Slosh, swish. Slosh, swish.
I pull the curtain aside and peer out the window. An Indian woman across the street is pouring water from a bucket onto her cement slab in front of her house. She dumps, then sweeps using a short handle broom with long reeds. When her task is complete, another woman steps onto the slab with a small white bowl in her hand. She stoops and begins to apply a substance I can't quite make out onto the cement. Her motions are rthymic, methodical, ritualistic. Satisfied with the Hindu blessing she has given her home, she rises, opens the gate leading to her front door, and walks in.
Later, Rebekah and I play on the floor together inside her house. The box that housed her new car seat has now become her playhouse. Grandma draws block letters spelling out "JESUS" on the cardboard flap that graces the entrance of Rebekah's "house." We have invited the Lord to bless her house.
I am reminded of the Israelites who at God's command applied the blood of an unblemished lamb to the doorposts of their homes so that the death angel might pass over. I pray that the Hindu lady next door might come to know the true blessing that the Lord Jesus Christ brings to a home when the people within apply His blood to their lives. I hope that someday she will understand that with Jesus she can be safe. But with any other substitute, the blessing she thinks she is invoking on the house is really a curse. She is giving Satan an open door of opportunity to invade the premises and reek havoc over the lives within.
I am also reminded of Deuteronomy 6:9 which instructs parents to write the commands, decrees, and laws of the Lord on the doorposts of their homes so that the children can be reminded to obey Him and love Him with all their hearts.
And so, Grandma and Rebekah bless her playhouse.