Before the rain interfered with our schedule (yes we have a timetable and we have to stick to it. Can you believe it! Those of you who know Captain Thacker will be able to imagine what our timetable may be like) Lorna and I had the opportunity to visit some of the homes in a slum area here in Chennai. We are being very well looked after by two churches: Christ the Rock and Mount Zion. Both churches do a lot of ministry in the slums and most members of their small congregations come from there.

So after a hectic day with the children in the schools we were told that we were going to visit these homes. Although a little nervous, having been to these areas in daylight and slightly tired we were excited to visit the homes of the women we had had been sharing and praying with; the women who had been looking after us so well. They too were equally as excited about showing us where they live and us meeting their families.

So we left the church (Mount Zion) and set out. Weaving in and out of the dusty stalls and homes we saw rats, children, men and women sitting. Yes just sitting. Some of them in silence, some talking to the children flung on the road in front of them, playing with old pots and pans or twigs. Some of the women lit fires, presumably to cook and men huddled in shop doorways chatting and smoking. All eyes were on us. Two large white girls. I say large, no not because we’re bigger than you but because we are definitely bigger than the average Indian. The women are very petite and dressed in the most beautiful saris. They actually add colour and a little life to the darkness that dampens the streets. As we pass, the hustle and bustle of the stalls stops. People stare. Some rush towards us gesturing to their mouths hoping that we can feed them. They groan in a language we don’t understand (Tamil) but their actions are crystal clear and we are left in no doubt of what they mean. They are hungry and we are obviously well fed. They need something to eat now. Discreetly both Lorna and I try to give the little money we have on us but our chaperones discourage us and whisk us into one of the little stone houses. The houses are like flats: stacked up high and between them ropes, laden with clothes being hung out to dry, are strung. I was actually concentrating so much on where I was putting my feet that I hadn’t looked up until pastor Sebastian joked that they had put the flags out for us coming!

Inside the homes we are met by large families. All desperate to meet us and most importantly pray with us. It was such an enriching experience to talk to these people. To hear of how God is at work in their lives. Yes I’m talking about now as you read this he is changing their homes and communities. To them God is real. He is someone they talk to, not just on a daily basis but all day everyday. They rely on him for things. We have learned that when they pray to him, like we discovered in Africa, they actually pray with confidence. They pray expecting things to happen. One family told us of how the mother had been in bondage for seven years; she had been “possessed by evil spirits”. By this I presume she was in some sort of depression. At home she may have been prescribed a drug or worse still told to get on with things but here they prayed to God and he provided, as he always does. During that time her family home was a horrible place to be. The children told us about how it was always dark and no one was every happy. They said that now God is in their home they are happy and have joy. Who wouldn’t want that for their family!

Another home we visited consisted of only one room. This was home for the family of six. In it they all live by day and sleep by night, yes in that one room. They huddled between four cold stone walls on a stone floor. In one corner was a small water bucket and another empty one. Another part of the small room was partitioned as a kitchen from where they produced some fizzy juice for us. Time and time again we are overwhelmed by little they have and how willing they are to give. In the first home I mentioned they actually gave us money as a blessing for our ministry. It was probably their monthly salary. Yes we did take it! I know it sounds awful but they found it terribly offensive when we refused. And yes we will make a donation to their church so they get it back!

Finally we visited Solomon’s home. Solomon is a young man (25) who is hugely excited about God. He lives there with his mother (a stunningly beautiful woman) and his brother Moses. Solomon told us about how they, along with another younger brother whom we didn’t meet, used to live in “platforms”. When talking about that time in his life he was visibly distressed and so naturally we asked what “platforms” were. “They are the gutters or I think you call them pavements,” he answered.
“Yes I think we do.” I replied embarrassed. And so he went on to tell us of how God had provided them with a home and how he and his brothers are now all in fulltime employment. He then proceeded to show us round his home. It had a small kitchen, a prayer room (cupboard) and one bedroom. Awkwardly edging my way round the one double bed squeezed into the room, I asked, “Who sleeps here?”
“We all do. It’s a big bed isn’t it?” He replied looking at me as if I had asked a stupid question, which of course I had!

