First Thoughts in India...

Everything is old, it is aged with a dark texture that covers the weathered walls. Its uneven pavement is dusty. Horns honk constantly and you look up to see the only cars- black and yellow taxi’s covering the streets. Trying to cross to the other side between them is a bit of a challenge, they don’t like to stop for anything...even the little taxi plays chicken with the big buses.

Everywhere you look you see a beggar. Some just waking up from a nap, others pleading for a coin, some indifferent to anything. Walk down any side street and you’ll find the hundreds of shacks were they lay their heads. A tiny pole and maybe some plastic will make up the family home. If you are lucky you might have tin for your house...even better a room above the main room - the a 3-4 feet tall is the sleeping area....or a seat to look out at what is going on out your front door. Every block has a different smell.

We met Rahul today and he took us around the city. One of our stops was a Muslim temple. Both Hindu and Muslims can come here to worship - it’s not a big deal. After walking through the maze up people pushing through the street to get to the walk way we joined the mass of people heading to the temple that was built on the water. The poor lined the sides of the path to the temple. Lame, blind, children, deformed, sick, old, and young hold out the weathered hands to receive a small coin. Each looked up with a hopeful and lost look. How badly I wanted to reach out and pull them up like Peter did and tell them I had something better for them. 

The temple was even harder to see - the many people kissing and crying over some pile if silk blankets. They were so devoted but oh how I feel so sad for them. It breaks my heart. I suppose that’s why I’m here. It’s so big - I feel like we couldn’t even scratch the surface.

Journal Entry:
The air is hot from the 3rd story balcony outside of our hotel room. Down below the hustle that never seems to stop in a city of over 18 million. Today we took a walk among the streets near our hotel. We found ourselves among the poorest homes I’ve ever witnessed. And not a few blocks of them - it seems to go on forever. The old stone English looking buildings, probably spectacularly beautiful in their day, are little more than rubble aged by the rain and humidity. If you glance inside the holes you’ll see tarps, tin, plastic bags, anything that gives shelter, piled together to make a tiny hut. Beautiful colors are everywhere - bright greens and turquoise, reds and oranges adore the dark skin with the brightest smiles you will find! Women sitting sifting rice or peeling garlic smile bashfully as you go by. It goes on forever. Each roofless stone structure home to hundreds of shacks....Hundreds of roofless stone structures house tens in not hundreds of thousands. So poor but lovely. You could spend your whole life in 1 block...one mile....ten miles and not feel like you’ve made a dent. Why am I not one of the 18 million here? God you blessed me for a purpose - help me to make YOUR mark on this world.