Praise God! We are in our second full day in India.  We left Denver at 3pm on January 17 (Tuesday), flew to Washington D.C., then 11+ hours to Doha, Qatar.  Qatar airlines was terrific, but 11 hours in a plane is, after all, 11 hours in a plane.  Everyone slept as we could, and we arrived in Doha, Qatar at about 6 pm local time. The flight was safe and smooth.  As I prayed on the flights, I saw Jesus standing above and behind the plane, arms outspread.  I felt safe and content and was able to sleep intermittently.   
 
After a layover in Qatar,  we boarded a 4 hour flight to Bangalore India, where we arrived at 3 am local time.  After shuffling through immigration and customs, we met our local contact and boarded a domestic flight “Spice-Jet,” for another 4-5 hour flight to Northern India.  This flight was like a bus, stopping in several cities as we flew North to pick up Indian commuters.   Again, smooth sailing. 
 
Upon arrival in Jaipur in Northern India, we took a taxi ride to the train station.  Indian taxi rides are everything I have heard that they are.  The best way to describe the roads here is that entire operation consists of one big game of “chicken,” each driver trying to force their way through a sea of cars, motorcycles, bikes, animal carts and pedestrians.  In the course of the game, the players have become accustomed to being very close to one another, and seem unfazed by the imminent threat of death or dismemberment.
 
After a two hour wait at the train station, we boarded the train to our location in Northern India, where we were to participate in the opening of a new children’s home.  I enjoyed the train ride, despite being a bit jet lagged from 36 hours of travel.  The train has fold down beds – we shared a compartment with a couple of Hindu women who drew the curtain, drank teas and talked with one another for the length of the trip.  Some of the team slept, but I had decided to stay up until evening in an attempt to get in sync with the local schedule, so I spent most of the ride standing at the door looking at the countryside and talking to our Indian friend who is acting as our guide.  
 
The countryside in this area consists of relatively open fields interspersed with family compounds in various states of repair, most in poor condition.  We stopped at several train stations, each thronged with people, where I disembarked and looked around, as much to enjoy the reaction of Indians to my presence as to observe them.  The dress of the people is colorful, especially the women, but in many ways the countryside is like any other impoverished rural area.  I was amused by the cricket games the boys were engaged in dirt fields in and around the settlements.
 
We arrived late afternoon in our destination city after 39 hours of continuous travel.   We were met by the manager of children’s home and several interesting mini-vans that carried us to our lodging, a beautiful colonial era home.  The home is located on 1 or 2 acres in the center of town and serves as a bed and breakfast if the appropriate reservations are made.  It is several stories in height, built of native stone, with impressive vaulted ceiling and a large stone porch supported by elaborate columns.  The hosts greeted us with garlands, and the staff was quite gracious and helpful. 
 
After we took our bags to our room, we assembled to go to opening of the children’s home.  The children’s home is located strategically in a region close to a well known location of human trafficking.  Its purpose, like the three other homes run by the same organization, is to rescue and rehabilitate children who are victims of this market.  
 
The home is located in a city that is overwhelmingly Hindu, - there are no churches, and only reportedly 4 Christian families in a city of 500,000+.  Conditions are not favorable for Christians, and we needed to be careful not to generate unwanted attention.  As a result, the plan was to go to the home in the evening for a few minutes, to quickly dedicate it, meet the children, and leave before the whole operation attracted the attention of the Hindu neighborhood and the authorities. As a general rule, it is not illegal to be a Christian in India, but it is illegal to ‘convert’ someone of another faith, and Christians and Christian organizations are frequently arrested on trumped up charges. 
 
A more imminent concern for Christians in largely Hindu areas is not from the authorities but from violent individuals and mobs.  It is not unusual for Christians to suffer bodily harm at the hands of Hindu extremists, and it gives one a real shift in perspective to be constantly concerned about who is watching, following, and listening in.   The religious freedom and tolerance we enjoy in the States is more precious than we can imagine- we take it for granted.  We were careful not to have too much public contact with the home’s director so we would not endanger him. 

We loaded into our mini-vans and drove on winding streets through the center of town and onto a series of dirt roads like alleys lined by modest houses.  It was about 7:30 at night, and dark. The center of town was active, but the side streets were deserted, and we were silent as the vans bumped along.  One van had working headlights, the other did not, so the van with headlights led the way.
 
We finally lurched to a stop and unloaded the vans in a dark alley.  The entrance the home was framed in light, the stairs lined with the children and the home’s hosts, bearing flowers to welcome us.  We were ushered into the main hallway of the home, large and well lit, and then into one of two ministry rooms, where the children sleep and have lessons.   We had the ceremonial ribbon cutting in the entry hall – photos and cheers all around. “I am the way, the truth and the light.”
 
Soon, 14 or 15 children were assembled in front of a small wooden podium, and also several Hindu families that are neighbors to the home and had been selectively invited for the occasion.  The home wants to be a good neighbor, and the director felt it wise to involve these folks so they understand the purpose of the home.     
 
The home’s director led the children in a rousing song consisting of clapping and arm motions, obviously a Christian children’s song, though we could not understand the words.  Then, our Indian guide gave a short talk to the children.  He told them the story of the bridge operator who, having brought his son to work, chose to lower the bridge and sacrifice his son so that those on the train hurtling towards to bridge would be saved.   Finally we read part of Psalm 146, and prayed for the home.  We laid hands on the director and commissioned him for the work ahead.  All were very encouraged and blessed by the evening.
 
Our guide ushered us out, and there were a few tense moments when we emerged from the home and our rides were missing, but a phone call brought them bumping back down the alley.  On the way home, we encountered a noisy celebration and procession we later learned was a “horse wedding,” where a person will symbolically marry a horse, elephant or even a tree in order to shed bad luck before entering into another marriage with a person.  This elaborate show of superstition was in sharp contrast to the light of the children’s home. 
 
After a traditional Indian meal, everyone collapsed into bed, approximately 50 hours after we got up on Tuesday morning.  The travel to the new children’s home was arduous, but it was worth it.  Pray that God will bless and protect this new home and that it will be a beacon of light in this dark region. 
 
Andy Jones