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As we walk up to the house, there are about 30 people who are all ready there. Some of them are sitting in plastic chairs set up in a large circle, while others are standing around and quietly conversing. A brown coffin is sitting precariously on some long wooden boards in the center of all the people…with the lid open. There are dozens of white candles glowing in the darkness and a pile of handpicked tropical flowers lay on the side of the casket.

My head is spinning from this whole experience… I never would have imagined that I'd be at a funeral… on a Friday night in Peru… for a 15 year old boy who was brutally murdered.  Just a few hours earlier, we were making plans to settle in for the evening.  We didn't have power, so we thought that we might get to have some quality team time and maybe even pop in a movie… but God had different plans for us.  (Isn't that the way life goes… and I'm learning that is especially true with the World Race.)  Luis came to us after dinner and said we were going to go to a memorial service for the son of the youth pastor.  We were told to wear warm clothes and that we would be leaving in 30 minutes…we didn't know much else.

At this point, I have no idea what I am supposed to do. I feel awkward…like a zebra without stripes…like a fish out of water. I don't want to do anything that would be offensive or rude…considering I don't know their customs or "norms" when it comes to things like this…so I try not to do much of anything. We slowly make our way across the yard, avoiding all eye contact, and find an empty spot to settle in.  Someone rushes over to bring us chairs. We sit…and wait…and wait. Someone walks by and offers us a piece of candy. Then, after we have been here for about an hour, a young girl brings out small cups filled with orange Fanta, followed by a woman with a Tupperware of soft rolls…filled with what we like to call tire cheese…because it squeaks when you chew it. 

I watch more and more people continue to arrive as the hours pass.  They saunter up to the casket to pay last respects, but quickly cover their mouths and turn away. We notice a newspaper article being passed around and we assume it is about Jefferson's murder.  We are all a bit curious as to the details and events surrounding his death, but we don't want to be rude and ask too many prying questions…so we don't.  Then a strange thing happens…the funeral company arrives.  After we have been there for close to 2 hours, they begin setting up for the service.  It seems a bit backwards, but they start putting up the tent and unload an array of golden, gaudy, and ostentatious accessories… a large cross with Jesus still hanging from it, tall flower stands filled with fake violet blue roses, large lamp stands, and candelabras.

Amanda has been talking to Luis for quite some time and when she finally turns back around to us, she has a somber look on her face. She tells us that although Jefferson was the son of a pastor at the church, he was living with his mother in a different town and he was not a believer. Part of the reason we are just sitting around is they don't know exactly what to do at a service for someone who was not a Christian… I mean what do you say?  Luis told her that we are going to go ahead and have a short service anyways.  He wants us to sing some songs…English would be perfectly fine…and that he is going to give a sermon.  Until then, we can pray for Jefferson and his family if we want. 
Amanda shrugs her shoulders, bites her lip, and quietly says to the 5 of us… "Maybe we should pray for him to be raised from the dead."  It sounds more like a question, but she is brave enough to verbalize what we are probably all thinking.  It is something that I've never done before, but I am willing to step out in faith…to trust and hope in things unseen.  I've never understood why someone would need to be raised from the dead… if it is part of God's plan and all, shouldn't we trust His timing and leave well enough alone?  But here we have a young boy that was murdered… who was not saved… and we have the opportunity to ask God to give him a second chance.  Besides, it's the World Race, so why not? 

We turn our chairs to form a circle, hold hands, close our eyes, sit peacefully and just listen for a few minutes…then we simultaneously, out loud petition God to come into this place and do this miracle.  Amanda finally closes the prayer… and then I hold my breath and wait.  I'm not sure what I'm expecting… but my mind starts racing.  I am filled with so many thoughts and questions… what will I do if Jefferson does sit up in his coffin… will his wounds be immediately healed… how will the Ecuadorians respond… what lives will forever change?  I'm excited by the possibility that God could transform this present darkness into light… but as more time passes, I realize this is not part of God's plan and that Jefferson is not going to get up out of his coffin… then the service finally starts.

I hope that this has not turned you off to reading future posts, but that it does exactly the opposite… I hope that you will be eager to read about when, where, and how it happens when the Lord does miraculously raise someone from the dead on this trip.  Like I said, this is new to me…not to mention a bit scary… but through it I am learning more about who God is and how to listen to Him when He speaks to me.  I trust that while God did not say "Yes" to this prayer at this time, I know that He is a God who hears His children's pleas and that He has a perfect plan… He is going to use this night for something.  I know that He is a God of miracles… and they are not limited to stories in the Bible.  He is not an absentee God… but He is a present God and He is moving in unbelievable ways in this day and age. He has given us the Holy Spirit…it lives in us, so that we might have the power to do amazing things for His glory and to further His kingdom. 

I want to ask you to pray for miracles to happen… so that others will come believe in the one, true God… and so that those who are dead will be raised to life.