It takes about fifteen minutes to walk from the metro exit to our house. Last night, Sheila and I were walking home, and I was struck again by how intense and strange my life in India is sometimes. It had to be close to ten at night, yet there was a big band with brass instruments and drums marching down the street, led by a trailer with flashing lights and adorned with a Hindu idol. The band is playing loudly, there is crowd following behind, and meanwhile, I almost trip over a man sleeping on the sidewalk. How can he sleep in the midst of all this? But he has lived in India his whole life, and maybe he is used to it. I don't know. Earlier in the day, we went to visit Kovita. She was discharged from the hospital this week, and there was no place to take her but back to her spot on the street. There is a chance she can get placed into a home soon, so pray for this to happen. The street is not so kind.
I am tired and weary and struggling with anxiety and worry and hopelessness. That is the honest portion of how I am doing. But I am also finding a strength beyond my own in this weakness that I would not have chosen. I am finding that God's word is life and power and grace. I am finding Him here. Still.
Less than two weeks until home. I can't wait. I am excited to see my family, hug my friends, drink coffee, and sit by a blazing fire. In that order. There's a lot of other things to be excited for too.
Please keep praying for me on the home stretch...