I looked down into my tin cup, dented and scraped from years of use. I saw buffalo milk, white floating chunks, and water from the local well mixed together. It tasted sour, was gritty, and the chunks chewy.

I just turned to Tony, smiled, and said, "Welcome to India." We smiled politely, grimaced, and proceeded to down the liquid. At least Tony did. The villagers were so excited about his "love" of this drink called "lassi" and made sure that his cup remained full. I just worked on explaining my stomach problems.

I was in India.

On the Other Side of the World

I don't know if I was ready for India. Fifteen hours on a flight was just the beginning of a journey that took me places that now seem like a dream. The first day I absolutely hated it. By the end of my two weeks I was sitting in the airport praying that I could return to this beautiful country as quickly as possible.

My friend Tony and I, along with our translator, were one of six teams who were getting up at around 6 a.m. each morning, heading out into the blistering heat, riding rickshaws, walking a little way, jumping on a crowded bus, then traveling a few kilometers to villages where we hoped and prayed that we would find the people of a particular un-reached people group — the Gadaria.

We didn't know what to expect when we arrived at these people's homes. We didn't know how they might welcome us when we shared our stories of how Jesus Christ had transformed our lives and saved us from sin and death. But we endured the oppressive heat, sweat, persistent flies, and delightful drinks for the sake of the gospel.

The smells we encountered were like nothing I had before experienced. It was sweaty. I could literally taste the spices in the air. Everything reeked of sewage and pollution, food and people. The dust and the smells of the country infiltrated my lungs and refused to let go.

The flies were pervasive, swarming in numbers one could imagine found only in trash dumps or sewage systems. They were constant, thick, and never left us alone. The sewage streamed along the sides of streets we walked on, streets that were crowded with people, stray dogs, camels, bicycles, motorbikes, cows, beggars, buses, trucks, rickshaws, tractors, and more people.

They all stared at us, constantly asking our translator why we were there, why these white men had come to see their village, why we were riding buses and not taxis, and where we were from. If we stopped, a group would instantly form, just gawking at the two white, American college students who had come halfway around the world to visit them and share a story.

Eyes Full of Sin and Shame

In India, I shared a story I've told time and time again. However, for the first time I shared this story with men, women and children who had never heard of a man called "Jesus."

It was shocking.

I looked into the eyes of men and women whose hearts were full of sin and shame — and they knew of no way to escape. They were trying so hard to worship the gods they knew, but none of that satisfied. They were all struggling financially — their children in rags, their homes rickety and filthy. Many marriages were broken or breaking. We prayed for men who beat their wives, children who ran away from their homes, and women who could have no children.

The thing is, though I'd never spent time with people in such difficult circumstances, I had seen the same longing in their eyes before.

I've seen those eyes in Washington, D.C. The same eyes I've seen in Chicago, Los Angeles, Birmingham, Nashville, Louisville, and every city I've ever visited. They were the same eyes of an atheist college student with whom I shared the gospel. They were the same eyes of many I've worked with. They were the same eyes of every sinner who is in desperate need of grace and forgiveness.

I had the answer that every one of those eyes were looking for.

The gospel.

The gospel never changes; the common predicament of everyman never changes. My heart and your heart are just as full of sin and blindness as the man I sat across from in a home in India. We all need a Savior. We are all broken.

From Success to Significance

So many people with whom I speak are struggling for success in their lives. They want their lives to mean something, so they go about doing what they can to be successful in the eyes of the world, their church, or their friends.

But it seems that no matter what they do, their longing for happiness is never satisfied. Even the poorest of the poor in India were struggling to find some sense of accomplishment. They saw me and wanted my "success." The tragedy is that I've found even my "success" to be in no way satisfying.

Of course, I feel the same pull for success that everyone feels. The thing is, though, that Jesus Christ alone offers us the significance that we all long for and we all need.

He means for children, as soon as they know Christ as Lord and Savior, to be praying: "Jesus, I will go anywhere and do anything anytime you say. Just show me and help me. I want my life to count for you in the midst of all the spiritual and physical poverty of the world."

He means for adults, in every vocation, to pray, "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening. I am willing to stay in this job for your glory. And I am willing to be deployed in a totally new frontier for your glory. But whatever you do, Lord, don't let me waste my life on insignificant pursuits. Don't let me live for luxury while millions live without Christ and without hope. Let me accomplish the work that you gave me to do for your glory." ~John Piper

When I chose to go on a short-term mission trip, I asked myself whether it was worth it to travel across the world to share the gospel. The answer: an emphatic "Yes!" What I found was significance in being wrapped up in the Lord's glorious passion for sharing the gospel with the nations.

The All Surpassing Greatness

Each one of us struggles for significance in this life. We tend to measure success by the world's standards, hoping to find meaning through what the world demands of us or even what our own Christian peers may say.

My life should not be about the success of some kind of ministry or work for God. My life should be about finding significance and joy in the greatness of Jesus Christ. It should be about losing myself in the story of the cross. The significance of my life should be found in the gospel. There is no reason to follow after "success" as many around me define it, because it's just too elusive: I will never find it.

India was worth every smell, every bug bite, every fly, every minute of the repercussions of spicy food. India helped open my eyes to the desperation of every person who needs to hear the gospel.

Our culture's definition of success had absolutely no relevance in the remote villages in India. The gospel, though, was relevant. The gospel alone had a lasting significance for the people I met.

As I swallowed that lassi, I swallowed my pride. The most significant thing I was able to offer to these people was not anything of myself, but was simply Christ, the Light of the world. Which reminds me of something Paul wrote in Philippians 2:14-15: "Do all things without grumbling or questioning, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world."

Visiting India made me freshly aware that the gospel alone has lasting significance for the world. As a result of that new-found awareness, I'm freshly driven to take part in the story of the kingdom of God wherever He places me, whether that's a cubicle or the Congo.

With each passing day, I find increasing significance in the growth of His kingdom. May I find my success in His kingdom as well.