“It is not how much you do but how much love you put in the doing.” – Mother Theresa
He was crying, irritable, dirty, covered in flies, and as he followed his mother around the homestead his eyes begged to be picked up… Poor kiddo clearly was not feeling well.
It was explained this little guy and his sister had fevers. With no access to medicine he was left to let his little malnutrition body fight it off. And he was miserable.
As we sat on the straw mats visiting with his family my heart broke for the little guy. He looked pitiful. His cry pierced my heart.
I felt helpless.
If my niece were sick I would give her some children’s Tylenol and a popsicle and let her curl up on my lap while we watched Elmo. But I didn’t have any of those things. Not knowing what to do but knowing that I had to do something I turned to my team and said; “I think we need to pray.”
They joined in without hesitation and we prayed in unison over the sobs.
“Lord, I feel helpless right now. I have nothing tangible to give to this child to take his fever away. But I have you. I almost feel silly asking you to take this fever away but I believe you can and you will. I read the story of how you spoke and took the fever from Peter’s mother’s body just this morning. This little guy is so miserable so I pray in this moment that in your name the fever would flee his body and he would stop crying.”
Silence.
I am not entirely sure why I was so surprised that he went quiet as I said those words but in that moment I wanted to get off the mat and jump up and down. I cannot say with 100% certainty that this child’s fever went away.
I am choosing to believe it did.
I am choosing to believe the same Jesus who took the fever from Peter’s mother took it from this little guy.
He looked better instantly and he was no longer crying.
The mountain experience was weird for me. Simple things such as an eye infection, bronchitis, arthritis pain, and high blood pressures ran rampant. Yet these things could be cured with a medication… Medication, that I am used to having readily at my disposal.
But not there. Not when I needed it.
So I would listen to “my patients” tell me their symptoms and then turn to the only thing that I know could cure them…
Jesus.
In the moments I felt inadequately equipped we prayed.
In moments I had nothing tangible to offer but a diagnosis we prayed.
We prayed a lot.
And we saw some cool things. A sweet little preschooler had a nasty eye and ear infection. With no antibiotics in tow we prayed. And in two days she had no eye infection and claimed her ear did not hurt anymore. Fevers vanished. Doors to Hindu homes that had previously refused Christians were opened because they heard a nurse was coming. That day physical needs trumped spiritual conflicts. Because of a degree He asked me to pursue seven years ago He was able to show up big in the village of Khairang years later.
People from all over the mountain came to sit on the straw mats next to me to share their medical problems. At times it was thrilling. I felt like I was Dr. House and was putting pieces of the puzzle together to figure out a diagnosis. At other times it was exhausting. Almost everyone had an ailment and they all wanted to be “seen.” The thought of Jesus with crowds of people flocking to Him for healing kept coming to mind. In those humbling days, I realized years of prayers to be His hands and feet, to heal the sick, to use my [limited] skills for His Kingdom were being answered.
In the hospital, back home, I hate to say that prayer was often my last line of defense or used in dire situations.
But not here. Because more than anything I needed it.
I needed Him. He's became my first line of defense.
