Yuvaraj Family...

Yuvaraj Family...
A blending of two worlds...then there were 3-

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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