It was our second day of house visits in Lusaka, the capital city of Zambia, when we came to our first house. It was a steep rocky climb to reach the front door. How could anyone live here?They have to climb up and down this everyday? I thought. We were greeted at the door by a sweet young woman in her mid-20s with a small girl clinging at her apron. She gave us a big, genuine toothy grin as she invited us in.
We were ushered into the living room which consisted of a 10×10 sq ft very colorful but dimly lit space, with only enough room to walk between the table and couches. Then I realized that there was a man sitting in the corner chair. He didn’t stand to meet us and shake our hands, as was customary, but instead offered a warm but weak smile and greeted us in Chichwe, “Moiboanji”, meaning Good Morning. Our local contact, Agnes, informed us that we were there to pray for his health. I, having watched the entire Grey’s Anatomy series and my teammate, Chandler, who had just graduated in International Health, put on our imaginary white coats and started asking questions. Donald, without delay, told us his story.
It was two weeks before and Donald had been getting ready for work. He lived in Ndola, in northern Zambia but was in Lusaka giving a seminar at the university. “My driver arrived but I was running very late that day” he said, “and I told him to wait, as I am very stubborn and persisted that I couldn’t leave until I had eaten breakfast”.
Donald never came back out.
Three days later, Donald woke up in a hospital bed with no recollection of what had happened to him. He soon learned how long he had been there and that his driver had found him and brought him to the hospital. He had pain in his chest and head and ached everywhere, with very swollen legs and feet. He had so many questions but the doctors had no answers. They watched him for a few days, but were inconclusiveon information and tests, so they released him to family he had in Lusaka. “Since then I have been in this chair, unable to do much. I am still in so much pain”, as he showed us his still swollen feet and took deep, exhuasted breaths from so much conversation. I asked if we could pray for him, which he gladly accepted. You will walk again, Donald I thought. I could tell it wasn’t my thought but something much more divine. I shared this with him and he just smiled and said “I hope you’re right”. We then invited him to come to our nightly prayer service, arranged for to come back and visit him again the next week and said our goodbyes to move on to the next family. Donald still weighed heavily on my heart.
It was that night as a few of us were standing outside of the church waiting for the service to start, when we saw 3 men walking closely and slowly together towards the church. My heart lept when I recognized Donald as the man in the middle! They were walking very slowly, both men supporting him on each side. How in the world was he able to get climb down those rocks in front of the house? and how will he climb these steps to the church? Wow, this man is a fighter. Slowly but surely he climbed his way up the steps to the church and took a seat in back left corner. He was exhausted but looked so happy to be there. He had come expectant.
After that night, Donald came to church every single service.
Day after day he came and eventually he was walking a little faster. One day, he only had one man helping him. A few days later, he was walking carefully but all by himself. His determination absolutley astounded me.This was a man who wanted to experience the fullness and healing of God.
I feel so often we settle for the unmiraculous. We just half heartedly pray for healing then move on with our day. Donald came just as expectant to a healing service at church as he would be if Jesus himself was standing right in front of him with an outstretched hand. That is true, childlike faith.
On our final Sunday, it was time for who ever wished to, to come up and give testimonies for that week and as I’m sure you can guess, Donald jumped right on up there. That man who I met in that dark living room three weeks earlier was nothing compared to the absolutley beaming individual standing before the congregation. He could not wipe the grin off of his face as he told of the slow but sure healing of the Lord to him throughout the month. “I am going home, a new man” he said. I knew when he said that he didn’t mean just physically, but his heart had been transformed as well.
That month, the Lord used Donald to remind me what His desire is for us as believers and as His children. We aren’t designed to just sit in our sickness and circumstances. He wants us to boldly approach Him and come expectant for whatever he wants to do. I don’t think that Donald knew if he would recieve healing, but he knew he just wanted to encounter a true living God who loved him and that was more than enough. I believe that through his simple trust and faith he was healed. “Go forth, for your faith has healed you”[Mark 10:46-52]
