In English, Year 8 students asked someone they look up to as a mentor about a personal story from their life. They then had to write a story from their mentor’s perspective that captured that moment. Tessa Perrot wrote this in response to this task. It’s a trye story about her mentor.
It is so hot. I open my eyes after a restless few hours of sleep, which did nothing to make me feel less tired. It’s still dark but I can make out vague, hazy shapes in the room. The girls lay motionless beside me, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut. My husband Joel is lying (like last night) on the hard concrete floor, his chest rising and falling in time with the clock on the wall. I sigh and look up at the fan just as it slows and comes to a stop. The power is out, again. Only time can tell when it will turn on again. Shadows seem to stretch across the room, which echo the shadows of anxiety in my mind. Have we done the right thing, in dragging our family all the way to India? Just to have to go through this?
Sleep will be impossible unless I find a way to cool down. The best way I have discovered so far is standing under the shower in full clothing until I’m soaked through, then to lie on the bed and try to get some sleep. I know I’ll be dry by morning as I carefully sit up, trying not to disturb the girls. I slide off the bed and stand up. A single nightstand looks lonely against the far side of the room and the bare walls seem to stare back at me. A ray of moonlight pieces through the gap in the curtains. The room smells musty, humid and stuffy. No air circulation whatsoever. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead.
I tip toe through the room like a mouse, stepping over our luggage and bags, sneaking, slipping through the darkness. I finally reach the shower and stand under the nozzle. I turn on the tap and cool water streams down my back, soaking my clothes and plastering my hair to my face. I stand there with the water running for a good few seconds. Taking in the coolness of the water as it streams off my nose and outstretched arms. It feels glorious. I turn off the tap with a sigh of contentment, knowing that I will be cool for at least a few minutes. I walk back to bed, staring at the wall as thoughts trample through my head like a herd of noisy elephants. Have we really made the right decision? The question pops up into my head for the hundredth time. I can’t stop thinking about what would have been better for my kids. If I had said no to God’s calling and this missionary trip, we would all be laying in our cool and comfy beds, under the air con in Perth, Australia, not here in India, in the sweltering and unbearable heat, at risk of illness and with an uncertain future for the long tiring weeks ahead.
My thoughts suddently ventuyre back to yesterday. I remember standing on the dusty and hot street, watching my kids happily playing in the water with the local children. Grins spreading across all their faces. They were all so happy, even though they couldn’t speak the same language. They were having so much fun. Splashing in the water, laughing and playing. I smile at the thought. My own kids who were well cared for, with sufficient electricity, clean water and so much more playing with these children who have almost nothing, yet they put their differences aside and still had such a good time. These people were grateful for every single thing they had, and it made me think of how much we take things for granted. Like air conditioning, clean water, fresh food and so many other things. Maybe we have made the right decision after all. Maybe God was right. I am here to help these amazing people and spread His word. I close my eyes, my heart full of trust in God. Yes, this is difficult, yes this is uncomfortable, and yes, this is scary. But God never said it was going to be easy. He didn’t say much at all really, other than “go.” I try to go back to sleep. I’ve taken my first step. I have gone. Now I just need to trust. And I feel the rightness of this echo in and through my heart, banishing the shadows.
