Day two in Delhi and I ventured out on my lonesome to get to church, which is actually held in the converted basement of a residential building. I sat near the back but in sight of the branch president (about Matt’s age with two kids, the daughter was about four in a beautiful purple dress and sat on the stand with him coloring most of the time) who started the meeting and looked straight at me when asking for someone to conduct the music. What? I point to myself, he nods, I shrug, and do my best 4/4 count I can. Sacrament was ¾, but seriously—I messed up the 2/2 intermediate hymn royally. One of the Indian returned missionaries was laughing at me trying to help, so I just laughed and plugged along. No one looks up at the chorister anyways. Back to 4/4 for the closing song and I feel like a chorister superstar. The people were so kind and welcoming and the talks and testimonies shared were as good as anywhere I have ever attended church. I even have a place to stay if I want to come back to Delhi for church a couple of weekends while here.
I “bravely” walked back to the B&B. Really, it wasn’t much of a feat to manage the 2km, but it was more like conquering a mental hurtle I had created. No one bothered me and every driver who asked me if I needed a ride continued onward when I politely declined. I even stepped out in traffic all Indian style (otherwise you won’t get anywhere around here) and felt like I owned my space. Maybe this is a window opening up for assertive Ashley. My go-to in social situations is always to be polite and quiet, but I am finding that does not work in India. Respect is given when it is claimed. A certain shift in perspective and honoring of my own value and authority will be required if I hope to help the people who need it the most.
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AuthorAshley J.E. Hull Archives
November 2017
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