Looking back on the 2 weeks I spent in this country, the memories are fresh, beautiful and heartbreaking. The hardest part was seeing the people on the street. Eyes completely devoid of hope and full of pain. When I think of India, this picture is the first I think of. We were sitting in the vehicle, stopped for traffic and she tapped on our window. Already warned we weren't able to give them anything, the continuous thump of her hand on our window was enough to bring tears. Many had to look away, but something in me propelled me to grab my camera.
She must not be forgotten.
Again, at a traffic stop, I looked out. Her eyes just pierced me. Her only chance and hope in the world is Jesus.
And she hasn't heard.
I want to know his story, I want him to know that he matters. To me. To God.
I can't speak of India without thinking of the hope that is alive. This picture, taken in the upstairs room of a rickety building in the middle of one of the world's biggest slums, reminds me.
Hope is alive. Hope is alive because God is alive.
