“Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls,
 yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will exult in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength.”

Dear Saints and Aints.

Shalom.

Tucked away among the prophetical books is this ode of joy from one of the Minor Prophets, namely Habakkuk. Written in the early 6th Century BC, it addresses the stark reality of lack many of us face and offers us an antidote to the overwhelming despair it might engender - GOD, the Lord, is my strength! 

Some mocking souls no doubt would call Habakkuk a reality denier and at one point in my life I might have agreed with them but now … The convictions of these men of old and the language used to convey them have become mine not by copying them but by absorbing them through frequent reading and meditating upon them; I recognize them as ultimate truth - not a fanciful delusion - and the language used the best suited to convey it. A truth I made mine - by personal experience - GOD, the Lord, is my strength.

One would expect those who make such tall claims to float three feet above the muck and mire of life but that would be another fanciful delusion; it is so easy to see our story as a long glorious victory march untouched by the realities of the valley the 23rd Psalm describes. Yet countless times I walked through that valley with neither joy nor peace as my companions – still I carried on accepting it as the norm rather than the exception. You follow that dim spark of hope that lightens the gloom; tenaciously clinging to his promise – I will be with you!

Yet in some inexplicable way that walk is still exhilarating there are times when I am aware I am part of a cosmic battle of immense proportion; I have a role to play; I am not a hapless pawn but a free agent -choosing God’s side. Remembering this – my joyous laughter penetrates the gloom…

The kids are back; their laughter fills the playground and their songs of worship the chapel. Most of the jobs needing to be done were done; the rest will follow. They have a place to sleep, eat, play and study and a clinic to go to should they get sick. Soon their clothes will see the inside of a washing machine. An urgent need now is a new dorm that would help us to better care for our kids and – take in more.

Bapu’s itinerary is falling into place. We thank all our friends for their help especially Dawn Steinke. His tickets have been booked; he leaves Nagpur August 29th and arrives in Toronto August 30th. He leaves Vancouver December 2nd and arrives in Nagpur December 3rd.  Invitations are coming in to speak at various places across Canada and, I am sure he will not lack a roof over his head wherever he will be. We are planning to buy a car (Murray Cornelius can get us a good deal) and leave it in Canada till Bapu or I come again. Several problems are with that plan. In who’s name to buy? Where to store it after he leaves? Should he make it available to the BC District for other missionaries who need a car and get reimbursed for that? Your input would be very much appreciated.

Needless to say, Bapu is a bit apprehensive; he needs your prayers!

Changing the subject …The story below is meant to give you a glimpse of an individual boy who grew up in the home. It is written by his permission. Many aspects of that story are reflected in the life of many other boys. His candid disclosure of his problems as a little boy decided me to pen his story.  While reading, let your mind not linger on the boy he was but on the man he is now becoming.

Anup – A true story

At the Nagpur airport, leaning against the barrier, waiting for a foreign visitor, Anup, a college student, two months shy of twenty who accompanied me, made his own journey - into his past. Wondering how our visitor would perceive our home, I remarked, “We have a crazy place, don’t we?” Looking at me he countered, “That crazy place made me into what I am now.” “Do you know I am already 14 years at Prem Sewa?” Delving deeper into his past, he continued, “When I was born nobody expected me to live I was so small and so sick. My mother took me to my grandmother who lives in a small village in Himachal Pradesh some 600 km north of Delhi, where we live, without hope of ever seeing me again. Yet I surprised everybody – I lived. When I turned 5 years old my mother took me back to Delhi as she wanted me to attend school. But she also wanted me to stay somewhere in a hostel as she was not able to look after me.

After a moment’s silence … “Through a visiting pastor from Nagpur to our church, arrangements were made for me to come to Nagpur to be admitted in the hostel of Prem Sewa. I was six at the time and small and did not speak Marathi, the language spoken at the hostel. I felt very lonely. My mother promised to visit me but for several years she never came and also did not have the money to let me come to Delhi. Before I left Delhi she told me that when we sneeze we can expect a visitor. So when I felt very much alone I would induce sneezing, hoping she would come – but nobody ever came. I felt lost at the hostel. Often I didn’t know where my box was or where my clothes where and – I didn’t care. For two years every night I wetted my bed. Why? I don’t know. Nobody would sit on my box in the dorm as I put my blanket there and it smelled very bad, actually, at first, nobody wanted to be near me.”

“And now” I prompted him trying to free my mind from the image of the little boy who now captivated it … With his eyes he invited me to look at him. I see a young man with short cropped hair dressed in jeans and T-shirt. About a foot shorter than I, slight in build; he looks more like a 15 than a 20 year old. He grins as if reading my mind. “I didn’t stay that little boy … I soon became well-liked and everybody, staff and students began to call me Delhi. As I became older I became active in our church meetings. While in primary school I was team captain of a sport’s team for three years and we won prizes on the District level. I am also a good cricket and soccer player.” After a pause, breaking into my reverie he suddenly said, “You know the laptop that you gave me with the help of the Emerge team, makes a big difference in my desire to study. It was a dream beyond dreams but, looking me in the eyes, you made it possible.” He then fell silent and for a brief time we both were lost in our own thoughts … I enjoy being with Anup and he being with me. During the summer I spent two days with him and his family in Delhi sleeping on the roof with the other male members of the house. I brought him back with me to Nagpur by plane. He keeps the boarding pass stub as an heirloom … His English is good. He studies in an English medium college towards a Bachelor in Computer Application. At our church meetings he plays the Octapad. This besides, he soon will have a driver’s license. He is well-mannered and kind-hearted.

The spell is broken by the arrival of our visitor. As he shakes hands with Anup I smile knowing he was unaware that he was in the presence of a miracle – a boy who cheated death, overcame language barriers and loneliness, and defied the odds against him of ever getting a good education and hopefully a good life. I suddenly felt incredibly proud of my kid…

Driving through the city to the home, I mused, “At the hostel our visitor would be in the presence of other miracles – large and small, yet still miracles – and probably – wist it not.”

Thank you my fellow saints for making the creation of such miracles possible.

Frank -- for Bapu, Anup and all the other miracles …