story time

The story started on the dangerous streets of Srinagar in Kashmir in the early 1970’s. The young mission team was dodging persecution at every corner with one near fatal miss after another, one threat after another; and directly following each threat and attack, there was always prayer. Prayer for protection and prayer of thanksgiving. Katherine and I sat in amazement, as the story continued to tell of the beginnings of the children’s home despite persecution and of God’s provision time and time again. When there was no food, food was provided, when there was no where to go, a door opened up, when there was no money, a donation was given. Auntie’s story of how the Dar-Ul-Fazl (DUF) Children’s Home began in Kashmir is a story of faith and God’s provision. Because of persecution in the volatile region of Kashmir, the home moved to Manali in the early 90‘s. Many of her stories reminded me of stories I heard long ago about George Muller. After an hour of hearing her “short version” of how the home was started, Katherine and I went to lunch honored to be in the presence of this woman of great faith. This is one of the most prayerful places I have ever been. In the mornings each child and staff member bow their heads in prayer as they file in and take their seat for the morning devotional. After the devotional, the staff stay back for a time of prayer. Before each meal, the staff always pray silently to themselves if we have not already prayed as a group. Every night, there is prayer time with the children during the evening devotional. Whenever we get in the car to go anywhere, the driver shuts off the engine, and Mawiteii (Auntie) leads a prayer for our journey before we go on our way. Although I was raised in a home where prayer was an integral part of our daily lives, it is refreshing and challenging to be in this place devoted to prayer. The impact is evident.

Every morning, we can see the snow capped mountains in the distance as we walk to morning devotion. Typically the children have breakfast followed by a morning assembly  before school. These last two days have been a holiday, so we have had the joy of getting to just hang out and play all day (after morning devotion at 7, which occurs every day of the week, holiday or not). We play uno, pick-up-sticks, jenga, and a variety of other games. We’ve made bracelets, drawn with chalk and built towers out of the jenga blocks, but the favored activity among many of the girls is story time. Each evening they beg for stories. One of the older girls has been telling them the story of the Twilight trilogy, but before and after her story time, they come to us asking for stories. “Please, ma’am, tell us a story,” they plea. I have never thought of myself as a good storyteller. In fact I have often dubbed myself to be a poor storyteller who gives too many details, making the story too long (if you’re reading my blog, you know this too be true). But these girls don’t care, they listen intently to any story I’m willing to tell and I, as a result, am getting to improve upon my storytelling skills. We have all been reaching way back into our memories to come up with stories to tell the girls. I have told Robin Hood, Princess Bride, Peter Pan, Ever After, the Emperor's New Groove, and a variety of short stories... you might notice a trend, many of the stories come from movies, because those are the ones I can recall most easily. It is such a joy to see their eyes light up as a story begins and to hear their gasps whenever it gets intense and to see their smiles and laughs when the story is funny.  Each evening, I find myself looking forward to story time, maybe even as much as my young audience does.

Beyond just enjoying time with the staff and children at DUF, we have had the opportunity to go into town and see other ministries that the church here is involved in. Today we went into Old Manali to see the old location for DUF and to visit one of Auntie’s friends, the president of the local women’s council. It was a neat experience to be in Lila’s beautiful home, which is hidden away in a maze of narrow streets (paths really) and old houses. She allowed us to try on the traditional dress here, called a pattu. It is much like a wool blanket pinned together and worn with a belt. It seems people in India enjoy dressing foreigners up in their traditional clothing. We also visited a coffee shop in old Manali that is run by a believer as a very active ministry in the community of hippie travelers. Every where we went with Auntie, she was received with much respect. It is evident that she and the home have a positive presence in the community.