At a corner roadside stand a few blocks from where we’ll live, an old plastic pitcher of . . . maybe water? maybe juice? . . . sits on the makeshift counter, open to anyone who needs a drink during the trek home from work. I watched from my seat in the open-air rickshaw various walkers stop, pour liquid into their open mouths, replace the pitcher and continue walking. Nobody paid the man working behind the counter any rupees, nor did the worker pay any attention to his drinkers. Just a man helping other men out, I suppose. Like I was told that first day at church, you can see the filth or you can see the beauty. So while the tattered roadside stand is precariously strung together with twine and the horns never stop honking and the traffic is atrocious, I’m thankful for that man allowing others to drink from his pitcher.
We got to see our apartment again yesterday. It was right after my new friend showed me where to have papers printed (two worn copy machines arranged on the sidewalk and I’m not even kidding). We’re excited about the space and so thankful for the location. I’m not exaggerating when I say our apartment is located on one of the most beautiful streets in Mumbai (and is hands down one of the most beautiful apartments). In this city of slums and trash and despair, we’ve found a block with no trash heaps. It’s a luxury most people in this city will never know and we don’t take it for granted.
I’m at a loss for how to carry the guilt of privilege that comes with it. Thanksgiving is a huge component of it, but there’s got to be a something else that helps me wake up in a life that looks like this:
while life around me looks like this:
For now, I’m trying to stick to daily bread prayers, because God hasn’t given me permission to concern myself with tomorrow.
Our month here is over. We head to the Mumbai airport in a bit before spending 21 hours in the sky. I’m so thankful we’ve had this time. A month to get my first series of breakdowns out of my system, a month to deal with the initial culture shock, a month to learn that jet lag when crossing eleven time zones is a situation Satan delights in and should be treated with care. A month for God to show me HIS goodness.
Thank you all for praying me through these weeks. When we return we’ll have another set of life skills to learn: how to get electricity, how to pay rent, where to take the trash, but for now, I am so looking forward to hugging my precious friends, scratching my well-fed dogs on their chubby snouts, staying up late with my brother (even when he insists on talking about Trump), having a normal date night with Benson where we know the waitress and understand the language, and eating a salad.
Categories: This and That