There I was, laid flat out by something… dysentery, probably.

“Chris! Come have lunch with us!” cried my host brother.

“Not now, Shadid. I think I’m dead.”

“Stop eating outside food. Isn’t your medicine working yet?”

“It’s just been two days, Shadid.”

“Quit dying on us. Go to the doctor already and they’ll give you a shot. On the bottoms. And then we can go to the wedding tonight! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

I was weak and exhausted. I had slept 4 hours the night before, with all lights on in the room—chiefly because of the bedbugs. But also because of the restaurant crepes that I ate the previous day, which were—conveniently—poisoned.

“Inshallah I can come to the wedding, Shadid,” I whispered, wondering how he could possibly assume that my greatest joy this evening would be found escorting a motorcade in an hour-long Indian wedding procession through the streets.

Then Shadid plopped down on my bed and made me watch a Hindi action movie with him until I fell asleep, so I wouldn’t feel alone. A couple of days and a few medicines later, I got better.

It is an incredible feeling to find yourself at home—to have not just your personal space owned by the many people of India, but also your heart, your hopes. The hospitality of the Indian homestay is infectious.

I’m living in an Indian home, walking Indian streets, starting to have Indian conversations, and learning what really matters to Indian people. And I find I care less and less about the daily inconveniences.

Who tugged me into their room to watch the Cricket World Cup? Shadid’s family.

Who has gracefully taken out most of the peppers from the night’s meal? The family of Shadid.

Who has shared their hearts, hopes, and dreams? Well, you get the picture.

My host family has been a huge part of feeling at home. As long as I’m in India, I hope I’m always there.

“The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14, The Message).

These neighbors have welcomed me. I pray for the Word to be welcomed by them.

Shadid is beginning to welcome the Word. He seems tough, but when we pray, the Spirit really moves him. He wants to know his destiny and what God has made him for. As we walk through stories like Gideon and Elijah, I’m praying for him to hear the voice of God directing him to Jesus.

Please pray for these welcomers, that they would welcome the Word.

Original article: www.frontiersusa.org/blog/article/infectious-hospitality