Like yesterday, the morning’s session began at 8:30. This time, however, we started with singing. My, oh my, these women sounded like an angelic choir as they lifted their voices to God in the Sema language. I sat in silence, humbled by the passion with which they sang. Frankly, I think they could have continued all morning, and I surely could have listened if they’d chosen to do so!
Their singing drew the attention of the hotel keeper’s two sons and one daughter, likely between the ages of five and twelve. They stood in the hall and peeked through the doorway until one lady jumped up and invited them to enter and sit in the front row. They sat perfectly still, wide-eyed and listening to every word that was sung and spoken.
Several times throughout the morning we stopped for prayer. Again, their simultaneous supplications rose heavenward. I listened in awe to their voices and sensed the Lord’s presence in that place in a very real way. These women were obviously here not to be entertained but to do business with God. Again, I cried out to Him to speak through me and minister to these gals in a way that would be culturally relevant.
The first session was meant to reinforce our value as women in God’s eyes. I believe God really spoke to their hearts. I felt so blessed to have this opportunity to remind them of their worth, and to encourage them to use their gifts to impact their nation for Christ.
This morning, we did a craft between sessions. I’d found a great deal at Michael’s craft store, perfect because of its Easter theme and lightweight foam pieces. So, each woman received a palm-sized foam banner with a gold cord to hang it. They decorated their banners with various foam shapes including crosses, flowers, hearts, and their choice of the word Jesus or Faith. Some added extra pizzazz with gold glitter glue. They had a blast! And you should have seen the kids participate. Their banners were covered with shapes from top to bottom.
Like yesterday, Gene and I ate lunch with the women in their hotel. Rice and lentils, fatty pork, and mustard greens filled our plates. I enjoyed chatting with those women sitting at our table. I learned that each participant had paid about $100 for this conference. That included the cost of an overnight train ride to get here, and a couple of sightseeing trips. Most had never been away from their area, and it was like turning a group of kids loose in Disneyland. Spending $100 for such an event was a huge financial sacrifice for their families, but again, it proved their hunger for fellowship and spiritual refreshment.
At 8:15 I entered the conference room. How can I best describe it? It was 10 feet wide and 20 feet long, maybe. The inside walls were yellow and paint-chipped. The outside wall had two windows covered with dingy curtains. When I opened the curtains, I saw only the grey concrete wall of the neighboring building about 15 inches away. There was no light bulb. Eighteen or so plastic chairs, some red, some grey, sat in rows. And there was one small table on which I could lay my bag and notes. What a stark contrast to women’s conference venues in North America, with their theme-coordinated centerpieces and decorations!
The women entered the room and smiled shyly at me as they took their seats. Some were wearing blue jeans; others wore traditional dress made of woven fabric with the pattern unique to their tribe. A few moments later, the conference organizer introduced me and suggested opening the meeting in prayer. Then he explained that in their culture, they prayed aloud at the same time. Instantly the women began crying out to the Lord simultaneously. I’d never heard anything like it. Some wept before God, pouring out their hearts to Him in earnest supplication. And I cried out to God to encourage these ladies in a way beyond human expectation or ability.
As the first session ended, I asked the gals to split into three groups and gave them two questions to discuss. They hesitated and seemed unsure of my request. That’s when I realized that small group discussion as we know it might be an unknown in their way of doing things. It took a few minutes, but finally a woman in each group assumed leadership and then quiet but sincere discussion began. I circulated through the groups to get a better understanding of their backgrounds and needs, and one woman said that the session’s key verses were her chosen verses for the new year (John 15). Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. Her words greatly encouraged me; the Lord had obviously been at work by preparing her heart for the message and by giving me the appropriate words. Indeed, He was doing something beyond human ability.
Exactly 22 years ago today, I left Nepal after the birth of our second child. Now I’m back in this part of the world and feeling right at home. Certainly there are changes – technology has taken a front seat (internet cafes, public phones, fax machines, etc.), and most people speak English now. It seems strange to see the majority talking on their cell phones as they walk through the crowded bazaar where bartering is still the norm.
Gangtok itself is most unusual. Built on a mountainside, each structure is at least six or seven stories high. Concrete steps connect one block to the next, upper and lower. If you were to fall over the edge of a sidewalk, you’d fall a LONG distance. Gene says it’s a wonder that the city can stay in place.
