Mission to India

“Sometimes we plant trees underneath whose shade we will never sit. And sometimes we sit underneath the shade of trees we never planted.”

One Kingdom director Ryan Lee shared this analogy during White’s Ferry Road Church’s One Kingdom Sunday, just a few days before our team departed for India.

He was speaking about the vision that began nearly 60 years ago with a few men from our small, unlikely city of West Monroe, Louisiana. Those men began a work called World Radio (now part of One Kingdom). Their vision was to spread the good news of Jesus across the world in every language by partnering with local leaders who preach in their native tongue. God gave those men a holy imagination and a Spirit-led ambition to plant that tree. And today we are still gleaning the fruit from it as this ministry continues.

The idea of sitting underneath the shade of a tree that I had not planted was a resounding feeling I shared on our trip to India. You see, during the 1970s, my grandfather, Sam Hartline, traveled to India and met a teenage boy named Asee Darla. My grandfather shared Jesus with him, and Asee became a warrior for Christ in India. Their friendship and partnership in the Gospel continued for the next 50 years until Asee’s passing on December 25, 2021.

During that time, my grandfather visited India many times, and Asee visited the States and even stayed in my home on occasion. My grandfather also developed deep relationships with Asee’s children, Dara Krupa (affectionately known as Chinni), Sanjay, and Sowjanyavathi (known as Chinnu). They and their spouses have continued Asee’s ministry work.

Sixteen years ago, my father, Clayton Hartline, began going to India. Initially, he thought his first trip would be a one-time event, but then he fell in love with the people there—with their humbling hospitality and their deep love and eagerness for the Lord. So he kept going back again and again.

This trip, my daughter, Ella, and I, along with four others from the One Kingdom team (Ryan Lee, Robert Ables, Erin Stokes, and Kyle Gilmore), joined him. This trip represented four generations of my family in India—what an amazing God-story! So I came to India with deep roots yet fresh eyes.

Over the years I had heard many stories about India from my dad—some amazing, even unbelievable. My dad always seemed markedly changed when he would come back from a trip, like part of him was still there, or as if what he had seen and experienced had forever affected his perspective. I wanted to see for myself. What was life like over 8,000 miles away? I had only seen pictures, and I had only known Asee’s children through social media, text messages, and a few phone calls. What would it be like stepping foot on a place that seemed a world apart?

We landed in Chennai, India, at 3:30 in the morning. A thick cloud of pollution met us at the airport. I breathed shallow breaths. We were also met with tender smiles and extended arms from a family I had known of but had not truly known.

We tossed suitcases into car trunks and began the three-hour drive to Nellore, the sky hazy with choking smog and pending dawn.

My dad was one of the group who met us at the airport. He had been in India for over two weeks already, visiting villages, churches, and orphanages. He, Ella, and I rode with Chinni and her husband Suneel. My dad likened him to a Nascar driver in the way that he weaved around vehicles with a cool temperament and expert precision. Nervously, I gripped the seat in front of me. This was my first experience with Indian driving, and it was terrifying.

In India, the rules of driving are that there are no rules. The same applies to trash disposal. Trash is everywhere, some piled high on the side of the streets. India is a dirty place. I sat, eyes wide, in the back seat, my heart pumping as we reached speeds of 120 kilometers per hour, barely dodging other vehicles. The streets of India are a collective mess of cars, large trucks, motorcycles, auto rickshaws, cows, dogs, pigs, and pedestrians; moving north, south, east, and west—all at the same time. My fear was apparent, and my dad sat in the front seat next to Suneel, unflustered and even laughing. It was then that I decided that God had gotten me there for a reason, and I would have to trust Him to get me home safely.

So I began to get to know Chinni. She, Ella, and I shared the back seat. During my dad’s first trip to India, he spent a 10-hour bus ride sitting next to her, where they both shared their stories. Since then, they’ve had a deep relationship—almost like a father and daughter. She and her sister affectionately refer to him as “Papa,” the same name my own children, nieces, and nephews call him. In India, Chinni rarely leaves my dad’s side. In turn, on the car ride, Chinni and I began sharing our stories with each other. We talked about relationships, health struggles, and ministry work. She called me her “sister.” Her sweet children, Cherry and Dany, greeted us at the hotel in Nellore with roses. We rested for a short while from our long journey, and later that afternoon we went to our first village two hours away.

