When God Takes Over

"They call me Papu, that's grandfather in our language. This is Emanuel, he is 5 years old, the youngest HIV child with us. His grandma travelled a very long distance to bring him and his older sister to the clinic after their parents died of AIDS. His sister tested negative and was put into a normal orphanage, but they didn't want to accept Emanuel because he tested positive, so he was referred to us. We are not an ordinary home for children, all of them here are either HIV infected or affected. The eldest youth here is 15 years old."

I looked at the skinny boy seated beside me, scooping up small handfuls of plain rice soaked in yellow dhal from a disproportionately huge plate. He appeared a normal carefree little kid, just like the rest of the 72 children in the home. It was their lunch time, and they had all lined up in a most orderly manner as the older children dished out the food from big pots.

"Pastor, do they die?" It was a stupid question, I know. The white-haired man in his cowboy hat who still looked pretty rugged looked at me and said quietly, "Some do." I turned my face away to hide the tears that had suddenly sprung up in my eyes. After lunch, we all gathered in the hall of Happiness Home. It seemed to be an inappropriate name for such a place. "Please don't pity us. We don't have much, but we have all we need because we have Jesus. That's why we call this place Happiness Home. We ask visitors not to pray for us, rather please pray with us." And with that poignant intro, Papu's children presented a dance featuring the colors of India's national flag to the beautiful lyrics of 10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord, Oh My Soul) (video) , followed by a loud rendition of the old favorite hymn "God Will Make A Way" (video) . All of them were so well-behaved; even the younger ones could tell me their names - in complete sentences. All were already familiar with the Bible stories we told.

We had come to bless, yet I was the one who ended up touched to the core of my heart. The home didn't have any "big-time" sponsors, Papu and his family does everything to keep it running. It wasn't born out of any earth-shaking revelation, vision or calling. As Papu told it, he simply offered shelter to  one HIV family in need and  before he knew it, they were referring such children whom nobody wanted to him. As we talked, his 2  adult sons were  sitting on the ground, one cutting up old clothes into strips and the other nailing them onto long wooden sticks to make mops for cleaning. In the presence of such as these,  I am totally humbled, for they represent what Christian faith, hope and love is all about.

The visit to Happiness Home was, to me, the highlight of this missions trip to India. It was my first time to this  region. It was also the first time we went without any prepared program, and the first time we were meeting the people on the ground. Truly we didn't know what to expect. As it turned out God's programme always works out much better than man's.

The region was a known hot-spot, with a 50 year-old history of local insurgency and tribal in-fighting still going on. The roads were in terrible condition, unpaved and full of pot-holes. We bumped along from place to place, church to church. Thankfully the grounds of the guest-house we were put in was a beautiful place though we had to contend with water supply problems. Even more challenging our program was thrown out of whack by a full day of "silent protest" - from 6 am to 6 pm, the whole town simply shut down, roads were emptied of vehicles and turned into football grounds. Shops  closed and people simply walked if they needed to get somewhere.  The call was published in the local newspapers - something about a murderer escaping - and amazingly everyone just obeyed. Nobody bothered about permits or rallies. There was no violence, no clashes, no political ra-ra-ra from any party. I don't know how effective it was, but it did give me cause to wonder at the ease and the speed in which it was done, compared with how Malaysian demos are organized. There were no police out in full or any force for that matter. Everyone lived with the inconvenience, compounded by a full day's power outage, which is a common occurrence in India anyway. We even survived a mild earthquake, which apparently is no big deal in a town that's earthquake-prone all the year round.

But all the physical inconveniences are really nothing when God shows up and takes over. After an unscheduled visit to a local drug rehab centre where the inmates presented a surprisingly most powerful time of worship, a lady requested us to go to her house to pray for her mom and brother. Recently widowed, the mom's face was a blank mask of despair. The brother was a drug addict who had been in and out of rehab, his wife had moved out with their son. I saw the pain in the sister's eyes; how hard she must have been praying for her dysfunctional family, broken up by bitterness and resentment. It wasn't just a matter of faith anymore - they were Christians - but a matter of will. The first step was really getting the son to want to allow God to take control. If his heart wasn't in it, all the praying and rehab would be of no use. As much as it took him awhile to ask forgiveness from his mother for his rebellion, she took even longer to ask forgiveness for  her rejection of him and his wife, and to agree to let go of her attachment to her departed husband. But it was so beautiful to see mother and son finally hugging each other, on the road to reconciliation, jump-started by the power of divine love, which surpassed their own human limitations.

It's moments like these that make it so worthwhile for me, seeing people's eyes suddenly light up with something that I can only put down as the personal touch of God. Every time I go on missions, my faith gets boosted up by these wondrous displays of God's manifestation when people allow Him to work in their hearts to confront and transform tragedy in their lives.

On our return leg, we traveled long distances into several villages, cut off from main roads. Some of the villagers walk - barefoot - 2 or 3 km, to catch a public bus which will take an hour to get to the church that can be as far as 30 km away. Which in effect means they have to start their journey some 3 hours beforehand, like at 6 am. Their whole Sunday is just spent in church and travelling on the road. I am totally ashamed of myself, seeing this kind of faith in action in people who have so little materially,  yet can be so rich spiritually. Such is their hunger for the things of God they think nothing of coming out at night specially to meet us to hear our sharing.

 

There's nothing like a missions trip to break my heart all over again, to remind me of God's grace which is sufficient for all people who choose to believe. This is the living faith that thrives even in the midst of the most difficult of circumstances, which trusts in the ultimate goodness of a faithful God and hopes in blessings that are out of this world, which in fact this world can never give.

 

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen "- Hebrews 11:1 
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