Planting among Hippies in South East Asia

Curled up on a stone seat overlooking the murky Ganga River, she begins to talk. Below her are hordes of people; Half-naked Sadhus, travellers ladened with backpacks trying to look somewhat savvy in a world so different to their own, bedraggled kids rushing around with their hands full of floating candles and other trinkets for sale, men bathing in the shallows, devotees coming to the river to worship. Buffalo and stray dogs look for food, and boats softly make their way back and forth, packed with pilgrims fulfilling a life-long dream to visit this ancient city.

I’ll call her Goldberry because she reminds me of the character from Lord of the Rings, with golden hair and a voice like a bell. She, her husband and their son have been living in India for five or so years now. They run a Jesus Ashram, where they invite travellers to come for meditations on Jesus. They fall easily into conversation with eclectic peoples from Europe, Asia, India, Australia, the Americas, you name it, and invite them home for chai or a chat about Jesus or a place to sleep.

“It’s not an easy life”, she says, eyes fixed on a distant point, “but we know it’s where God has planted our family.”

Planting is an important metaphor for Goldberry. “I think beauty itself speaks directly about God. It reflects part of who He is,” a smile playing on her lips as she meanders throughout the garden she planted. Looking around, I see her creative touches everywhere. I see, too, how it reflects Jesus to others. How the beauty of this garden, the wall art, and the sacred space they have set apart within the Ashram, bears witness. They are living Jesus out loud in this hard place.

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