These are just some of the homes we have visited in the few days we have been here. Over the next few weeks we will no doubt visit many more. And so please continue to pray, not for us or even our safety here but pray for these people. Pray that our visits would be fruitful and that what we see would lead us (as in you and me) into action; into doing something for justice because this is simply unjust! To have two grown men sharing a bed with their mother is unjust. To be given money from a family who have barely enough to feed themselves is unjust and to see all of this and do nothing unthinkable. I say this every time. You can do something. Even if you can’t come to India you can do something. Everything starts with prayer. Whether it is prayer for wisdom, prayer for energy, prayer for motivation, prayer for finances. You can’t do anything but God can do everything through you!

Although their school uniforms are a stark change from the saris they wear outside of the school gates the Indian influence is still president: long black pigtails are tied up with ribbon framing their smiling faces; as they dance they carefully clasp their first and second finger on the thumbs, twisting their wrists in time with the veena, the traditional Indian instrument accompanying them. Such delicate gestures draw attention to the henna art on their palms; almost every child is dotted with the signature of this area: the Hindu dot (pottu) painted between their eyebrows. Yet at the end of this beautiful welcoming ceremony the children all rise from their squatted positions and in chorus they recite the Lord’s Prayer.

This is Kennedy’s school where we have been teaching for the past two days. It is a Christian school and although many of the students come from Hindu families the Head teacher, Francis, informed us that parents prefer to send their children here because they install discipline and hope into their young students.

The discipline, or rather lack of indiscipline, is immediately obvious and the children appear for our classes eager to learn and they all participate enthusiastically. My initial reaction to this “royal” welcome was one of panic. It is totally overwhelming and extremely humbling being presented with gifts from a school where the children attend classes with little more than a notebook and the teachers teach with only a single piece of chalk. No interactive whiteboards assist them in their quests to educate this future generation. Similarly the children suffer from the lack of technology. Although they belong to the 21st century generation they are do not know what it is to benefit from 21st century technology. I am not implying that ones education is determined by what technology is available to them, not at all, but I am simply using it as one very obvious examples of difference between facilities we (in the west) have and the schools here don’t. Or let me use another. I was told, and actually experienced during my short period of teaching in Scotland, how children are affected by the weather. It’s true they, like us, become easily distracted by the elements. If it’s raining outside they become a little more excitable (completely mental and hyperactive) and if it’s sunny (on the rare occasion it is in Scotland) they complain of the heat. Well here the elements really do predict the atmosphere in the classrooms. Some of them have no walls or they have holes in the tin roofs, so when it rains they get wet. Some are however fortunate enough to have fans cooling the students from the unbearable humidity here, or at least the one student sitting directly underneath it; there is no air conditioning. Or we could even use the example of shoes. Kennedy school and St Mary’s, which we have also enjoyed visiting, is one of the more affluent schools yet many students do not have shoes and during monsoon season (Sept-Dec) this can cause fevers and illness, which we have witnessed. Today we saw many children actually wade through deep puddles, making their way to school. Now that’s ‘willingness to succeed’ don’t you think!

Visiting these schools has been a real education to me but I trust they also learned something from our visit. I mentioned earlier that initially we were overwhelmed by their hospitality and generosity of our hosts. It made me question the justice and purpose of our visit. “What can we give them? How can we repay them for their kindness towards us?” The answer was obvious and so over the next two days we put our everything into giving them the best gift we have: the gospel.

We spent our mornings dressings up, using props made out of bits and bobs gathered from different hostel rooms and our larger than large rucksacks; it’s amazing what you can make with some tinfoil and a few wire coat hangers. The children loved Lorna’s impression of a 600-year-old Noah and they didn’t even flinch when we splashed (soaked) them with water during the forty days of rain! Our afternoon was blessed by a session of questioning and discussion with the senior students from St Mary’s school. They were keen to learn of our culture and what the real ingredients of haggis were. Many asked questions about our faith, our families and why we had chosen the name ‘Soul Touch’. We answered them all as best we could but I hope the answer to the latter is obvious. That is our greatest desire: that these children would see beyond our white skin and big smiles and they learn something of God’s love for them.

Our time at Kennedy school was a complete joy as well as being completely exhausting and we loved every second of it. We know that some of you peeps in St Andrew’s also fell in love with the pupils and staff there and so we pray that this is the start of a connection and a friendship that will continue and will bless all the children in both India and Scotland.

So we have been here only a day and already we feel very much at home, Not only are the people unbelievably hospitable (and Jackie you are so right, they are full to overflowing with grace) but their church is so active that one days activities feels like one weeks.

