Beyond Our Borders - From the Journal of a Wanderer

Author’s Note:
I consider myself a wanderer in that I tend to vigorously and sometimes purposefully roam. My husband says I have a wanderlust about me that keeps me searching. For what, you ask? Well, truth, I guess. There’s so much about life that God wants to teach us…so much about His heart that He wants us to experience. So, I wander with purpose in order to learn.

My 20 years of travels with The Salvation Army’s Video Production Facility (OMM Productions) have taken me around the world to over two-dozen countries where I have seen and smelled and heard what tourists will never experience. These wanderings beyond the borders of Dallas, Texas, have played a major role in moving me beyond my own personal boundaries of spiritual, mental and physical safety. God has shown me a Salvation Army that feels His heartache and shares His unconditional love with the people of the world.
I humbly share with you now an excerpt from one of my journals in the hopes that it will inspire you to search beyond your own borders.

The Traveler


August 25, 1996
Sunday, 5:00pm
Mumbai, India

The streets are…well…there are no streets. They’re more like narrow walkways, and on either side are one-room homes made out of cinder block. The walkway is probably about four feet across and made of large stones. This makes walking very difficult and uneven.

A cement trench runs along the walkway just in front of these shacks. So, you only have about 2 or 2-1/2 feet of walking space. It’s so narrow; we can barely fit through carrying our video equipment.

The trench is used for garbage and human refuse. I wince at the smell and try not to look too closely. These people have to step over this trench when walking out the front door of their homes.

It’s incredibly hot and humid. Walking through these camped paths you feel the heat pressing in on you making the smell almost unbearable.

Here, in this squalor, the Army was led to establish a corps. We are on our way to the Jerimeri Corps to attend the evening service. Located in one of the suburbs of Bombay, now called Mumbai, this tiny corps serves thousands of untouchables. Though the government stance on the centuries-old caste system is that it officially no longer exists… my colleague and I are hit with it like a blow to the stomach in all its utter poverty and filth.

The one-room building, also made of cinder block, was overflowing with people. The women sat on floor on the left of the room, the men on the right. Not an inch of floor space was left vacant in this 30 x 30 room. No stage, no carpeting, no chairs with the exception of a small wooden bench at the back. It was just four walls with a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

I sat down on the bench trying to take it all in…the journey down all the walkways and then this lowly place called a “Salvation Army corps.” How could God be here? It suddenly became overwhelming.

I wept uncontrollably as I screamed in my soul, Where are you, Lord?!
I felt nothing but pain and anguish.

Drowning in my own grief, I hadn’t realized that these people had started to sing. What is this?! What are they singing?!

“This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long.”

Blessed Assurance?! You’ve got to be kidding! What’s so blessed about this existence?!
In anger I continued to shout at the Lord in my soul, how could you let these forgotten people suffer so? Where is your mercy, where is your peace amongst this filth and poverty? WHERE ARE YOU, LORD?

Then, the Lord quietly spoke. My head shot up as I looked around searching for the one who was speaking to me. His words cut through to my soul.

“Little one, I am right here…in this little room, in all this squalor and pain. This is my dwelling place for these my children.”

I couldn’t breathe. Never in my life had I heard the Lord’s voice in such an audible manner. Then, I realized that the pain and anguish I was feeling was not of these people, but my own. Who in their right mind wants to experience this kind of pain that reaches to the very depths of one’s soul?

But, this is what God requests of us, I realized. To see through His eyes; to smell what He smells; feel what He feels; and to carry His cross.

Lord, have mercy on me. Forgive my hardened heart. Awaken my soul. Abba. Father. Thank you for your faithfulness to these, your people. Make me worthy to support You in Your work here in this little room called The Salvation Army Jerimeri Corps.