This village that we were visiting was one of 12 with which Chinni has relationships. She has hand-selected pastors in surrounding villages who share the same love for Jesus and vision for spreading the Gospel. In each of the villages, she ministers to the women there.

As we drove to the first village, called Vagathur, paved roads became dirt and our surroundings more rural. Our caravan of cars pulled up to a small church, the road lined with people waiting to welcome us. As we made our way down the dirt pathway to the church, the people showered us with flower petals, popped fireworks, and placed garland leis made of fresh flowers around our necks. Inside the church, a primitive building with concrete walls and floors, the people led us onto a stage and honored us further with colorful sashes.

I felt unworthy of such a reception–humbled. What had I done? Tears filled my eyes; I could not bear it. I was sitting underneath the shade of a tree that someone else had planted. I was seeing the fruit of a work that someone else had begun and many others had continued. Many preachers from surrounding areas were there, and my dad pointed out one to me who knew my grandfather. Some of the fruit that I saw while we were there was also a result of support given from One Kingdom donors during the Covid pandemic. Chinni had brought food and other supplies that were needed to many villages when India was under lockdown. People were not able to work and provide for themselves, and they remembered those acts of kindness.

There at Vaguthur Church of Christ, we sat in a packed room of preachers and other men, as well as an abundance of women and children. My dad preached, and Sanjay translated for him. We handed out blankets to the women and backpacks to the children. Afterward, we mingled with the people. Ella, Erin, and I connected specifically with the women and children. They met us with warm smiles and open hearts. They wanted to touch our hands, hug us, take pictures with us—again, their hospitality was humbling. The men served a meal of chicken biriyani (like our jambalaya) to the people. Then, Chinni served a meal prepared by the preacher’s wife to our team. The joy that she had in lovingly serving was apparent: to her, the opportunity to serve was a blessing. Our team then went to the back of the church and, fittingly, planted several trees, just as the sun was setting. In the dark, we then baptized five people. I was able to get into the baptismal, a modest concrete rectangle with shallow water, with my dad and be part of the experience. Finally, that evening before we left, we gathered in the preacher’s home and prayed over it, singing songs in both Telugu and English.

The next day was Sunday, so we stayed in Nellore and met with the church there. Ryan Lee preached a message about the hope that we have in Jesus. Ten sisters, who had been baptized the previous Sunday, were there

wearing white, signifying how they are now washed clean by the blood of Jesus. These women are part of Chinni’s Prayer House in Nellore. During the service, children from many communities poured into the room. They packed in the building and on the floor until no free space remained. They were continually shifting around, and some pushed onto the stage to make room for others. These are poor, neglected children that Chinni, with the help of other women, helps feed and disciple. They sang songs for us, and we taught them a few songs in English. Ella shared a short Bible story with them, and then we served them cake.

Again, the men served a meal of biriyani, and Chinni served our team food. We walked down a narrow road that runs alongside the church to see the house that Chinni and her husband Suneel are having constructed. It is packed in very closely with the other structures surrounding it, and the square footage is maximized with its more vertical orientation. Their hope is that it be a gathering place for the church there in Nellore.

After church, we rode motorcycles and auto rickshaws (open-air taxis) to the river to baptize a young woman who wanted to be baptized the previous week. Her family wouldn’t let her come then. This week she had gotten permission from her father to come and be baptized.

Again, like the rest of India, the river was dirty. As we walked down to its edge, we could see homes that were makeshift tents made of old blankets and banners. There were laundry lines where people washed and dried clothes. My dad said it wasn’t unusual for people to back their cars or auto rickshaws into the river to wash them. Trash lined the shore, and a group of pigs rummaged through it in the distance. The young woman was baptized, and we all shouted “Hallelujah!”—a term understood by all who were present.

That evening we visited the Prayer House for women in Nellore. Again, it was a meager building but packed full with women sitting on the floor, about 25 of them. Chinni spoke about its history and how difficult the women’s lives were during Covid. A few women shared their testimonies about not being able to work or get food; one shared about how she lost her baby. She is an AIDS patient.

Chinni later told me how she helped several of these women get food, medicine, and clothes during this time with the help of funds from One Kingdom. She is also transparent with them about her own struggles, and that has allowed them to open up to her. Many of these women work, but some of their husbands take their money, leaving them nothing to live on. Sometimes the only meal they get in a day is what Chinni feeds them. This precious group of women, who struggle to survive, saved their money to buy my dad a coffee mug, even after he urged Chinni not to let them—they would not listen.

