Friday, November 19, 2010

Gump

It has just been one of those days.

Since arriving in Chennai (which seems like weeks ago) we have been faced with the threat of an approaching cyclone, stuck for hours in traffic jams, tried to ignore the noise, stomach the food and tonight attacked by a cricket while having dinner.

We also experienced the joy of over 500 laughing, smiling, chicken-dancing children and adults.

It is past 11 at night and the rooftop neighbors are still outside, shuffling and cooking and creating a cacophony accompanied by the incessant sound of blaring horns and screeching brakes of the cars on the street below.

This is our last night in India.

I confess I will not miss the noise.

At the end of a "harvest" day, when I am alone in my room with my two inch blank Blackberry screen, I can picture Forrest Gump sitting on the park bench casually speaking to waiting bus riders. What he is telling are key, often times iconic, events in history and pop culture. But even when describing meeting Presidents, he just says, "and I met the President, ahhh-geee-an."

I know the work going on in any given area is a battle being fought in the heavenlies. I know legions of angels are flying above fighting against any number of the enemies minions so the Gospel can be preached. I know, I know, I know.

While I am in the "zone" (of battle) telling a story, watching the children, dancing, and tying Gospel bracelets on hands that are seldom washed, I can tune out the surroundings. I don't "see" the rags that are serving as clothes, the hair never combed, the bare feet, the naked babies, the flies crawling in wounds or the scabies and scars.

I feel the full realization and satisfaction of doing what the Father sent me to do.

"For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."  Ephesians 2:10

One of my favorite bittersweet sayings of Forrest comes when he accompanies his friend Jenny to her childhood home. It is old and dilapidated, long since abandoned and now overgrown with weeds. She bends down and starts hurling stones at the house where she endured abuse and pain. Forrest tries hard to grasp what she is going through. In the voice over he says, "Sometimes there are just not enough rocks."

Sometimes there are just not enough words.

Speechless in a broken world.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T