Dependence

After years of mixed feelings about short-term mission trips, I read the book “Toxic Charity” by Robert Lupton. Lupton's book put into words, perfectly, my ambivalence about short-term trips and stapled my decision to go: "Look at any promo package for a mission trip and you will get the distinct impression that lost, starving, forsaken people have their last hope riding on the willingness of the US church groups to come and rescue them. (...) The emotional call goes out, promising to touch lives, change the world, and have a dramatic impact on those who will sacrifice their comfort to go. For a week! (...Nevermind that if the money spent on these trips were directly invested in the people being served, far more could be accomplished with greater effectiveness...). There is a place for short term missions, but they would have much more integrity if we simply admitted that they are mostly for our benefit... that we're off to explore God's amazing work in the world." - Toxic Charity

And that was it. I was finally able to reconcile what I had been struggling with. I did feel the Lord’s prompting, but for me, the desire was to experience my faith in another culture, to explore the issue of international trafficking, and to better learn discipleship. And I realized I was ok with that as long as I didn’t try to paint it a different color. I opted against signing up with any agency or church who echoed similar messages of personal glory and self-sacrifice, and after some research decided to apply with an organization out of Georgia. (Now my only fear was how to go without re-exploiting the exploited, but that’s another blog- and something I later learned I didn’t even need to worry about. They do such a great job about making sure that doesn’t happen.)

It was settled. In December, three days after Christmas, I boarded a plane for a 12-day excursion to Mumbai, where we would spend our time with those enslaved by the Red Light Districts: the women providing the services, the madams who enforce it, the men who were purchasing it, the children who are born into it…. all victims of the same cyclical, luring system of entrapment that chews people up, spits them out and keeps them coming back for more. A system where the very foundation is the spiraling of guilt, shame, fear, lust, control, desperation and despair. And it would be in a whole new foreign world. I tried not to form any expectations, but I did try and prepare myself to leave my comfort zone.

On the third day in Mumbai, I lay awake on the floor in the early morning hours and laughed at myself. I hadn’t prepared to leave my comfort zone at all. No, instead I tried to pack it in a bag and bring it with me. I thought about all of the anxiety in the weeks leading up to departure. My old friend, insecurity. How much time and money was spent frantically trying to plan ahead and prepare for every possible pitfall and scenario? The manic shopping sprees that resulted in things like 37 rolls of travel toilet paper, Go-Girl urination devices, 3 varieties of TSA-approved luggage locks, plastic baggies to carry my plastic baggies, four different Get-To-Know-Indian-Culture books, three different remedies for motion sickness… and so on. But cramming your culture into a suitcase with a 50-lb weight limit is no easy feat. Out with anything “unnecessary” – ya know, like books and shoes.

I acted a complete fool, y’all… 1 Backpack = a lock for each zipper to prevent pick-pocketing, padding in the front pocket to prevent damage and a metal plate in the bottom in case someone tried to cut the bottom out. (Matthew 6:19, much?) At one point, one of the girls on my team came up behind me to get her water bottle out of my bag and I nearly took her out. (In my defense, Indian men do keep you on your toes... as does living on the East Side, back home).

But by the second day, I realized that most of what I brought in preparation would go unused. Not because it’s not useful- but because it’s not needed. Leaving the states doesn’t mean there isn’t ANY culture… it just means it’s not yours. People live and function differently all over the world and don’t miss a beat. And so as we ventured out into the city with nothing but my little 3’x5’ knapsack, I left my giant TSA-lock laden backpack behind…”securities” inside. I never needed it. My “culture” was only weighing me down and it was causing me to miss theirs. The irony did not escape me. A primary goal of this trip was to “experience my faith in a different culture”. Not only was there nothing faithful about my behavior, but the western culture weighs me down emotionally every. single. day. And now that I had escaped it for a while- I couldn’t let it go.

It’s a theme that has repeated itself in what the Lord is speaking into my life. Lay down your cross and follow me. Trust ME. Need ME. Depend on ME. He didn’t teach us to pray by asking for our monthly bread or annual bread, but our DAILY bread. Every single day. Without ceasing. Don’t store up for the future- but trust that He will still be present to provide for your needs all over again. When he provided the Israelites with Manna, he gave them enough for each day. They couldn’t keep the leftovers for tomorrow (although they tried). Instead he continues to whisper: “Just stay close… I’ve got this”.

I absolutely fell in love with India. I didn’t experience the expected culture shock and mostly just found it beautiful. But I think a large part of that has to do with the fact that when everything around you is foreign, you’re forced into a deeper dependence on the Lord. Insecurity is grounded in fear and I’ve heard it said that “On the other side of fear, is Freedom”. That’s Jesus.