the light shines in the darkness

I avoided writing this post for too long.

I dreaded writing it and couldn't understand why.

Then, I realized that writing a post about saying
good-bye to my precious ladies

would somehow make it seem so real, so final.

As long as I didn't write the post,

it  didn't seem like we'd really said good-bye

and I'd really boarded that plane to leave those
beautiful brown faces.

But the more I thought about it,

I realized the good-bye was way too special not to share.

So here goes…

On my last full day in our city, I went to the center as usual.

But this day was different. We didn't work.

We just ate sweets, laughed a lot, gave gifts, and did several Indian traditional good-bye things that I'm still not quite sure I understand but they were special nonetheless.

I don't think Sana and Arman

have ever been given a gift before

so they were a little unsure about what to do with them.

However, after a little encouragement, they understood.

Here they are with their gifts -

somewhat overwhelmed but very happy.

When it was time to leave the ladies
(ah, the dreaded moment!),

they informed me that they would be coming to the airport to tell me good-bye the next night.

Ummmm…….Did I hear my translator correctly?

These precious ones who never leave the slum,
especially not without their husbands,

were planning to meet me at the airport,
at night, to see me off?

A sweet, sweet idea, I thought.

My heart was amazed and full and really about to bust

thinking of how unbelievably kind they have been to me
over and over and over.

But back to reality, I thought - there is absolutely no way they can come to the airport.

I went into mother mode,
thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

Back and forth, back and forth we went.

I was trying my best to help them see that logically
that might not be the best choice.

Ohhhh logic.....where art thou?

How will you get to the airport? I asked

A taxi, they said.

You don't need to spend money on a taxi.

We will.

What about your husbands?

It's ok.

What if you get lost?

We won't.

And on and on and on it went.

Finally, my sweet translator looked at me a little desperately and asked what we should do.

The ladies had formed a sort of circle around us.

Staring. Waiting for an answer.

Determination etched across each beautiful face. 

Ok, I said. Ok.

We gave them directions,
helped with ideas for transportation,

gave them a specific meeting place…

and of course instructions that they could
not be on Indian time.

Translation: they had to be on time.

I felt sick at the possibility of them arriving
5 minutes before take-off

and me already being on the plane
and not even able to see them.

We all wept when it was time for me to leave them.

It was terrible.

Hard and pitiful and awful and painful and sad
all rolled into one.

There was so much to be said but words failed each of us

and the language barrier was just too strong to
communicate how we felt.

Amy Carmichael once wrote this:

"…in the silence of a pain we cannot conquer
we find ourselves just spirit-crushed,

and with no language but a cry."

So there we stood, our little group.

In a cloud of clasped hands and forehead kisses.

Dupattas swiping, swiping, swiping away at
black, eye-liner filled tears.

With no language but a cry.

And then, in a moment, I was riding away from them.

They were slowly following.

And then suddenly there was Sana…oh, and Arman, too!

Peeking out from an alley,
watching with confused little faces.

And all too quickly, these faces grew smaller and smaller

as the space between us grew larger and larger. 

I thought to myself,
That was good-bye.
It wouldn't have been so tearful if we really thought we would see each other one more time at the airport.

So they must not really be coming.

I breathed a little sigh of relief.

Imagine my surprise the next evening when I heard,

just moments before going to the airport,

that the ladies were indeed planning to make
the journey there as well.

I prayed and prayed for them silently
as I packed last minute things,

loaded my suitcases in the car, climbed in with friends
and headed to the airport. 

As we approached the airport, I saw them.

Sitting on a curb just outside the gates, under a street light.

A little bundle of sparkle and color and smiles.

Waiting. Early….15 minutes early.

Precious, precious ones.

I climbed out of the car
and was welcomed by the most beautiful sight.

Each of the ladies….every single one had come.

And Arman and Sana, too.

And they looked beautiful. 

They had worn their best clothes.

Can a heart burst with happiness? 

Well, I think mine almost did.

We spent the next thirty minutes
hugging and laughing and talking.

I was so proud of them! 

What it took for them to be able to come to the airport,
I'll never truly know.

Bus money…approval of husbands...
food prepared for families…courage.

I was so proud.

These ladies who never leave their slum,

who were too afraid to go on a picnic
just a few miles from their homes,

had bravely come to the airport.

I was humbled and amazed.

Overwhelmed with thankfulness.

Then, sooner than any of us wished,
it was time to say good-bye. 

Sweet Zareena said they wanted to pray for me before I left.

So we formed a little circle in the grass and prayed.

Then, slowly we said good-bye.

But there were so few tears.

It was as if we had shed all our tears the day before

and this was a time of thankfulness for one another.

After many, many, many hugs, I walked away.

It seemed like I turned around and waved at them

100 times as I walked toward the airport.

And 100 times the little, sparkly bundle raised their arms in unison and waved back.

At the entrance to the airport, I said a final good-bye to these special, precious friends:

Oh, my heart was full.

As the plane rose higher and higher in the air
and the lights of our city shone in the night,

I couldn't help but notice
the large patches of darkness
where there was no light.

I assumed these were the slums or power-cut areas.

My heart ached for my ladies,
knowing they were on the way back to their slum.

To their patch of darkness.

And I couldn't hold it in anymore.
The tears just came and came and came.

So much darkness. So little light.

Then suddenly,
out of the middle of one of those dark patches

came a spray of fireworks.

And another and another.

That patch didn't seem quite so dark anymore.

Familiar and comforting words came to me:

The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

There will come a day, He promises,

when the oppression and suffering and mourning

will be no more for those who know Him.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

"Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man.

He will dwell with them, and they will be His people,

and God Himself will be with them as their God.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,
and death shall be no more,

neither shall there be mourning
nor crying nor pain anymore,

for the former things have passed away."

And He who was seated on the throne said,

"Behold, I am making all things new."

Also, He said, "Write this down,
for these words are trustworthy and true."

And He said to me, "It is done!

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.

To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.

The one who conquers will have this heritage,

and I will be his God and he will be my son."
Revelation 21:3-7

And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever. Revelation 22:5

And I was reminded by the One who is Light,

that it will not always be dark. 

He has promised.