Later that evening, we ate dinner at Suneel and Chinni’s home (Indians eat dinner very late). Their 13-year-old daughter, Cherry, had been working for several hours, preparing a meal for us by herself while we were at the Prayer House. It was the most delicious meal I ate while we were in India—there were at least 10 different dishes! In their home, I smiled as I looked up and saw a picture of my dad and grandfather on the wall. That night I sat next to Sanjay and spoke with him about many of the challenges of life in India.

The next day we met with the church in the village of Kavanuru, doing much of the same as we had done at the first village: visiting with the people, giving a message, handing out supplies, baptizing many, and serving a meal. Again, the people were incredibly hospitable, and the women and children were precious. When we’d flash smiles their way and catch their eyes with our own, they would light up and giggle. We spoke different languages and our lives look starkly different, but we have everything in common because of the blood of Christ. That evening on the way back to Nellore, we fed the homeless near a graveyard where many homeless live.

On day four, we visited Ammbakkam Village and then went to a medical camp where people were lined up to see a doctor. Chinnu, her husband, John Lee, and their young daughter joined us this day (they serve at two churches about five hours away from Nellore in Nagarjuna Sagar). Our group went to homes and prayed for many of the people.

The next day our group visited Irakkam Village, which is on an island. I stayed back due to illness and was able to get to know Chinnu further. She presented Ella and me with gifts. She said she and her husband had started saving a little each month when they found out we were coming, and they traveled and stayed two days in the city of Hyderabad to hand-select our gifts. The group going to Irakkam had to take an hour-and-a-half boat ride to get there. From here the One Kingdom team departed for Chennai, leaving my dad, Ella, and me to come home a couple of days later.

The final day my dad visited two villages: Ujjinaidu Kandriga Village and Vaguthur ST Colony.

Vaguthur ST Colony was by far the poorest village of them all. Chinni said that some people even look down upon the preacher of this village because of the lower caste (India’s social class) people to whom he ministers. No one goes there, so he decided to start a ministry there and live among the people. This village had not had a meal of biriyani in 10 years until we served them on this trip.

Heartbreakingly, some of the preachers at these villages didn’t think they had clothing good enough to wear for us during our visit. So Chinni bought white shirts for all the preachers to wear while we were there. At the last village, my dad felt led to take his own dress shirt off, leaving his undershirt, and give it to this preacher. This preacher quickly put it on over his own shirt.

One of the things that many people did while we were there was touch our feet to show honor. Another preacher leaned down to touch my dad’s feet, but my dad wouldn’t let him and instead knelt down and touched this man’s feet. The man began weeping, and he and my dad hugged one another for a long time.

Another poignant moment with these two men was when my dad stood arm in arm with them and another older preacher. The oldest man had worked with my grandfather and had discipled and trained the brother who wept in my dad’s arms. And that brother had discipled and trained the preacher to whom my dad gave his shirt. He encouraged them in what they were doing, the acts of both discipling and being discipled.

In fact, I heard him speak to many while we were there about what he calls the “multiplying ministry.” He encourages people to “multiply” themselves. In other words, we have a limited time on this earth and a limited reach as individuals. We as believers are to disciple others, who will then go on and disciple others, and so we “multiply” ourselves.

This was the nature of our journey. A couple of weeks after I got home, Chinni sent me a video from the first village we visited. In it she was holding my hand as we paraded through the excited crowd of villagers, showering us with heaps of brightly colored flower petals. I showed my husband Gary the video, and he laughed in amusement. It looked like a party. Every village we visited was like this. Our arrival was a huge celebration. It was unmerited favor. It reminds me of what heaven might be like when we get there. It reminds me of the celebration given in the story of the prodigal son from Luke 15. He deserved nothing—but was treated like royalty. It reminds me of the grace available to us all because of the finished work of Jesus Christ.

This trip leaves me asking, what trees am I planting for future generations? What trees are you planting? I’ll close with this parable from Jesus in Matthew 13:31-32:

The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.

God will take the meager seeds we plant in our everyday lives and grow them in ways we never thought possible. All that He asks from us is to do the planting.

Erica Osborne is an English teacher at Claiborne Christian School in West Monroe, Louisiana. She and her husband, Gary, along with their two teenagers, are active members of White’s Ferry Road Church.