thunder
The streets were crowded in that early evening of mid December in Ahmadabad, India. The court order for custody of my daughter had been signed. We crossed the treacherous threshold to the ashram and wound our way to the entrance for that last visit. My daughter would be soon in my full time care and no longer a ward of the State of Gujarat. For six months I had jokingly told the lawyer there that when the order for Ahsha’s custody was signed, the heavens would cry for joy and Gujarat would get its rain. The monsoon had been virtually nonexistent that year. As we entered the dimly lit ashram from the gently falling rain, a clap of lightening descended with a thunderous roar and all went black in those halls of Odhav. Suddenly, candles arrived as we were escorted to the Superintendant’s office. Mosquitoes, drawn by the candle light, were so thick I had to cover my mouth and nose with one hand while signing the release papers with the other. In the candle glow, my daughter, wrapped in a blanket I had purchased for her six months prior, was handed to me. I held her close as tears of joy streamed down my face in gratitude that we were finally together. As we drove away from the ashram, the rain pummeled the packed earth, quenching its thirst. We soon arrived at the home of our host to the exclamation of a neighbor in the doorway, shouting with arms raised to heaven; “all of India is blessed because of this child.” Although much more had to be accomplished, the expression of gratitude and blessing that evening would serve as fuel for the journey that lie ahead. Faith, hope, and love have sustained through the years as God’s mercy and grace have been poured out.