I probably have several dissatisfied friends.
It’s rather like shopping together, and not coming out of the dressing room to model your sweet new finds. One does not simply travel and not tell everybody.
Did I mention all these people are praying for me and helping me go? So they deserve a story. The thing with India is that it doesn’t fit in a blog post. It doesn’t fit in two weeks or a month or a dream or a picture. Even the little, tiny, teeming India I met won’t fit in a blog post and a photo and a gasp. So I’m going to tell it in pieces. This piece, here, is the piece in which I tell all the things. The new things. Stuff. We did stuff. It was amazing.
We flew. There was a lot of flying. I love flying. Never have I ever been soaring over Greenland and wondered over the tippy mountains stacked all tiny below. Never have I traced the outline of Great Britain on an airplane window in my mind while imagining our track across it under the clouds. Never have I settled down into a French airport like a bird cupping its wings and settling.
Here is a thing about travel. You learn. So when I thought that two euros equalled about a dollar, I discovered that two dollars equals about a euro. I paid eleven dollars for this coffee. I paid eleven dollars for this coffee. It’s a story, I s’pose.
We saw monkeys! I should qualify that. The whole monkey-seeing trip involved: carsickness, our first real Indian food, a view of the Indian countryside, and the Taj Mahal. Please, please don’t ask me to explain the Taj. It’s not wordable, really.
Suffice it to say… No. No sufficing, because it will not suffice to say. Ya’ll, the Taj was just darn amazing. My camera was dead. (Your bewailing will not avail – I’m already as sorry as possible about that misfortune.)
I did get a picture of it from Agra fort. Sorry for the terrible graininess.
Hereafter is when the doings got dicey. The hellos were happy and heart-wrecking and the visits were wild and joyous and the names are precious and dangerous. I can’t share everything we did and all the people we saw, because I love them enough not to endanger them.
We saw children’s centers. Such sweet little kiddos! We hugged them and listened to their songs and selfied with them – they are selfie queens, I say – we held them and ate with them and told them stories and sang for them a bit ourselves. Then we prayed for them. We pulled the power of God out in words and silent hopes and we lavished all this love he gave us right back down on them.
We went out on our street and this diminutive lady grasped my arm and led me to her part of the sidewalk, where we got ourselves tats – tats drawn on in brown henna dye with tiny hands. You know, this silly little thing was happy, and productive. Our Indian guide has been establishing relationships with these ladies. She got to talk to them, and meet a niece of one, and maybe that niece will be in a children’s center soon. Small smiles and ink were part of the ministry too.We went to a place in these little rickshaws! Ah, rickshaws. They’re silly! They sound and smell like weed whackers, and they’re three-wheeled autos. There are bike- and hand-pulled rickshaws also, but we took auto-rickshaws. It was exciting, folks.
So. I have a heart-lesson probably that I could share on each picture here, and I have a happy and sad moment, and hard ones, and laughing ones. But the stories, the heart lessons, they’ll have to follow. I’ll be back.