We started our day with the drive from our hostel to the church; we are hoping that tomorrow we can move somewhere a wee bity closer but we’ll wait and see. Taking in the mirage of colourful saris, acclimatising to the heat and working out why the men were wearing mini skirts (sorry the dhotis) were just some of the things that occupied our journey. We have not even seen the Taj Mahal yet but I am already convinced that India itself is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Although in the past we have seen people similar, the familiar littering of bodies huddled under rags, scattered along filthy streets bothers me. It disturbs my conscience and I ask God to break my heart. Strange thing to ask you may think but what I mean is that I asked him never allow me to become immune to such tragedy. The poverty here is obvious immediately and yet I am told that we wont visit the slums until Wednesday; I am incapable of imagining what hell the people there must be living in.

And so we reach the church. By now pastor Raj is sitting quietly (his camera safely charging after it’s frenzied outing to the airport) talking to an elderly gentlemen in a room that appears to be a church lounge or vestibule; over the course of the day it is occupied but people, young and old. Some come in to rest, some to drink water, some to use the bathroom and others to greet their new Scottish friends (measuring them for Saris). Later on a tour of these humble dwellings we discover that this is not the church it is Pastor Raj’s home…and well yes it is also the church. Let me explain.

Raj and his wife Vanitha have ministered to the people in Chennai for the past twenty years and during that time they have lived (with their daughter of 17 years) basically in the church. They have two small bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen (it may be humble but my goodness they manage to rustle up some delicious –non spicy- grub in there) and a sitting room, also known as the church community area. Now this feeling of humility is becoming all too well known. It is how we have been made to feel in every home we visited in Africa and now in India. They have very little (in comparison to our increasingly sickening wealth) yet they are so, so hospitable! In short…we love them to pieces! Our day of singing, dancing, acting and sweating (profusely) with the youth was concluded with an evening bible study in which we met some of the congregation. Lorna gave her testimony beautifully (it’s all on candid camera Helen so you’ll be able to watch, greet ‘n’ be wonderfully proud…I was ‘n’ I’m no even her mammy!).

Finally I can’t go to bed without at least one miracle of the day. I got my voice back. I know for many of you, you may have thought it a blessing that Little Miss Chatterbox was made to be quiet for a little while but in actual fact it was quite a frightening and depressing experience. You see it wasn’t my speaking voice that was affected, it just sounded huskier and sexier than usual. It was my singing voice! For anyone who knows me even remotely well you will know I love to sing. Nothing uplifts me more than singing in church; singing to God. So to have that taken away from me was horrible. It made me fear God.

Lots of people think of God as a God of love, solely a God of love. It’s easier to believe and makes us feel better. We convince he is a God that only protects nurtures and tends to his precious flock. Yes well so do I but what father loves without disciplining their children? What father nurtures without encouraging and at times forcing their children to grow? Exactly not a very good one. And so I have a wonderful father (yes as well as Bob Bonnar). I have a father in heaven whom I love dearly but whom I fear. I recognise that God has the power to give and to take away. Tonight he restored my voice and I was able to sing in church and minister to our friends there. I felt so happy but it was more than a temporary fuzzy feeling. I still have that feeling within me. I relied on God throughout my “no voice trauma”. ‘N’ no I’m not being a diva it was really that bad. One evening I tried to sing as we were walking. It so happened it was raining that evening and the roads were wet Lorna actually thought it was a frog making crude noises. I have never experienced that sort of pain in my throat before that no medicine seemed to cure. I was embarrassed and worried that I would never be able to sing again. Infact several times I thought about writing on the blog and asking you all to pray but it seems someone somewhere was. I know we were. We prayed…and prayed…and prayed and tonight I sang for the first time! Praise God.

N guess what, Kermit’s been booked for another gig tomorrow morning at Christ the Rock church! I’m off to rest my voice n pray that they’ll be blessed!

Love you all…n then some Erica x

So we headed for Israel- the Miami of the Middle East. There we were spiritually challenged, if not physically and we learned a lot. So back on the plane we waddled (seriously they have got food in Africa they just give it all to the Mazoongos).
We were warned of how thorough the Israeli securities were but nothing had prepared us for this. They emptied both our rucksacks. Lorna managed to escape with a brisk search but for some reason they seemed convinced I was hiding something…they even checked the under wires of my bras, all one of them! Eventually (after convincing them to repack it for me- they may have guns but hey we are cute) we landed in Cairo, where we dashed around seeing pyramids, camels and sphinx, smelling exotic perfumes -forced on us by Egyptian men- and at the end of it all we came out with very sore feet but hey at least they smelled sweet.