Gene and I are having a grand time using our Nepalese language again. After more than two decades of not speaking it, the words are coming back with surprising ease. And the look on shopkeepers’ faces is priceless when we strike up a conversation or ask questions.
Because this conference’s organizer didn’t arrive until late afternoon, we had time to hire a taxi and do some sightseeing. We visited a flower show – for Rs 10 each (24 cents) we gained admission to a small hall filled with orchids of every color and description. Many locals were there, snapping photos galore with their digital cameras or cell phone cameras. Afterwards we drove to a scenic waterfall, navigating hairpin curves through a residential area, dodging little children playing in the street for lack of anywhere else to play. The road was so narrow that we passed oncoming vehicles with about two inches to spare. It was so steep that my nerves just about came undone. Talk about white-knuckling in the back seat. I was very thankful to reach the waterfall safely. It was pretty now, but it will be magnificent during the monsoon season. There were huge stone carvings leading to the waterfall – reminded me of idols we’d seen in Nepal years ago.
Gangtok is a potpourri of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Christianity. For instance, I saw a massive Catholic cathedral with stained glass windows. Beside it stood a shrine as large as a house, featuring a statue of Mary in the center. Strings of Buddhist prayer flags decorated the shrine. Go figure.
The conference begins at 8:30 tomorrow. Originally, 70 women were expected to attend and I was to speak through a translator. Because of church political situations, only 17 have come and they all speak English – some more than others. Like I said, flexibility is the key!
A driver fetched us at 5:00 a.m. so we could catch our flight to Delhi. The day’s temperature was already rising. At this hour, traffic was nowhere near as hectic as on Friday afternoon. Still, the air was already thick with beeping horns and the smell of diesel. Enroute we dodged countless Indian “autos” – small open passenger vehicles with three wheels – whose drivers used neither headlights nor tail lights. Needless to say, they were a wee difficult to see in the dark. So were the pedestrians.
At the airport we navigated security and were pointed upstairs toward our departure gate. Within 20 minutes we boarded our plane and I was seated next to a sari-clad Indian woman who appeared to be several years older than me. We made small talk until I told her that I was interested in hearing about the lives of Indian women, specifically the challenges they face. That topic grabbed her interest. She immediately began telling me about her past (“I’m the only one in my family who attended university”), her arranged marriage (“compatibility doesn’t exist”) and how she has financially supported numerous extended family members. Then she told me how her husband grew jealous of her business success and began beating her. “Daily abuse is the greatest challenge Indian women face,” she said.
When she finished telling me her story, I asked her if she had a dream for her life. She smiled. “Oh yes,” she said. “I want to make a difference in the lives of other people.” I smiled in return. “I share your dream,” I said. She extended her right hand toward me and said, “We are friends. If you ever come to Hyderabad again, please visit me.”
Several hours and another flight later, we landed in Bagdogra where a pre-arranged driver met us. Then we began a four-hour Jeep journey to Gangtok, Sikkim. The road wound through tea plantations (the home of Darjeeling tea), and a wildlife sanctuary where homes stood on stilts. “This keeps people safe from elephants,” explained the driver. Eventually it began its upward climb around hairpin curves.
Higher, higher, higher we climbed until we could barely see the bottom of the ravines below. And then darkness fell. And boy, did I pray! “God, there’s no safer place than in the center of Your will. Please…keep us on the road!” We had to stop at a police checkpoint and get special permits to enter this part of India, enjoying a 10-minute respite from the bumps and turns. But a half hour later, poor Gene, physically exhausted from the travel of the past few days, got sick to his stomach. As the drive continued, we were surprised to find electricity everywhere. Teeny lights twinkled from hillside huts and tiny bazaar shops. And when we finally reached Gangtok, a city built on a mountainside, everything was lit up. Much different from our past experience in rural Nepal, when the brightest lights outside came from fires or flashlights.
As always, God’s strength pulled me through. Fifty Indian women from various backgrounds attended the conference. The audience was comprised of seminary professors, pastors, OM staff, and lay women. Young and old alike from India, the U.S., Australia, and Europe. What a privilege to encourage these women in their spiritual journey! Several asked me to pray individually for their family concerns, and again, I felt blessed. I have much to learn from these humble and loving Indian sisters.
