The fog machine slowly began to fill the large concrete room we were in. Rows of pillars holding up the roof made a completely unobstructed view of the stage nearly impossible. Strobe lights intermittently illuminated a sea of students, whose jumping up and down now looked choppy and erratic. Lit up by flashing colored lights, a band of teenaged Cambodians put their hearts into the songs they played, giving every ounce of energy they had. This definitely felt more like a rock concert than the weekly youth group meeting which is was. Actually, I guess it was a rock concert also.
As the music played, I wandered from the madness in front of the stage to the back of the room, looking for a place where I could stand and take in everything that was happening in front of me. Leaning against a post in the very back, I sang along in English with the songs that I knew. Tonight there was another group at this church from Kentucky who were in the area doing a medical clinic. As I was holding up my pillar in the back, I noticed one of the older ladies in the Kentucky group making her way in my direction. Continuing to limp past some chairs, I could now tell she wasn’t just moving in my direction, she was coming specifically to me. When she got to where I was standing she grabbed hold of my arm and I leaned down in hopes of hearing whatever she had to say over the thunderous drums and screaming guitar.
Her voice was shaky; she was noticeably on the verge of tears but pushed through, telling me a story about her children. The reason she approached me was because she said I look just like one of her sons, and Josh Bruce looks just like another one of her sons. From what I could gather, her sons were probably a few years older than Josh and me. She said her one son was the youngest professor ever hired at Oral Roberts University. Both sons had traveled the world as missionaries, just like Josh and I are currently doing, but both have since fallen away from Christ. The one son is now heavily involved in drugs and drinking; I couldn’t quite make out what she said about the other son, but I could tell from her face that he too is now lost on a path that leads to sadness and pain. After she finished telling me about her sons, she grabbed my hand and held it in hers. There was something folded in her grasp, but she held on for a few moments before relinquishing it to me.
“I’m not a wealthy woman, but I am giving you what I have. Please intercede on behalf of my sons.”
Those are the only two sentences that I can remember verbatim, but I can still hear her speaking them. With that she released what was folded in her hands and walked away. The exchange took place so fast that I didn’t even have time to comprehend what had just happened, to acknowledge that I would indeed pray for her sons, or to even just give her a hug. It was dark in the back of the room, far outside of the strobe light’s reach. I shoved the wad of paper that she had handed me into my pocket and sat down to pray for her sons.
When the music was over, some World Racers led the students in a few games, followed by Zach giving his testimony. Having known Zach for several months now, I knew his testimony and knew that it would speak hope to the woman who had just pleaded with me to pray for her sons. As Zach spoke about his past addictions which ultimately led to him being homeless for a spell, I looked back at where the woman was sitting. She had gotten up and, with her limp seemingly more noticeable now, was being helped to the door by another woman in her group. I guess Zach’s testimony was just too close to home; unfortunately she didn’t make it to the part of redemption and eternal hope.
After the service, the woman’s husband thanked Zach for sharing his testimony. He also briefly described their struggle with the one son who is spiraling downward with drugs. Zach asked what the son’s name was, and his father answered, “Joseph.” Zach goes by his middle name; his given name is Joseph. Apparently he and this man’s son have more in common than just their struggles. Having now found Josh Bruce, he and I compared notes on what had just taken place. He didn’t get the full story like I had, but we had both been given a wadded up $21.
I’m not sure what the significance of the 21 is, maybe the son’s age. I don’t know what the woman’s name is, and I’m sure I’ll probably never see her again. But I’ve been praying for her sons, and I’m asking you to do the same thing. Pray for Joseph. Pray for the other son who is struggling right now. And pray for this man and woman who are obviously hurting by the decisions of their children. Yet they are still honoring God with their medical knowledge, traveling to the other side of the world to a poor and under-developed area of the world to run children’s clinics.
She has plenty of children to pray for at that clinic. Right now she needs some extra help praying for her own…
