Guest post by Carissa Arend (puresoliloquy.com)
It's one of those nights I can't sleep. I'm up thinking––dreaming about the faces I've seen, the laughs I've heard, and the hearts I've grown to love.
People think it's nice––brave, even––that I spent six weeks in India. So many ask the casual question, "So how was your trip?"
I can't answer as well as I'd like to.
There are so many stories to tell, names to recount, and mercies to recall. What wondrous things God did.
If you asked me to describe India, there's a good chance I'd stare at you with a mixture of panic and nostalgia. To describe a world so utterly foreign to American ways and American ideals is hard to do. When your only frame of reference is Southern Californian comfort, India is a beast of intoxicating experience and wonder.
Corruption abounded, and the nasty effects of a fallen world made their home on every corner. Yet, in the midst of chaos, there remained a beauty so exquisite that it haunts me to this day.
I was befriended by teenage girls––vivacious, though they had weathered experiences well beyond their years. Those girls could take a handful of markers and with them, draw intricately and meticulously on cardstock, notebooks––even in creating henna designs.
Collecting meager coins between them, they contributed their limited resources to showing me Indian hospitality. To this day, I can’t remember the name of the street food they bought for me. But I remember it tasted like gratitude.
Komal taught me how to Bollywood dance.
Disha taught me to sing the national song of India.
Shivani helped me navigate precarious Indian roads.
The squalor they were used to was not a death sentence. It was not their grim destiny––it was a canvas. They viewed the darkness of their circumstances as a night sky, unpolluted by smog, but brilliantly clear. Even the brick homes they lived in, no bigger than my own bedroom, were painted over with cheerful pastels.
Those girls faced adversity with fearless defiance. Anchored by unshakable joy, they resolved to move onward. Their faith exposed them to the beauty of the same world that also tried to break them. Clinging to hope, they walked with confidence, smiled, and even danced.
Now, I look back on the strength and beauty of my Indian friends––and I smile with them.
About the guest author:
Carissa Arend writes about overcoming hardship and the often imperceptible beauty of living at PureSoliloquy.com. When she's not digging into a new pile of books, she enjoys brainstorming witty comments, exploring new music, and pondering the human condition.
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