There are some days on the Race that are harder to get through than others. Our time in Nepal was cut short due to the second earthquake and the health of our squad as a whole. We all experienced similar things, but all dealt with and processed the experiences differently. Just looking back through pictures or thinking about Nepal makes my heart drop from how much I miss it and want to go back. But for the health of the entire squad, we left a week early for an extra debrief in Pangkor, Malaysia where we had one on ones with our squad leaders as well as a licensed counselor.
Now, after our rest, we have split up into teams again and gone our separate ways to begin ministry month in Malaysia. For the past couple weeks we have been working with a local church here in Sungai Petani. Our ministry includes leading VBS/English classes Monday through Wednesday and working at the special needs home Wednesday through Friday. Our main ministry though is the prayer services lasting from 7 until midnight (sometimes later) every night. We take turns preaching and leading worship. This ministry has opened my eyes to what the Holy Spirit can do and different aspects of Gods character. I’ve learned preaching isn’t necessarily being a Bible scholar (although I’m sure it helps), but it’s humble vulnerability of sharing what Gods taught you.
I’ve learned so much in Asia on how to be hospitable. These people really have no bubbles or personal space. They share everything. They share their food. They buy water bottles without putting their mouths on them because they know they’ll be sharing with others. They share cars. They open up their homes to us every night. I’ve loved finding a family in this community. I love their dance parties, their craziness, their family dynamic. They actually remind me a lot of my church family back home. There’s a particular set of girls that I’ve gotten close to. They love each other like family.
They all divide up who drives us around. For lunch we are driven to Uncle Paul’s house where he makes us the most amazing Indian and Malaysian food. I remember the first day we arrived. We ate, drank, laughed, cracked jokes, and talked about movies. We were getting ready to leave when Uncle Paul asked us to pray for his 30 year old daughter who was suffering from kidney failure. He opened up a door that I had never noticed right next to us and we walked in. My body shivered as I saw her sitting in a wheel chair, pale, swollen, and shaking and groaning in pain. I’m not a doctor, but I could tell she was dying. We prayed for her as she was shaking in pain. We found out later that she was diagnosed a few years ago, but refused to receive dialysis treatment. She believed that God would heal her or take her home.
We continued to go to Uncle Paul’s house every day for lunch and every day I saw her door. I wondered if she was behind it that day. If she was asleep or awake. Could she understand what we were saying? Did she have to listen to us every day, talking and laughing, while she was behind that door suffering in pain? A pang of conviction would hit me every day to open up her doors and pray for her. But I said no.
And then one day, after prayer service, we were told we were leaving to go pray for her. They led us into her room as she was laid out on her bed. Her family stood around as we prayed. She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were barely open. She was seconds away from death. I don’t know why they asked us to pray but they did. So we took turns praying. I remember hearing words from a song run through my head over and over again, so I began to sing,
” It’s in the blood of the One who’s worthy. I know God has not forgotten all that’s lost and broken. So come and see the turning of the tides. Come and see His sons and daughters rise. For how could He who did not spare His own son not freely give us victory against the darkest of nights.”
I looked up and found myself alone next to the girl. My team had stepped back for the medical team that was now in the room. I looked back at the girl and realized that I was now laying hands on a dead body. I moved back as I watched the medics hook her up to a machine. I still remember the smell of the room, the look on her face, the machine beeping noises of a dead heartbeat. The medics took pictures of their license and signatures were signed to verify her death. Feeling overwhelmed I walked out of the room and into the bathroom and let myself cry. I have full confidence that she’s with Jesus, but I couldn’t hide the flooding feelings of guilt and confusion welling up inside me. Honestly I wondered if someone else had prayed if she would’ve lived. Pictures of her closed bedroom door kept flashing through my head and still do as I remembered seeing them every day, knowing she was behind it suffering. Was I quenching the Spirit when I refused to pray those days? I know God gives grace either way, but I couldn’t help playing the “what if” game, questioning if I had prayed those days if she would still be alive.
We continued to stay all through the night until about 2 in the morning. We talked to the church family, played with the kids, and talked to our youth girls as the family brought in the casket and prepared her burial. They played guitar and sang worship music. The people group that we are working with is from India so they speak Thamel (a local Indian language) instead of Malay. I can only understand a few words in Thamel, but one that I’ve come to recognize is “nandri”. It means “thank you” and they sing it all throughout their worship. I saw the girls father drop down to his knees as he sang “nandri” over and over again through his tears. How hard it must be to bury your own child.
I was amazed at the faith of the father telling God thank you for taking his daughter away. I was amazed at the daughters faith who had been in pain for over a year and still clung to her faith and belief, refusing treatment. Honestly, I was embarrassed at the lack of my faith that refused to pray. I still felt Gods comfort and truth pour in. God doesn’t need us, but chooses to use us and let us play a role in His plan. Our refusal doesn’t necessarily change the course of the future or the fact that God wants to use us again. I couldn’t help comparing this month to last. In Nepal, I felt God empowering me to rise up and here I shrank in fear? I started wondering how many times a day, Gods asked me something and I just wasn’t paying attention. If God truly is seeking a relationship with us, then surely He must always be speaking to us and we’re just not always listening. God will always give grace, but when an opportunity arises to rise up, why not say yes? What have we got to lose?
He has called me higher,
Jenn
