As we’ve been doing door to door, whenever we ask for prayer requests 99% of the time at least one of the responses is “life is hard.” Looking around at their living conditions, and staring at their worn faces doesn’t take long to figure out how much that statement holds true. Normally I sympathize and part of my heart breaks as we listen to their story, but this day in particular I was rubbed the wrong way. As we stopped at a house an older man came out to hear us introduce ourselves and tell why we were there. When the prayer request question came around he said the same thing and added “but you don’t understand.” I glared at him and immediately felt offended. I wanted to so badly spit back “actually I don’t think you understand. You have no idea what some of us have been through.”
I cannot tell you how annoying it is getting heckled almost every day by at least 5 people to buy something. Or when we’re walking somewhere and any taxi that passes by taps it’s horn repeatedly attempting to get your attention for a ride. If I ignored the dude that just went passed I am not going to respond to your shrill calls for my business so you can try making me pay extra because I’m white. It’s hard not thinking every person I walk by is out to take advantage of me, and that is something I never want to think of a person.
I’m fully aware that even a very poor American can be better off than some of the people we have met on the race, but it’s extremely hard to extend grace and compassion to people when they think you have it all together and can fix their problems to some extent. I can’t even sit outside trying to have a worship sesh on my phone without a stranger coming up to tell me his troubled luck and asking what I can do to help. It’s always a matter of respectfully declining and trying to point them back to Jesus in some way. Honestly what it is is that I can’t take the overly disappointed looks they give like I just let them down in the worst way possible. I was getting agitated because of an expectation that was being placed on us we couldn’t possibly fulfill and it felt totally unfair.
After I calmed myself down, and really began to think of the man’s words echoing around in my head, I knew there was a drop of truth to what he said. No I don’t know what it’s like wondering where my next meal will come from. I haven’t had to live in fear of AIDS, but one thing we all shared in common was pain, lack, and disappointment. How those things manifest are all different. We were going to participate in church again and this was the topic God wanted me to preach focusing on those 3 aspects. I’m always concerned if what I can say will relate to these people. Doubt creeps in. Questions rattle around in my head second guessing everything. Yet I know whatever God gives me I have to deliver it knowing he will do the rest. So we get “dolled up” for church and journal in hand go back over what I wrote. The church was no more than maybe a dozen people including children, and they met in a school room that was one of many in a complex. We took our seats at desks and began service. God lined things up perfectly.
Before I went up my teammate Mandie shared her testimony about some of the struggles she’s been through and how God is slowing redeeming those things lost. I got up and delivered my message trying not to look at my team because I do better with strangers and looked at the few adults in the room. I couldn’t read much of their expressions and thought I bombed it, but even after I sat down I felt like God wanted me to see something. We were wrapping up and as I was packing my stuff I heard the pastor mention something about giving the offering to me. I snapped up and looked at him making sure I heard right. What?! He smiled and nodded. I sat back totally stunned. These people needed the money so they could get their own church building and they were willing to give me, a white female, their offering. Tears streamed down my face as they did the last worship song and Mandie turned around with a big grin.
Twenty kwacha. A hair under $3. I held the worn, folded money in my hand and stared at it in disbelief. Hannah chimed in, “well you’re an official preacher now if you’re getting paid.” I laughed because it was that much more confirmation for the calling God wants me to follow. The details can come later on the “how” part.
Fast forward and we had our last Sunday to attend. This time it was another Pastor we had done door to door with in a different area of town. We weren’t told much as far as if one of us was supposed to give the message or if we’d sing as a group, and if there’s anything we’ve learned it’s be prepared. I sat down to try and come up with another message and got nothing. I took a break for dinner and sat down again. Nothing. Slight panic began to well up as I realized this might be one of those sermons where God causes you to toss plans out the window and wing it. I went to bed mentally going through my library of reserves and all I got was “wait.” By morning I still didn’t have a clue and was tempted to do the whole open bible and with eyes closed put your finger on a verse. Finally a verse came to mind: Jeremiah 17:5-8. Which was eerily similar to what I had previously preached on. I had what I needed and we were ushered to the church.
They met in a school room, but this place was packed. Before service they held an open bible study discussion, which was on the topic of faith in Daniel, which tied in to the verse God showed me. I had to laugh. They led in worship which was incredible and the Holy Spirit was definitely moving in that place. As I was reflecting on the verse I felt that our team was supposed to pray for people. When I shared this I got a couple stern looks, but I knew they understood. Still though I was pretty nervous how this was going to go because I had no notes nor a guess to how long I could stretch this out. Our team sang a song, and shortly after the Pastor invited one of us to speak. I made my way up and glanced around at the silent crowd with people poking their heads in the windows. I read the scripture, and broke it down. Everything I said after that was a blur as the Holy Spirit kept bringing up stuff for me to say. Every now and then I got a scattered “amen” and a clap. When I finished I couldn’t tell if people were stunned or didn’t understand what I said, but the Spirit prompted me to still have our team pray for people. I turned to the Pastor and asked if that was ok and he gave me the go-ahead.
Slowly they made their way up and I told the congregation that God had something special for them and we wanted people to come forward for prayer. One by one they began to trickle up and we spread out to pray. They ranged from blessings in business, to passing exams. A couple that stood out to me was a woman who asked to get pregnant. I put my hand on her stomach and prayed. My hand began to feel warm and tears started streaming down her face. At first I chalked it up to body heat from my hand being there, but her flow of tears told me otherwise as a peace settled on her as I finished. The other was another woman who wanted healing in her right shoulder and mid back. I prayed, again feeling the heat, we hugged, and she sat back down. Not too long after we finished and people were smiling and cheering. I was so overwhelmed with joy I couldn’t help but spontaneously laugh. I shouted above the crowd asking if God had touched them in some way. The woman who asked for healing shot up her right hand among many others. Stunned I pointed and asked if she was healed. She twisted and smiled waving showing her range of motion. I lost it yelling praises to God. Hannah leaned in to my ear and said, “sooo I was praying for a cyst someone had, and I’m pretty sure it went away, or at least shrunk. Pretty sure I felt something happen.”
HALLELUJAH!
I closed with a final prayer and we took our seats somewhat in a daze from what just transpired. As an added blessing they surprised us with cold Fanta’s.
The Race is hard. You pick up and move frequently leaving people behind you bonded with. Your teammates will bug the hell out of you some days. Others you want to quit and stay back from ministry. It’s easy to get super frustrated, disappointed, and annoyed. The phrase “choose joy” can loose its luster after hearing it for the umpteenth time and you begin to question what the heck it even means. It’s more than halfway and I still haven’t quite figured this whole thing out, and I probably won’t. Honestly, I don’t think I’m supposed to. What room would that leave for God to surprise me?
