Yuvaraj Family...
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
What’s so special about home visits anyway?
Paul leaves Harvest to meet me in a bustling intersection near Walltax
Road’s famous fish market as the auto rickshaw drops me off with two
of our cubs.
Paul corrects the inquisitive driver for asking his wife too many
questions handing him 100 rupees for my ride. It’s rare when they are
well versed in English This driver was particularly eager to grill me,
unable to hold back his curiosity.
Paul shouts at him that he is my husband, loading the tots up on his bike
as we take off in the bright hazy orange sunset, no skyline in site, boys
reaching for my water bottle mouths full of dirt. We have used car, but
for home visits, the roads are too narrow.
We weave through semis, cows, open lorries loaded with thousands of
tires and a dozen teens piled on them, holding onto the sides peering at
us through thick clouds of diesel fumes.
The boys are wildly excited to get off -- doesn’t matter that it’s to go to
homes and pray for people. Paul remains focused as drivers honk from
every side taking chances to turn just inches in front of us -- always a
wonder we aren’t hit.
Without fail the smell of the slums hits my senses faster than the visual,
dramatic though the scene. Always there is an instant audience -- road
packed full of people lining up for their bucket water supply. We
dismount and head up several flights of narrow cement stairs, holding
onto little, sweaty toddler paws.
A family from church greets, steaming fresh chai in hand. They ask us to
sit, just a couple mats in a tiny one room home. The kitchen is hidden
behind a sheet hanging from the ceiling, a towel tacked up behind us
covering their idols seeking to not offend.
The wife’s eyes shine with joy over our visit though we still await the
arrival of her husband. She is proud of her two sons present with her.
They share of trials, the pain with neighbors and family surrounding
them against their open faith, mocking them as they leave for church
each week. The husband comes in and my Paul takes seizes the moment
to share the Gospel full of passion and clarity as their teenage boys
mutter prayers under their breath that their Father will listen, will come
to church, will support their stand and their mother’s.
They announce their great joy over their neighbor’s conception—a
direct answer to prayer from a house visit of ours back in the fall. (Often
neighbors wanting to be included in the prayers fill the little one room.)
They shed more tears and open up their hearts as Paul and I tell them of
Jesus’ promise that in this world we will have trouble, but He gives us
the greatest treasure we can know -- His eternal peace. That we know
what it means to walk in total peace and freedom when HE is happy
with us because God’s opinion is all that really matters even when
others disagree.
The cubs quietly push their matchbox cars along the edges of the
bamboo mat as we sing to God in Tamil and close in prayer. The
husband shares he would like to make a change, he would like to learn
to be the man of the family, start coming to church. We rejoice with him
and refuse the tithe he tries to give us, telling him it will be a greater joy
for him to give in the house of God this coming Sunday next when he
and his wife attend together.
Praises to Allah begin to flood the neighborhood from the nearby
mosque reminding us of the consuming darkness they live in -- stark
contrast to the hope that just filled their place as we prepare to leave. It
is a small exchange on paper, no great life altering moment to record for
this family of four on a Tuesday night, another family to love and
embrace hopefully into the Kingdom.
The reality of the greatness of God and His undeniable presence made
known when we gather—that is what sets these moments apart. In that
moment of expectation and quiet hope—He is there strengthening us in
our weakness and creating a sweet bond that only His Spirit can make.
Our commonalities are few and we realize with each visit we are
building –- brick by brick of the whole foundation, this is what it means
to be the body, this is our joy and this is His heart.
And so we will see Sunday whether or not this dear man makes it to
church. We will follow up with the wife and her attempt to take
thoughts captive, to live to please Him alone and thank Him for
adversity. In the meantime I uphold them in prayer as we return to our
hot-sticky power outages as water runs out and long nights with sick
babies and aggressive cockroaches chase me, neighbors feud all night
long, shouting in a foreign tongue.
He again reminds me He must increase and I find my way to Him as He
enlarges my heart for these jewels of His grace. I learn to walk in the
moment, in freedom, where I decrease.
This is what is so special about home visits—the way He opens my eyes,
the way He pours His own longings for the redemption and freedom of
the souls of others inside my own heart. And I have hope in these visits
that the Gospel is doing its work on me.
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