One day in a mountain village in Gorkha, Nepal, our host Gresom took us on house visits around the village. We sat with sweet women and drank tea and prayed over houses. Then Gresom told us the next house we would go to lives a man named Mongol who is possessed by an evil spirit. He said he’s in chains and has uncontrollable fits of rage and other crazy things you’d expect from someone possessed. For whatever reason I didn’t think much of it, I just thought we were going to see some crazy guy with an undiagnosed mental illness or something. Then we got to his house. I was at the back of the crowd but at a certain point people stopped walking. I couldn’t see what was happening so I pushed my way through my friends and stopped and lost my breath. Mongol was standing before me with giant chains holding together his hands and feet. His hands were swollen like balloons and he had cuts on his wrists and arms. He had 2 black eyes and cuts on his face and ripped clothes. I’d never seen anything like it. I didn’t know what to feel. Part of me wanted to run up and hug him and tell him he’s so so loved. Another part of me wanted to get as far away from him as possible. I was overwhelmed with confusion first of all. Why was this happening to him? I walked closer to him and looked at him in the eyes and smiled. He smiled back, he was mumbling something half in English half in Nepali. He was explaining that when the spirit takes over him he gets violently thrown to the ground and can’t get up. He hurts himself and others. He looses complete control, part of me could understand that part. But the biggest thing that shocked me was the entire time he spoke he had such a gentleness about him. One you cannot fake. He was so soft. So kind and loving. He kept saying “hallelujah! Hallelujah!” When we laid hands on him and prayed over him he was shaking violently and nodding his head and and holding his hands up. He believed, guys. He really believed that Jesus would heal him. I just felt God tell me that he is THIS person. The kind man who loves jesus. He’s not violent or angry or scary. He’s just a child of God. He’s my brother. He’s just a man who wants to live, really live. Who wants to love his God and make friends and read books and dance. He’s no different than I am. We later find out his brother beats him with a hot iron rod to control him, we find out his mother doesn’t believe he can be healed. My heart was even more shattered than before. I had so many questions for God. If he loves him, why does he let this happen? If he’s really God, why doesn’t he just heal people? Doubt crept in more and more each day. At the end of Gorkha I struggled to find a difference between my religion and any other religion talking to a god that doesn’t talk back.
But one thing I can always count on is doubt never wins. And God is constantly at war with the enemy. But he will win, he already has. And there will always be questions, til the day I die. I’ll never fully comprehend my Lord. But someone once told me a God you can filling comprehend is not worth worshipping.
As we reached the bottom of the hill that Mongol lives at I hear yelling. I look around trying to find who’s doing that and what’s wrong. But Gresom stops me and says “listen.”
“BYE FRIENDSSSSSS!” I hear louder and louder. I look up the hill and see Mongol waving both his chained hands and yelling at the top of his lungs. God loves that boy so much, so do I. And I’ll never stop believing he will be free. He always was.
