I hate blood. Just ask my immediate family and they will
tell you that my squeals of discomfort will discourage anyone from bleeding
around me. These fears of mine became a reality as I watched my teammate, Kyle,
brutally kill a chicken with a dull kitchen knife in a remote farming village
tucked away in the Malawian mountains. It was a gift from the village, which is
a tremendous honor and sacrifice for them, and we were going prepare it for
dinner.
He held the head, and our contact Zachariah held the body as
it wiggled back and forth squirming for its last few breaths of air. He slid
the knife up, and down, up, and down until its head was completely severed from
its body, and his neck cracked. I stood leaning over Kyle and the chicken, eyes
wide, and lips outstretched as I gasped at the sight playing before me. The
head was removed from the body, but both
parts were still moving! The head was hopping about and the body was doing a
little jig as Kyle drained the red, syrupy blood out of the busted neck. This
is a norm for World Race lifestyle.
I tell you this story to paint a picture of what the past
weekend looked like for myself and my team. We are working with an organization
this month called Great Is God international, and this ministry focuses mainly
on crusades in remote African villages, some of which have never heard the
gospel of Jesus Christ.
We arrived in this village on Saturday at around lunchtime.
Parking the truck in a vast field, I put my hands forward and scooted out of
the bed of the truck to a beautiful landscape. Backpack latched on and water
bottle in hand, I looked out at probably the widest expanse of land I have ever
seen in my life. Fertile and lush farming land stretched on for miles and miles
and circled around this mountainous region of Malawi. No electricity, and one
well for the village of just under 1,000 people.
We were welcomed by a host of African women perched under
the shade of a tree clapping and waiving at the seven Americans walking into
the village. As we entered the village, hundreds of children came running
towards us. One little girl took one quick glance at us and ran screaming in
the other direction, arms flailing. We later found out that we were the first
white people she had ever seen. Funny things like this happen only on the race.
Janette and Linda (two women involved in the ministry) were
busily cooking a traditional African lunch over an open fire. The lunch
included a dish called ‘Sima,’ which is made by boiling water, and scooping
cups of flour into the water, and stirring it until it becomes a thick, gooey,
glue like substance. These African women have some seriously sculpted biceps
from stirring this porridge (honestly, I tried it!). They then scoop it out in
hefty spoon fulls and serve it with cooked greens and sardines. Yes, mom, I ate
sardines! Still don’t have a taste for them though.
After lunch, as the men involved in the ministry set up the
equipment for the program, I sat down to chat with a few children of the village.
A few children quickly turned into 50 plus children, and they all sat wide-eyed
as I told them a couple Old Testament stories. Goliath’s mighty army and
Daniel’s courage in the lion’s den could’ve trumped any Play Station game for
these kids. They soaked in every word.
When our contact Zachariah told us that they were ready to
start, I picked up my Nalgene full of water and meandered down the hill to
where we were having our service. Hundreds of people sat on the prickly grass
and dusty dirt to soak in the Word that my teammate Kyle was serving up for the
day. When Kyle finished, we all stood in front of the crowd and asked people to
come up if they wanted prayer. I have never seen such a hunger for something
more than I saw in the eyes of the people I prayed over. They craved healing
and restoration not only for their physical needs, but also for their spiritual
health. And all I had to offer them was Jesus. No medicine, no bandages, no
water or food, just prayers; prayers to the Father that holds the riches and
inheritance to the entire Kingdom.
As the time passed and I prayed fervently over each ailment
of these beautiful people, I realized why missionaries see so many miracles in
Africa. It is because Africans put every hope they have in the Lord. They have
no option to go to a doctor, or drink purified water, or buy protein-heavy foods,
they just have the promises of Jesus. And those promises work. We have so many other options in the states of finding
healing that we can easily forget that we serve the author and creator of
everything we could ever need. I’m not saying that the amenities and medical
care in the U.S. aren’t of God. I do believe that the Lord has given us great
minds and people full of wisdom to create new and innovative medical advances,
I just also think that we’ve forgotten to go to the ultimate Creator first,
above anything else. If the race has taught me anything, it has taught me to go
to God first. If you’re sick, go to God. If you’re hurt, go to God. If you’re
angry, go to God; you get the rest. Maybe He won’t heal you or provide for you
in the way you want at that very moment, or maybe He will. He has the power. He
has the ability, and He has the want
to. Let Jeremiah 29:11 ring in your hearts today; “For I know the plans for
you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give
you a hope and a future.” That’s straight up truth my friends. I’m not making
this up. J
And I am working with a ministry full of God’s army this month that have a hat
full of stories about miracles they’ve seen and been a part of. I just can’t
wait to witness one in the coming weeks!
