PRISMS OF MEMORY

Life is a mosaic of remembered events fitted in the vaults of memory like magnificent stained glass. In quiet times we open the vault and gaze wonderingly through the brilliant windows, searching for meaning and purpose. The memories of India in September shimmer with color…

Lavender: Clean elegance and comfort in the hotel near the Bombay airport where we began to recover from the stupor of jetlag.

Muddy Brown: Miles of slums crammed with shops below tattered housing; trucks, buses, cycles, cars—jammed and jostling in noisy space.

Gray: travelling east, further miles of apartment blocks of buildings rising into heights of smog.

Emerald Green: Finally, climbing hills we reach the edges of open field and forest, misty with fresh rain and fog.

Gold: Lonavala looks dusty and worn at first, but hugging our friends at the Ywam base on the low hill we erupt into the brilliance of pure joy. Prabha, Mary, Peter, Daniel—faithful friends laboring to spread life in the darkness.

Rose: The experience of teaching eager young people hungry for Bible principles. Prisms of refracted eternal light penetrate our spirits. Each class was different—some young and wondering, others more mature, fitting puzzle pieces of truth to interlock within the whole.

Purple: exhaustion, slumber from being emptied after hours of teaching, and adaptation to different beds.

Amber: joy in fellowship over delicious meals, sweet communion in the Lord afterwards in prayer.

Day by day the pattern of colors fills each window, projecting panoramas of gilded light. A breathing, pulsing light—the awareness of eternal souls streaming to eternity in joy or numbing sorrow.

Larry and I mull over memories and pray for the Indian workers as we sit by the fire at night. The students are on outreach now until Christmas. Pray with us that the body of Christ interlocks in prayer and giving like nets, to draw in eternal harvests of souls.