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Tsunamis, Brain Tumors, and the Laundry
Culture Shock
As we rode in a crowded van through the streets of Chennai, India, pungent odors blew through the windows on thick, humid air. The smell of burning trash, sewage, exhaust, animals, curry, and saffron swirled in my nose, settling at the back of my throat like a cold virus. A barrage of horns heckled my ears like woodpeckers as cars, buses, rickshaws, mopeds, and bikes navigated the rough roads like agitated ants. Though we traveled in the wee hours of morning, the streets bustled like high noon in New York City.
I had come to Southern Asia as part of a ten person team on a post-tsunami short-term mission trip. Our in-country contacts, the India Gospel League and Acts of Mercy, are organizations in the business of hope; they offer the hands of Jesus by meeting practical needs of the Indian people from beaches, to villages, to city streets. My expectation in coming was that God would use my story to bring a rainbow of hope to others as well.
A few years ago, my five-year-old daughter, Peyton, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was hospitalized for a month. While she endured tests and surgeries, I learned lessons of trust and surrender. Though I was afraid and confused, my faith in Jesus was the rainbow that got me through a dark time. While in the hospital, I encountered numerous frightened parents whose children were suffering, who also needed hope but had no faith. It broke my heart. Through the ordeal God not only healed my daughter, but opened my eyes to the universal suffering in the world. He put a burden on my heart for the people of this nation and I felt called to India to share my story.
And yet, as I looked out the van window at the pandemic need, I felt inadequate and disheartened. Thatched huts were juxtaposed to skyscrapers, cows and dogs wandered freely; people slept in the streets. The sights, sounds, and smells of this densely populated country jumped at me like paperclips to a magnet and by the time we reached the hotel, I was exhausted. Thoughts crowded my mind like pushy tourists through a turnstile. I had been naïve to think I could make a difference. Why was I here, really?
Helping Out
Over the next nine days our team worked with children in orphanages and tiny villages. We made balloon animals, passed out crayons, coloring pages, and stickers. We performed skits and taught tiny feet the game of Chinese jump rope. We gave lots of hugs to children hungry for love. And we prayed, asking Jesus to bless these young souls, some abandoned by their families, some who were sick, and all who needed hope—the hope only Jesus can give.
We participated in a pastors conference, a church dedication, and helped distribute rice to widows, many whose husbands had been swept away by the tsunami. Most events took place in churches, simple structures with cement floors. On one occasion, I sat cross-legged on the floor, shifting this way and that, trying to get comfortable, soaking up the surroundings. A few chairs, faded like bubble gum chewed 'til the color is gone, were ghosts of their once vibrant red, blue, and pink. Lizards clung to the walls, eavesdropping on our testimonies. Wobbly fans were suspended from the rafters with suspect twine. Women conversed casually, moving at the speed of life, not the speed of a clock.
Lesson One: A Servant Heart
The women were the most beautiful part of India. The colors and designs of their traditional saris brought the villages to life and despite living in huts with dirt floors and often no electricity, their hair was always perfectly coiffed and adorned with fresh flowers. Their faces were soulful, a testament to their hard life, with privation and heartache written in deep, premature wrinkles. Their dark skin was almost white at the ankles where their feet, dusty and calloused, blended with the chalky earth. The women seemed so at one with the environment and yet were such a contrast to it; like bright flowers piercing a meager landscape, they brought light and exquisiteness wherever they went. I felt privileged to witness the beauty of their vibrance, strength, and humility.
Watching the Indian women beat the dirt out of their clothes on rocks, hand grind the food for our meals, and generously offer small cups of chai tea, taught me the lessons of a servant heart. I was ashamed to think how often I complain about chores as a hindrance instead of embracing them as an opportunity to serve. As a woman in America, I try to do more and be more; goals and deadlines dictate my existence. Now, I realized, I’d been missing the point.
Mother Teresa, a longtime missionary in India said, "We can do no great things—only small things with great love." How ironic it would take going to India for me to truly understand. Until now laundry had been something to get out of the way so I could move on to the important stuff, but I didn’t have to go across the globe to share the love of Jesus. As a mom, my ministry starts at home. Having clean clothes and full tummies is the launching point for my children and an opportunity for me to contribute to their fundamental well-being. Sometimes, love is in the details.
Lesson Two: Trust in All Things
Dealing with Peyton's brain tumor ripped me from my comfort zone and forced me to surrender everything to God—even the life of my child. Yet here in India, a year later, I was anxious again: fretting about my own health, fearing mosquitoes, and counting my anti-malaria pills each day like a greedy banker. I worried about what to eat, where to go to the bathroom, and doubted I could really make a difference. I was in a remedial class of Trusting God 101.
"The only risk is not taking one." This quote on the back of a team member's shirt restored my perspective and focus. A few months earlier, through all the preparations and fundraising, I had trusted God to provide for every detail, but once in India, even though I believed God was in control, doubt crept in.
I realized trusting God means to surrender every detail. It is keeping our eyes on Him and releasing control—control of the routines, habits, and environments that make us feel safe. Living a life for God may not feel safe all the time, but whether at home or halfway across the globe, our peace and security is in Him. God is in the driver’s seat; I don’t need to “help” him by applying my imaginary brakes and trying to navigate. I simply need to acknowledge His omniscience and yield to His direction.
I had big aspirations of touching hearts for Christ, but God changed my heart instead. He used the Indian people to teach me and the takeaway lessons were life-changing.
Back in Suburbia
Upon returning from India, my house looked like a disaster zone of its own. Toys and piles of mail were everywhere, dust bunnies lurked in the corners, and laundry—the laundry was sky-high. My initial feeling was one of overwhelm. Then I took a deep breath and remembered the Indian women demonstrating love through service. Though I don’t suddenly have a penchant for the spin cycle, I now see simple acts of domesticity—cooking, cleaning, and creating a beautiful home— as practical ways to love my family. I can be Jesus’ hands in every moment if only I embrace the opportunity to do so. It is a daily choice to bless others the way God has blessed me.
Trusting God is also a daily choice. Since returning from India, Peyton has had MRI’s to check for tumor regrowth and suffers from headaches on a regular basis. Some days, when she is hurting, fear grips me like a wave sweeping me into an ocean of dread. Other days, I am calm, knowing God never fails.
Romans 8:28 helps me remember no matter what happens or where I go, He is with me, and “in all things God works for the good for those who love Him.”
Once again, God demonstrated His love for me and taught me His ways are perfect. There are opportunities to experience and share His love in every moment, if only we choose to see them. God took me to India to remind me I can trust Him, not only with brain tumors and tsunamis, but with my simple, everyday life—even with the laundry.
– Celeste Palermo
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