Pr. John’s wife helped us dress in our saris.  (I never did figure our how to do it myself.)  She didn’t cinch everything so tight and arranged it so that I wasn’t as naked.  Christian Indians dress more modestly than the rest of the natives just like Christian Americans.

We had services at our village church (the other two villages were not there this time).  And we were presented with more garlands and a beautiful prayer shawl.  Each of us shared something for the service.  I told the children’s story of how God answered a prayer for my escaped quail to come back.  We handed out gifts which excited everyone.  They had nine baptisms today and three of them were little old ladies that I saw at the meetings every night, and the elder’s son.  The baptisms seemed more reverent at this church.  The forward girl came up to me just before we left.  I got the translator to explain to her a “mission” I had for her.  I had nine little pictures (cut out of a magazine) that I wanted her to give to eight people and keep only one for herself.  I told her that it was a very important mission and asked her to promise to keep only one for her family.  She looked like it would be a very difficult mission - I could tell that she wanted to keep them all for herself.  But I have hopes that somehow that little mission would teach her the fun of sharing with others and being kind.

Being served a nice Sabbath lunch - chapati and a banana (the pop was always good because it was cold!).

Waiting for transportation to take us back to the hotel, and then for the bison to get out of the road.

It was a melancholy departure.  I took one last look at “our” village from my spot in the back of the Sumo Tata.  I could see that the children who were waving felt as though there would be no more excitement in their village from now on.  And I wondered if anything important would take root in their minds.  What happened there in the last two weeks anyway?  I felt as though I had lived in Bible times - stucco huts, sandaled feet, people cooking over fires, oxcart rides and all.  They looked at us as if we were heros with strange stories to tell.  I realized that my country is much more fake than theirs - we with our endless entertainment, painted cover-ups, picture advertisements, and symptom-masking drugs.  And they wondered at un-cultured Americans who don’t even know to take their sandals off when they enter a church.  They had fun dressing us up; I had fun playing their drums.  I couldn’t believe that they saw no reason to bury their waste and trash.  They couldn’t believe that we flew all the way to their country to tell stories about our God.  I saw in a few faces that the hope I have in my Savior was a hope they also longed for and embraced.  I hope they saw in my face the love of that God who allowed me to go all that way to speak about Him.

Looking back toward the village as we left Ballawana for the last time.

FACES OF INDIA

A flower of India.

Steve with some of his new friends.

Can't you tell he's a P.K.?!

A Christian young lady with real potential.

A dedicated Christian man, elder of a village church.

Wanting to be accepted.

Hindu baby painted to keep the evil spirits away from it.

A dedicated big sister.

Still without hope, but at least in the place to learn!

India's future men.

Christian woman dedicating her child to God.

Young girl making her decision to follow Jesus.

The ride back to the hotel was incredibly hot as almost all of our team was stuffed into that little Sumo Tata (four of us in the hatchback!  I couldn’t have told you which of the eight tangled legs were mine because they were numb from sitting in such a strange position).  I took a two hour nap at the hotel.  We had a vespers in Pr. Clark’s room tonight.  Then I helped Pr. Kelly and Nathan pack up.  We left on the long journey to Hyderbad in the “cool” of the night.  At the airport we waited for Alfred for 1 1/2 hours (he was traveling part way with us).  By now I was used to such waits.  Finally, said goodbye to Locksmaya the taxi driver.  He loved Matt and Josie’s CD that I gave him and had played it over and over each night as we traveled to and from the village.  Slept a little in the plane, I think.  It seemed like a one hour flight.