Returning to the barracks

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Yes, it is that time of the night, quite normally Mumbai-ish.

I’ve been visiting houses and praying while the accompanying office bearers write receipts for cheques and cash. It’s the Diocesan week and I have been learning.
I am observing, experiencing the new, the now. Widows giving beyond their means for mission. Retired Gulf-returns posing questions with flexed muscles on the relevance of this work, merely a subtext of their childish grasp on the Gandhi papers, called Money. People living in slum like areas adding the zeroes to the right of their triple digit daily wages.

More than ever it was my free course on ‘Life’. I was learning what frustration means; what desperation does, what giving reveals, what praying makes and what love breaks. I have been learning to pray from the innermost parts of my heart. I have been changing.

And nobody told me to. That’s the best part.

It’s happening and I feel it.

I don’t mind the time. The Creator of all time has given me enough and more.

And I will continue to grow in Him.

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