I’d been scheduled to speak for 10 minutes to a congregation of nearly 600 at the Sunday service. At breakfast, one OM staff lady asked me if I’d like to wear a sari for the service. How could I refuse such a sweet offer? Bless her heart, she dressed me in one of her own saris, a purple silk creation. Then she gave me a pearl necklace and earrings, saying that these were a gift by which she wanted me to remember her. Later, when I returned her sari, she insisted that I keep it, too.
The day’s highlight was visiting this Indian sister in her modest apartment. She warmly invited me in and we chatted about the prior day’s conference, which had been her idea. Then she said, “Please pray for me. Pray that God will help me be most effective as I mentor younger women.” With pleasure I honored her request, and then she prayed for me. Our hearts were knit. Because of the possibility of jeopardizing existing ministry in this part of the country, I’m not free to share everything that we saw and learned over the weekend. Suffice it to say that God is at work in amazing ways. In time, I hope to be able to tell you more about ways that you can participate in one particular area, making a difference in the lives of young women at risk of being sold into the sex-trade industry. I’ll be free to tell you more as the project comes together. Prayer is the key, both now and always.
Flexibility is the keyword, I believe. Within minutes of reaching our destination, we were ushered into a dining room where we were served a meal of rice and lentils – the first of many on this trip. That’s when I learned that I was scheduled to speak at a women’s conference the next day and for 10 minutes in the Sunday church service. Surprise!! By now we’d been awake for nearly 48 hours and our bodies were ready to collapse, but there was no time to rest. A wedding celebration was planned for that evening and we were invited to attend. We had a few minutes to shower (no hot showers here, but then, who’d want a hot shower in this heat??) and don fresh clothes.
The wedding bulletin said the groom was scheduled to arrive at 4:30. Some folks told us the ceremony would begin at 5:00; others told us we could show up at 5:30. When the ceremony actually began, there were about 20 people present. Within a half hour, another 40 or 50 had wandered in. The bride, a converted Hindu, wore a white satin sari with gold embroidery and the groom looked handsome in his black suit. They celebrated their marriage with a western ceremony, complete with signing the register. Midway through the service, however, Gene and I began nodding off.
Rather than embarrass ourselves by snoring through the reception, we excused ourselves and stumbled to our room that was, thankfully, air-conditioned. We bid each other goodnight and collapsed in bed, stared at by a curious five-inch gecko on the wall. If I was to be bright-eyed, or at least coherent, for the next day’s conference, I’d need a good night’s sleep.
Guess what? Even with the help of a sleeping pill, I slept only three or four hours. Jet lag was doing its thing on my body and my brain. Wide awake in the middle of the night, my thoughts flitted from one thing to another. And I began to worry about having enough energy to last the day. Only by God’s strength would I be able to speak for three sessions on Saturday morning.
What can I say? Two months have passed since I last blogged. Life has been busy…very busy. Besides meeting monthly writing deadlines, preparing and traveling for numerous speaking engagements, coordinating all the necessary details for our India missions trip, revamping my website, and saying farewell to my mother-in-law when Parkinson’s disease claimed her life, I haven’t had a chance to even open my blog. In fact, I even forgot my password and my daughter had to tell me what it was. Sigh.
So here I am, sitting in a hotel room in Gangtok, Sikkim, with some time to spare. And I can hardly wait to tell you about this amazing trip. I’ll add a few entries each day, depending on internet access. Happy reading!
The actual adventure began on March 21 when Gene and I boarded a 747 in Vancouver. B.C. Nine hours later we landed in London, changed flights, and took off for an eight hour flight to New Delhi. After claiming our suitcases and going through a security check, we boarded yet another flight, this time for Hyderabad. We landed two hours later, exhausted but excited to return to Asia after a 22-year absence.
First impressions? HOT. It must have been more than 100 degrees – twice as hot as back home. Sweat trickled down our legs and foreheads as we waited for nearly an hour for our car and driver to arrive. It was also very noisy – taxi horns blasted non-stop, police whistles blew, and Hindi music blared. But that was nothing compared to the cacophony while driving through the city enroute to Operation Mobilization headquarters. Add never-ending bus and motorcycle motors and horns to the symphony, and you can imagine the ruckus.
