I am working among the poorest of the poor, right in the heart of a huge Indian city, ministering the love of Jesus Christ to the people.  I talk to them, pray for them, and try to give them a sense of hope, to let them know that I care for them (and I do!).  I have been doing this now for the past two years; who knows where it will lead me?  I have seen lives changed and souls touched; I owe it all to the sovereign grace of Jesus Christ.  I know I didn't do it: it was ALL Him.

I decided to go into the mission field when I was in elementary school, right after I gave my heart to Jesus Christ.  At first, I wanted to stay here in America and help people here, but the gentle whisperings of the Holy Spirit prompted me to go to India.  This was two years ago.  I am still here.  I am now seventeen, nearly eighteen, years old.

What breaks my heart the most are the children.  They live in such squalor: many of them live in dilapidated homes with no running water or toilets, no place to really cook their meals, and only a small room (or two) where they can sleep.  Their clothes are mere rags and a lot of them are sick or are in the process of recovering.  Their faces are dirty and devoid of all emotion, but their big, dark eyes shine with hope.

Some of the children are involved in prostitution.  Men come and seduce little girls and they work for these men.  They are way too young to even think about something so grown up like sex; I see these beautiful young girls on the streets, hoping to  hook up with a prospective male client, posing seductively, even though they are only six, seven, eight, or nine years old.  It is absolutely heartbreaking!

I see little boys, some no more than four, five years old, sleeping in subway stations or begging for food or money: wherever I go, there are tiny boys clamoring at my legs or hips, begging piteously for something to eat or some spare change.  Some of these little ones look like they haen't eaten a decent meal in months: they are painfully skinny, their bellies distended from malnutrition, and their arms and legs resembling sticks.

I see disabled children and adults sitting on the sidewalks or streets, begging for change or food, and I see children with their faces split from cleft palates or other facial anomalies hoping desperately that someone will come and fix them, so they can look like anybody else.  They are too poor to even afford something as luxurious as surgery or to see a doctor whenever they get sick or need help.

The problem is so much bigger than I, a mere teenager, am; but I know my God is bigger.  I cannot do much except offer comfort and try to tell these people about Jesus Christ.  

It is enough to break my spirit, but with His help, I try to go on.  I have to.  To give up would only destroy these people; this is why I keep on doing this because it is the Lord's commandment, and when He speaks, I have to listen.  No other choice in that!

What keeps me going is seeing a child or an adult realize that they cannot live without Jesus, so they end up accepting Jesus as their saviour.  I pray with them (in their native tongue) and they end up hugging me, thanking me over and over again, for coming and telling them about "this Jeezuz".  

It is so gratifying to know that some people finally "get it" and because of me, no, because of Jesus Christ, their lives are now filled with hope.  

I thank God for my parents, who were both missionaries; if it were not for them, I would have never followed in their footsteps, doing the same thing they were doing before they were killed two years ago in a car wreck.  I am now on my own, but God (Jesus) is prompting my every step, giving me the right words, and helping me minister to these broken people as only He can do.  

Lord certainly knows I can't do it by myself!

~To be continued.~