So this is where I think we are up to. And now we are in India…no wait a minute no we’re not we’re in Sri Lanka. We got our pretty little butts swiftly deported from India as we didn’t have “party invitations”,as Lorna would call them. Seemingly in India they call them Visas and you need them to enter the country.

So it would appear Soul Touch was ready to jump, crawl (at some points in the past two days we’ve even had to climb) over our first major hurdle; and what a blessing it has been getting over it. Before I continue breath out; it’s fine we are safe and feeling wonderfully blessed right now. After what has been probably the most exhausting forty eight hours of our mission so far we can proudly say we have lived to tell the tale. So here goes:

We left Cairo early after discovering (on our way to the airport) that in actually fact it was not Wednesday (the day our tickets were booked for) but it was still Tuesday. In our defense we were traveling in so many different time zones that really it was easy not get mixed up with what day we were on, or at least that’s our story and we’re sticking to it. Anyway Muhammad, our tour guide, new friend and a complete gentleman, spoke to Emirates on our behalf and changed the flights with no additional costs. However, it did mean that we had no time in Dubai and we literally rushed through the airport, flashing our UK passports (which it would appear nobody ever questions) and before we knew it we were in Chennai, India.

Now for the remainder of the story you must imagine a wonderfully Bollywood accent every time an Indian or Sri Lankan person is talking. It really is much more amusing and yes they do wiggle their heads when they talk; we are yet to discover why but it’s hilarious never the less and long may it continue!

So first Hoddit (Erica) approached the desk.
“Wer iz ur veesa,” an Indian gentleman seated behind a desk, masked by a computer screen asked as he shook my pink passport infront of me (thanks for that 3L2).
“I’m here to get one!” Hoddit replied, equally as confused as the irrate Indian. This had never happened before; when you arrive in a country you get a stamp..no? Then very calmly and quietly the gentleman gestured for me to stand to the side, beckoning Dottit (Lorna) to come forward.
“Eh excuse me. She is with me.” I stuttered, suddenly embarrassed, as Lorna was shooed over next to me. I was standing in the dunce’s corner! We stood for a while wondering why we were getting “special treatment” and then a man with a walkie talkie came and we learned why.

By this time the immigration office was completely empty and the hundreds of Indians who had once filled it had dispersed along with the few Mazoongos who had obviously planned for the party beforehand. We were led into a small room which was occupied by about ten men speaking, either English very fast, or another language. In either case their heads were bobbing ten to the dozen and the awkward glances they were making in our direction indicated we were in trouble.

The next voice to speak to us was all a bit bizarre and to be honest we are still waiting for a punch line. The way he delivered it, it sounded like a joke.
“Yoo can nut bee her.” He commanded, without so much as a glance in our direction.
Looking up for candid cameras I turned to Doddit. “What…eh? Is he being serious?” Both Lorna and I felt that this could not be happening to us. We were doing God’s work. How could we have messed up so badly? What would our families think? These thoughts plagued us but only for a short while. Within minutes we were escorted “out of India”!
“You can nut evan stand her,” we were told. So we didn’t; we came to Sri Lanka.

And so that is where we are now. Over the last forty eight hours we have tackled the monumental task of applying and eventually recieving an Indian Visa. It has been a long, slow, slow process but as always God has reigned supreme and proven more powerful than all authorities and fears. Not only has he done that but he has done it in a spectacular way. Lorna and I have been told at least one hundred times that there is no way you can obtain an Indian Visa in less than five working days. Infact it is “imposs-bubble”, “unherd of”, “it simpee cannut happun”. Oh but it has!

After being told to go away for the hundredth time and (literally) having doors shut in our faces we phoned the British High Commission. Yes it’s amazing how much strength, confidence and wisdom God gives you in these situations. Wisdom I certainly didn’t think I had. They in turn got in touch with the Indian High commission and within the hour we were sitting in the head office, with the main man: the deputy to the High Commissioner himself and our visas were being processed.

So we have another stamp in our little books and we have flights booked to go to Chennai tomorrow morning. There we will continue God’s work and meet with our dear friends who have been waiting patiently for us.

Finally thank you for all your prayers. They are powerful and today is a testimony that they re being answered!

Much love Hoddit and Doddit, the soul touchers.