Our driver appeared a little over-anxious to reach our destination. Or maybe he was an Indy 500 driver in disguise. He dodged vehicles of every size and description, business men wearing suits and carrying briefcases, and women wearing bright-colored saris. At one point, he swerved into the oncoming lane to pass a diesel-spewing bus. Several motorcyclists moved out of his way, but then came a little red car that staked its turf and sped straight toward us with headlights flashing. I swear we avoided a head-on collision by a mere hair. Welcome to India!
This week’s been busy with organizing my marketing materials for 10-Minute Time Outs for You and Your Kids. I’ve been writing press releases and such, spurred on by an astounding tidbit of info I came across in my research.
Get a load of this: According to Josh McDowell, a parent’s influence on his/her child’s spiritual development is 300 times greater than that of a youth pastor. Wow! If that’s true, we dare not leave our kids’ spiritual well-being to the church. Rather, spiritual training begins at home, and church programs are the supplement.
So how can we, as moms, be the best possible influence on our kids’ spiritual development? I believe it’s by formally and informally teaching them what it means to be a follower of Christ. Formally — by teaching them what God’s Word says about life. Informally — by modeling what we say we believe. Day by day, moment by moment, we can influence our children in the spiritual department by “walking the talk.” That doesn’t mean we have to be perfect. If that were the case, we’d all be outta luck.
Rather, we put into practice the things we know to be true. When we mess up, we admit it. When we need to ask for forgiveness, we do so. When it’s appropriate, we share honestly about our struggles, our hopes, our joys. We share the lessons we’re learning. We let them see us on our knees or reading the Bible on a regular basis, not just when we’re facing a big problem. Doing these things helps our kids see that following Christ is an ongoing process, not just a one-time decision. And hopefully (prayerfully!) it encourages them to embrace the faith and persevere in it.
Hey — my latest book, 10-Minute Time Outs for You and Your Kids was released by Harvest House earlier this month. If you want to be a woman of influence, now’s your chance to jump on board in a practical way.
If you go to my website, you can read a sample from the book, see the cover photo, and read the list of endorsements. If you like what you see, get a copy of the book and use it with your kids. Then tell everyone you know about it — children’s ministry directors, other parents, Christian school principals, homeschool families, and even camp program directors (it’s ideal for camp counselors to use for bedtime devotionals with your kids). Write a review for amazon.com or amazon.ca. I would love to have your help in spreading the word about this book as a valuable resource for our kids’ spiritual development.
As women, there are lots of ways to influence our families and society for good and for God. This is just one practical way to do so. Let’s go to battle for our kids’ spiritual growth and well-being!
On my desk sits a perpetual calendar filled with wonderful quotes. Today’s quote is from composer Joseph Haydn. He said, “When I think upon my God, my heart is so full of joy that the notes dance and leap from my pen; and since God has given me a cheerful heart, it will be pardoned me that I serve Him with a cheerful spirit.”
Sometimes we allow real-life problems to weigh us down and steal our joy. But Joseph’s words remind us that thinking upon God gives us a cheerful heart. I’ve found that to be true. When I focus on circumstances that are less than desirable, my joy fizzles. My spirit is left feeling like a withered balloon. And what does my countenance reflect? Let’s just say it ain’t a pretty sight. A woman with a positive influence? Forget it.
But when I think upon my God and His control over my circumstances, my heart is once again filled with joy. It’s never a bubbly, giddy feeling. Rather, it’s a deep-settled sense that everything’s under His control and I can rest. I can know that He’s at work in my situation, and I’m at peace. My countenance reflects my heart condition, and a smile is a natural overflow.
The next time we feel empty or discouraged, let’s think upon our God. Guaranteed, those thoughts will fill our hearts with cheer and enable us to serve Him with a cheerful heart. Therein lies the secret to being women of influence.
(Maybe this God-talk sounds foreign to you. Perhaps the only reference to God you’ve known is negative. Let me assure you, that’s not the case. If you want to know more about who God is, drop me a note!)
Know you are loved, Grace
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