After
church and lunch I began to feel better. We needed a team to go to
the hospital to pray for the sick and dying. Most everyone was
suffering from extreme exhaustion so Paul, Lauren, Tim and I left for
the hospital with pastor George and pastor Robert as our
interpreters.
I
was partnered with pastor George and Tim. Our first stop was the
men’s ward. I walked in, smelled the combination of urine, mold,
rotting flesh and something unknown but ghastly, and got instantly
queezy and light headed again. All the sick men in the stifling hot
room just stared at the white mazungus (westerners) while lying
motionless on their cots. Pastor George looks at us and says, “Okay,
stand in the middle and preach salvation to them.” Tim and I lock
eyes. It was clear that we both thought we’d only be praying for
healing to individuals. I whispered to Tim, “Can you do this
one? I don’t have words or the strength right now.”
Awkwardly
at first Tim began to talk about how much God loved them, and how he
is a healing God. Then he gained momentum and morphed into the gifted
preacher that inspires us all. He spoke about why we all need a
savior and how it’s a free gift for the taking because of what Jesus
chose to do on the cross. He had a captive audience.
After
Tim finished preaching, we started to walk towards the left side of
the room. We were heading towards one man when pastor George touched
our arms and said, “Over there, he’s waving at you.” From
underneath a bed in the corner we saw a thin, weathered arm. We
changed directions and walked towards the man. I was stunned when the
emaciated, ailing man came into view. With his shirt off, you could
see that he was literally skin and bones. His calves were as thin as
a my forearms, his ribs were protruding out of his chest, his face
was a thin layer of skin outlying every curvature, and his eyes were
sunken in and hollow. I felt like I was staring death in the face.
His
name was Moses. Pastor said he wanted prayer. We asked him if he knew
who Jesus Christ was and that it’s His power that heals. He said he
knows all about Jesus. He gave his life to Christ when he was
younger, but has since back slid. He said that he knows and believes
in Jesus’ power because he witnessed it while in prison. He knew that
the only one who could save him now was Jesus.
He
was laying on his left side nearly paralyzed from weakness and as he
spoke about my precious Lord, tears started rolling down towards the
concrete floor. My heart swelled with compassion and sorrow, my eyes
filled with tears, and another bout of queeziness flared in my
stomach.
“Lord,
I can’t do this. It’s too much! It hurts too badly.”
“My
power is made perfect in your weakness.”
We
asked him why he was sick. To my surprise he uttered the four letter
word no one in African hospitals or cities dare to utter: AIDS. The
word itself is taboo. To them, it’s a word that stigmatizes and
shames. However, Moses knew where he was, he knew what he had, and he
knew who he needed – desperately. At that moment, in the eleventh
hour, all that mattered was Jesus and prayer. He wanted to ask Jesus
back into his life as his Lord and Savior for all eternity.
We
sat on the dirty hospital floor and layed our hands on Moses’ fragile
body. Tim prayed the prayer of salvation in English, and Moses
repeated in Luganda. We then invited the Holy Spirit’s presence and
asked for comfort, healing and wholeness in Jesus’ name. I opened my
eyes and saw Moses’ tears still streaming down to earth. He didn’t
look like death any more to me. He looked radiant and at peace with
his precious Lord. We asked him how he felt and he said God is
faithful, no matter what happens now.
We
stood up to go, but as we did, he asked pastor for a bible in
Luganda. The closest town to purchase bibles was an hour away. “Of
course,” I promised. Inwardly I knew we had to make the trip the
following day. Time was passing.
We
continued to walk from cot to cot praying for healing and salvation
for every man who would accept our invitation. After two emotional,
heart-breaking hours of standing in that suffocating room, I felt
completely drained. I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. I
had a fever. I physically couldn’t stand any longer, so I sat on the
edge of an old, blood-stained mattress.
“Jesus,
please! Please let me go outside for some fresh air. Tim is strong
and on fire and can continue your work.”
“Sweetheart,
stay and support your brother. My power is made perfect in your
weakness.”
“You
keep saying that Lord, but I have nothing left!”
Nothing
but silence…
“Okay,
okay. I’ll stay until you tell me to go.”
Throughout
our three hour visit, five desperate men were saved, one tormented
man was freed from demons and one genuinely interested woman wanted
to know about Jesus and asked for a bible. God only knows how many
were healed partially or completely.
After
the hospital we drove to another medical clinic. It was made
official. I had typhoid. (I’m fine now! God has protected me and the
symptoms are minor.)
Late
that night, after taking my medication, I looked up at the stars and
thought about all the freedom I would have missed out on if I
had thrown in the towel and given in to defeat. God says that he will
never give us more than we can handle. Last Sunday He proved this to
me. Every time I thought I couldn’t take another step, or pray
another prayer, the Lord gave me the strength to press on. As he
promised to me over and over and over again, His power was
made perfect in my weakness.
It
was an exhausting, heart-breaking, freedom-filled day. And I’ll never
forget it.
