March, pray, leave. March, pray, leave. March, pray, leave.
This year, I have gotten a lot of reactions to the fact that I am white. I have laughed as children chase me yelling, “Blanco!” or “Gringa!” or “Muzungu!” I have let children stroke and play dot-to-dot on my arms, flabbergasted by my ever-multiplying freckles. I have seen babies burst into tears or cry out in fright because I am the first white person they have ever seen. I have people take my picture “without me knowing” or follow me like a celebrity. I have been cursed and judged. I have been propositioned for money and marriage. I have been hugged and blessed.
I was never frustrated or angry at any reaction to my not-so-colorful skin until today (August 13).
March, pray, leave. March, pray, leave.
During village ministry in Gorongosa National Park, we were supposed to be going hut-to-hut evangelizing to non-believers and encouraging congregation members. This is not what the day turned out to be. Ever since arriving in the park, people have been coming asking for prayer. We have prayed for hundreds of people. Granted, I cannot guarantee it is because we are white, but many of them come to us, expectant that the mysterious missionaries will pray and all their problems will be solved.
Don’t get me wrong, we have seen many miracles. I have see a leg grow over two centimeters this week, I have seen fevers break and swollen stomachs shrink. But many of the people come to us, I believe, not because of the Holy Spirit in us but because of the magical, mystical power of the Azungus. Do they not see their prayers are just as powerful? Do they view us as any different than the witch doctor they saw on Saturday? They each recite that they are better now, they are normal. But have they actually experienced the miraculous and joyous healing power of The Lord? I prayed daily (and still do, and encourage you to, as well) that the people of Mozambique would not see us, but would see Jesus. I pray that God will reveal Himself to them so clearly and undeniably that their relationships with Him will be forever changed.
Because of this, we were excited to spend today sitting with them, telling them these things, building relationships and showing them that we are no different than they are.
Instead the pastor marched us quickly from house to house, refusing to let us talk to people, so we could pray for as many people as possible in the day. It was draining. I could see we were not working out of joy; our prayers were listless and repetitive as we struggled to understand, to find the plan of God in this day. We went from hut to hut, the Azungus on parade through the village.
March, pray, leave.
We came to two final houses and the ministers told us, “They are not believers.” We refused to march on. We sat in the dirt outside of their huts and shared the gospel with them. The first woman said she could not decide now. We knew this was not our doing, that each person has to come to their own decision, but we were still discouraged, still questioning how God was working in us today, tired and frustrated as we were.
The last hut belonged to a woman named Lakishta. A recent widow, Lakishta was on her own with many children and grandchildren. Lakishta had never been told about Jesus, but she invited us to sit in the dirt with her, excited to hear. Once again, we refused to leave. Once again, we shared the gospel, telling her of God, His love, and Jesus. We told her how Jesus sacrificed himself for us, because He loves us. We told her she had the choice to love Him to. And we told her that God sees her sorrow, knows her grief. She said, “I will forget my sadness, move on with my life, and love Jesus.” I grabbed her hand, looked her in the tear-filled eyes, and told her “God does not want you to forget your sadness. He wants to heal your sadness. He wants to be your comfort and your strength. He wants to show you His perfect, unfailing love.” She had to leave, her sorrow overtaking her. She came back, wiping tears from her eyes, and said “Yes, I want Jesus.” So I prayed with her, and she accepted Jesus as her Lord, Savior, and Love. My whole team rejoiced, knowing God was in fact working through us (and even the pastor we were so hesitant to trust). His love does not fail us, either.
I have been called names, stared at, spit on, and rejoiced over. I have been paraded around like a circus animal on display. I have been frustrated and tired and confused and angry. But I have seen a woman learn to love The Lord in the midst of her sorrow. Counting up the cost, I’d say that’s worth it.
Share, cry, pray.
Love, rejoice, victory.
