Dear India

It's crazy to think that you have been my home now for 22 months. I know that many people will try to tell me that the past two years of my life have only been a "trip," but you and I both know better. Even in the times where I was kicking and screaming to get out of you and move back to somewhere more comfortable and less loud and smelly, you were still my home. 22 months is a long time to live somewhere. I established a life in you, India; a life that had a schedule, a rhythm of sorts. And while I lived within your borders, I learned so much.

While I lived in Kochin, I learned that air conditioning is my best friend, and I learned how to live on egg and cheese sandwiches when I couldn't figure out how to make anything else with the ingredients in the grocery store. I figured out that true contentment can only come from intimacy with the Father and isn't based on my circumstances. Yes, there were so many times where I broke down. Like the day where I was forced to eat so much rice that I thought my stomach was going to explode and then I got shoved into a car with 14 other Indians and Danae to travel multiple hours in extreme heat to a function where I was forced to eat more rice. Ya, that was fun. Or when I had a completely irrational breakdown at the theater when the movie I wanted to see wasn't playing (culture shock can be a beast!). But Kochin also taught me about the power of prayer when the Father provided the most dear of friends when she was extremely needed in my life.

And then, precious India, I came to Bangalore. It was like a breath of fresh air the minute I walked around the street in front of my flat. And the air really was fresher and cooler because it was about 15 degrees cooler than Kochin! And here, I really established a home. I made friends. I learned how to cook more than just egg sandwiches. I learned a language. I figured out how to navigate this crazy city.

India, as I reflect back on my time here, I realize there are some things about you that I will never understand. I will never accept or tolerate the way that you treat your women. I will never be ok with the way that poor people are cast aside and neglected. I hate the injustice that runs rampant in your streets and the horrific abuses that happen inside your homes. I can't wait to not have to travel by auto anymore because I won't have to fight skin tax. I look forward to being able to dress normally and to be able to be myself, because so often here, I feel like I won't be accepted if I was simply myself. I'm excited to be able to show pictures of my family and not worry that their "imodesty" will offend. And one day soon, I will get to fix my own plate of food with the amount that I want. And I won't hear the words "not possible" and "it is not there" anymore! Yes, that will be a good day.

But it will also be a very sad day. Because that's the paridoxical beauty of you, India. Although you can make me more angry than anything in the world, I will miss you so much. I will miss the man shouting "paper" every morning outside my window. I will miss the precious uncles and aunties that have gone out of their way to help me adjust to my life here. I can't imagine not being able to get cheap, yummy Indian food any time that I want and to be able to easily walk to my friend's homes in just a few minutes. What on earth am I gonna do without the cheap movie theaters? Or the abundance of fruits and veggies at the stand up our street? My heart aches when I think of not being able to pass and wave at the precious guard and the fat dog near our house.

I will never forget you, India. Because you have left your mark on me forever. Every time I smell the rot of trash or the spice of curry tickles my nose, I am confident that my mind will take me back to you. And I am sure that if I stumble upon a bag of Parly G's or Cabdburry Dairy Milk Silk I will jump up and down with glee. I will continue to use curd (low-fat plain yogurt) in all of my cooking thanks to you, and I will pile hot sauce on American food that I am sure will not be spicy enough for me. And I have no doubt that I will bobble my head sometimes or call a cookie a "biscuit" or an apartment a "flat" because that's just my habit now. You have strongly influenced who I am and who I am becoming, and I am thankful.

India, the hardest part of leaving you is knowing that millions and billions of your people are without the Savior. You have a hardened heart, and your ways are so wicked. The Lord hates the wickedness in your streets, and He has sent messenger after messenger to warn you to repent before it is too late. So I commit to pray for you, India that you will repent and turn to Jesus. I pray that the believers in your borders will be bold proclaimers of the Gospel and that the seeds that so many have sown for years before me and will continue to sow the years after me will produce a great and plentiful harvest. God is faithful, and you cannot thwart His ways.

For His Name's Sake,

Maddie