She said, "I am different in India," and perhaps she is.
Anticipation built from the time we boarded the plane in Cleveland - soon she would reconnect with dear friends, reunite in worship, pray in village homes, laugh with shoeless children while seated on straw mats covering dirt floors, and share chapati, dhal, rice, and curd around a small table while reminiscing over shared experiences.
In the Hyderabad airport she gazed up at the blue sky and breathed in deeply. The blue sky and sultry air wrapped tightly around her with welcoming arms. When the familiar voice of our driver greeted her she nearly leapt into the van that would carry us to our destination.
Upon driving onto the campus greeters were drawn to the American girl, many running up to say, "Hello." She called them all by name, remembering details about each of their families. There was a camaraderie one would expect among long time friends rather than annual acquaintances.
All of this was magnified once she stepped foot into the villages where people living in squalor ventured out of tentativeness into relationship - recognizing genuine sincerity and warmth, emanating from one who neither looked or sounded familiar. Perhaps she is a Pied Piper of sorts - with children clamoring for attention whenever she walked by.
Relationships are not formed by accident - people are drawn in by eyes that truly see, ears that truly hear, and a heart that truly cares. Children through adults sought her out, teachers invited her into their classrooms because there was no sense of judgment but rather a sense of partnership that offered possibilities.
Time and time again I heard that she was seen as an "Indian girl," one who became one with rather than a foreigner passing through. A dear Indian friend calls her, "daughter," a title lovingly bestowed.
Anticipation built from the time we boarded the plane in Cleveland - soon she would reconnect with dear friends, reunite in worship, pray in village homes, laugh with shoeless children while seated on straw mats covering dirt floors, and share chapati, dhal, rice, and curd around a small table while reminiscing over shared experiences.
In the Hyderabad airport she gazed up at the blue sky and breathed in deeply. The blue sky and sultry air wrapped tightly around her with welcoming arms. When the familiar voice of our driver greeted her she nearly leapt into the van that would carry us to our destination.
Upon driving onto the campus greeters were drawn to the American girl, many running up to say, "Hello." She called them all by name, remembering details about each of their families. There was a camaraderie one would expect among long time friends rather than annual acquaintances.
All of this was magnified once she stepped foot into the villages where people living in squalor ventured out of tentativeness into relationship - recognizing genuine sincerity and warmth, emanating from one who neither looked or sounded familiar. Perhaps she is a Pied Piper of sorts - with children clamoring for attention whenever she walked by.
Relationships are not formed by accident - people are drawn in by eyes that truly see, ears that truly hear, and a heart that truly cares. Children through adults sought her out, teachers invited her into their classrooms because there was no sense of judgment but rather a sense of partnership that offered possibilities.
Time and time again I heard that she was seen as an "Indian girl," one who became one with rather than a foreigner passing through. A dear Indian friend calls her, "daughter," a title lovingly bestowed.
Sweet, precious thoughts... these are treasures of the heart.
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