“My Thoughts ....... ‘So Familiar’ ” by Ginny 

Week, after week, after week… Clink…clink…clink…. my childish fist released the coins into the tin can bank.  Our teacher explained the money was for a girl, who lived half way around the world, in a strange place called India.  I wanted to put everything in the bank for that little girl. I promised myself that someday I would go to that faraway place where people were so different from the life I knew. Over fifty years later I would go to India and discover the unexpected!
I looked and expected the strange and exotic but instead I found the familiar.  It was the women that touched my heart. These sweet women were so much like the women beloved in my own life, my daughters, sister, and friends. Everywhere I turned I had this deep feeling of familiarity. A dear mother, about my age, asks David to wait while she gathers everyone in for prayer; children, grandchildren, husband, even her neighbors; none would miss the prayer of blessing. A woman asks for prayer for her husband. Young women like my own girls, loving their families and serving us and others, watching out for me, giving me instructions. “No Auntie…be careful!” An elderly woman’s withered hand grips mine; so sad, confused, and not long for this world, needing comfort.  A teary girl wants a husband; she feels shame to be unmarried at 20. Children run and play, so satisfied with one small toy, well maybe that’s not familiar.
I love the gentle voice of the Holy Spirit that humbles my heart and opens my eyes.  We are all the same, called to love, forgiveness, and a life of service to a Savior who looks at our hearts, not the color of our skin, and our culture, or even that we are women. He values us and calls us into His presence to follow Him and be a light to every person. How much we need to give and receive from one another, for He’s the eternal God who truly does it all.
The beauty is breathtaking! Every imaginable color flows around their dark brown faces, as the ladies file quietly into the Cornerstone Prayer Fellowship and sit on the floor for the Woman’s Conference. The children come too, laughing and playing, scurrying in and out of the open doors, often settling for a nap on the floor next to their mom.  The ladies carry shiny buckets filled with rice, an offering saved from fasting. Each is poured into the huge pot that sits in the front of the church, and it is donated to an orphanage.  They also bring a tin can, filled with all their loose change from the week. It reminds me of the story of the widow’s mite, and I contemplate simple living, sacrificial giving.
The sound of the music and words in Telugu are foreign to my ear but the room is full with familiar praise and worship. As the service goes on, a lady comes with her small children, her mother and brother.  Broken and poor, barely existing, she seeks 300 rupees ($6.80) for an abortion. We visitors quietly discuss it among ourselves, considering plausible solutions to her problem.  But Pastor Lazarus and David quietly send someone for clothes for the children and then they invite the woman to come, sit and listen. The needs are so great everywhere, but here at the church, they are not trying to “fix” anyone, they are leading them to Jesus, and He will meet their needs and fill their souls.
When it is my turn to speak, I tell of God’s sustaining presence that has carried me through my lifetime. Pastor Lazarus comments at the end, but he doesn’t mention what I have shared, instead he gently reminds the ladies how blessed I am to be a woman and have four daughters. He explains the value of such a blessing, not a burden they might believe it to be.  In India, the price of four dowries, so our girls could marry is unthinkable to them. His gentle strong voice encourages them.
By afternoon we join the ladies on the floor and a baby girl is immediately placed in my lap. The ladies giggle and I am honored to be in their presence.  Five hours later we are still there, Pastor Lazarus asks the ladies if they are hungry or tired and they respond with a resounding “No!” I am too excited to be hungry but we are refreshed when a boy hands us a delicious lime soda called Limca through the open window and later returns for the bottle. When we finally close, the ladies do not rush to dinner, instead they crowd around asking us to pray, everyone has a need and they are similar to those needs we pray for one another at home. At the end of the day I am so humbled to be amongst these women and I realize God has brought me there to teach me great things from this simple way of life.
“THE DOOR” -- As the sun sets, we walk around the shell of the small unfinished church of Bodawada Village.  For completion it needs many things but it is the windows and doors that are being discussed.  Pastor Lazarus explains, the front door must be very special.  Chaya and her brother discuss the details as I silently listen, enjoying their sweet bond. Brother and sister, together sharing in this blessed ministry both are called to.  It is bringing the light and truth of Jesus to this village teeming with men, women, boys and girls. 

Chaya asks the cost of the door, and her brother’s answer brings a surprised look.  “That is a lot of rupees!” she tells him. Unrelenting, Lazarus shakes his head gently, then leaning into the conversation he explains, the door is very important to the Hindu. In India, where over 80% of the people are Hindu, this seems like a serious consideration. I ask what this hand carved door will be like, Lazarus doesn’t answer, he’s deep in thought. It’s then I also recall it was the door at Cornerstone Prayer Fellowship, which first gripped my heart when we arrived, that faceless Christ, with nail pierced hands held wide open, inviting all to come.
 
The next night in Mydavolu at Elim Prayer House, it is the Good Shepherd carved into the front door that brings peace to my heart. I am that lamb He holds in His arms!  Yes, Pastor Lazarus, the door is important!  --- by Ginny Hammond (March 2007)