It has been too long.
I write to you looking out to the dry brown mountains of Mokhotlong district in Lesotho rounding out our first seven days spent here. I write to you this morning with many experiences, thoughts, and phrases that I would love to share with you-the people who have been so loyal following my journey.
It has been over a month since I last posted a blog. The mystery of the Gospel is being revealed. I could share with you my good-bye to Peo my dear brother from Cambodia as the experiences and conversations we shared quickly flashed through my mind. I could share with you the variety of discussions I had with my brothers that have instilled passions, dreams and change in us. I could share with you my Christmas Eve night and the joy yet devastation it caused me as kids scattered after gunshots invaded the area we were serving. I could share the immense beauty I have seen throughout the lands I have traveled. I could share with you the power and authority we preached while on trains in South Africa. I could share the way God’s love for me is continually changing me. I could share about the hours I have just been tired and missing the comforts of home. I could share with you the joy I experienced while eighteen of us were belting Amazing Grace in a fifteen passenger. I could update you on the work the twelve men on my squad have been doing while in Lesotho. I could share details on the many relationships I have formed. I could share and share and share. And I want to.
You see, I am excited to share about my journey and moments with you in person someday and listen to you explain the details and experience of your life to me with the time we have missed. That thought is bringing an inevitable smile to my face at this moment.
But today, I share with you about Mo.
Pastor Sepo took the five men on my team and I to a clinic about 35 kilometers away through the mountains of Lesotho. There, around fifty people packed in this clinic from all walks of life. They were sick. Many struggling with HIV. We preached. We sang. We danced. We walked outside and one by one people came to us for prayer, for healing, or just to bless their children’s future. We prayed. The five guys went to go serve these people food. I walked over to Pastor Sepo, a lady and her daughter approached us. We talked. I asked her name, but could not fully understand it. She went into details about her life being a mess. She explained to Pastor Sepo and I how her daughter was sick and demon possessed. We explained the story of the Bible to her in a way that I could not repeat if I tried. It was simple, not wise or persuasive and God moved her. She fell to her knees, lifted her hands and cried. She talked to God in a humble and nervous voice. She was then silent on her knees.
Pastor and I looked at each other almost like a child whose parents tells them they are going somewhere. The kid is excited even though they do not know the place their parents said they were going. Just as Pastor and I were about to ask where we were going. She stood up.
She took a green yarn necklace off of her daughter with a small bottle attached to it that someone passing by promised would heal her and protect her. She placed her left hand on her daughter closed her eyes and prayed with authority for her.
Nothing happened to her daughter. She continued to sit there with an exhausted face and bloodshot eyes. This lady looked at us and said, “I pray again tomorrow. God did not give up on me. I do not give up. I believe God will heal her-just do not how or when.”
She gave us a kind thank-you. I asked her what her name was one more time. She stated it and soon realized based off my facial expressions that I could still not understand. She said “Call me Mo.” I repeated it with a smile and gave her a hug possibly breaking cultural norms. We say goodbye, realizing we will never see one another again.
I now sit under a willow tree looking out to the nearly dried up river that runs through the town. The song “I went down to the river to pray, studying about those good ole’ ways…” can not seem to withdraw itself from my mind. I sit here thinking, thinking about Mo. Thinking about faith. My brother Parker sits in front and a little to the left of me right over the river reading a book and looking up randomly out to the mountain that sits before us. He looks back at me and says “today as I walked by the river God told me I am exactly where I need to be.” I nod in agreement. Lunch is near, we both hope for pancakes or pizza. Both unreal options. I look at him and say we need faith like Mo’s. “Whose that?” he asks sincerely. “Moses? I know a girl in Thailand named Mo. Whose Mo?” I laugh as we both stand up and pack up our belongings.
