next to mine keeping up with my pace, & suddenly there were hands at my side & in front of my face. I barely looked at them, it was wrecking me, it was hitting me. I quickened my pace, I had to get away. I realized what was happening, I realized who was next to me, I realized who the tiny voices belonged to. Child-beggars, Dalit children, the very first thing that ever caught my attention into wanting to come to India back when I was 13.

The reality of it all hit me at once: they aren't just faces I've seen over a computer screen, they aren't just names from books that I've read or stories that I've heard, they aren't just a number or a statistic in India, they aren't just a caste in a culture dictated by it's caste system & beliefs... They are people, they are the very people that Jesus loved & has called His believers to love.

 Jesus loved & loves the poor & the needy, the prostitutes, the outcastes, the down-trodden, the hopeless. I am called to love the poor, I am called to love the needy, I am called to love the prostitutes, I am called to love the outcaste, I am called to love the down-trodden, I am called to love those who need hope - India is filled with those very people, I face them on a daily basis.

I am wrecked. I'm crying as I write this...
I am humbled in a way I never thought possible by being here.

I feel like sharing this with you is not doing justice to the experience; but I'd much rather share anyway.

"Hands reaching through barred windows, falling asleep on the sidewalk.
You say You draw near to the low,
Now I know, now I'm here I know, I'm not low enough.Because all the things I know, suddenly seem so small.And I'm learning, when You build it feels like You tear me apart.
When You heal, it always leaves a scar.
And even when You fill, You leave me with a beggars heart."

Teresa