The first time we met Rosa, there was a room full of Americans as she slowly walked out of her bedroom. Through some hand motions and some broken Spanish, we found out she was having stomach issues and had been sick for 36 days. We prayed for her physical healing and then were saying goodbye to head onto the next house.
But my heart broke when I hugged Rosa. It was a hug that started out as a polite hug, but then she leaned in and held onto me as if her life depended on it. There in my arms she just started crying; a simple quiet cry. A cry for help, for friendship, for love. We had to be on our way, but as we were leaving her house, I saw the most beautiful white daisy.
I picked it up and ran back towards Rosa’s house. She was standing at the door watching us leave, and I handed her the flower. I looked at the flower and said, “bonita” (beautiful), and then I looked Rosa in the eyes and said, “bonita tambien” (beautiful also). And then we were off.
The second time we met Rosa, there were just three of us. We showed up unexpectedly, but Rosa came out to meet us. She shared that she was feeling a little bit better, and we proceeded to pray for her again.
And that’s when Rosa started opening up to us. She began sharing about her real life. She shared how there was much more sickness then just her stomach sickness.
The man she had been calling her husband was actually not her husband, but the man she lived with. She shared with us that he was an alcoholic and was abusive to both here and their children.
She pointed to the ceiling and showed us that although they had a roof, there was a giant gap and the wind would blow through at night. She shared how cold it got.

Back at the pastor’s house where I was sleeping, the walls were at least made of bed sheets. My sleeping bag was made for cold weather. I wore two pairs of socks, two jackets, and sweatpants to bed at night.
I had asked Rosa how I could help her, and now the answer was utterly clear.

