I’m tempted to kiss the ground after exiting the car. It had been a three hour car trip from Rajamundry. I would have been happier if we had taken more time but fewer risks.

It’s not the first time that I have thought “India is even more __________ than anywhere else I’ve ever been.” You can insert “crowded,” “poor,” “lost,” or even “loud.” In this case, the sentence is completed by “crazier on the road.” I’ve traveled the roads of 45 countries, on everything from German autobahn to winding mountains road in Peru. This experience tops them all.

Paved roads, dirt roads, really bad dirt roads – all were packed with people in cars, loaded vans, trucks, motorbikes, and bicycles. All of them seemed to be in a great hurry, and possess great nerves or great foolishness.

At one point we passed the still smoldering wreckage of two full-sized tractor trailers which collided head on. Despite my concern, we arrived safely in Sathupalli.

After preaching at another (loud) meeting and again praying for the attendees, I follow my hosts from the open meeting tent to the small church building next door for a meal. We eat with our hands, a typical practice in India.

This modest church building, like most of the village churches I was in, was clearly not built for a 6’4” Westerner. It seems as though I hit my head on every rural doorway I used. The churches were typically constructed from a frame of bamboo and covered in palm branches.

This day is repeated several more times as I continue travelling with Suku Thomas, visiting church planters in his organization.