I feel unworthy to write this blog, which is probably why I have had a writer’s block for two months now. I kept speaking lies over my heart and mind telling me I could never tell this man’s story well. I am still believing that voice as I sit here distracted by anything and everything. Maybe I won’t do his story justice, but if I don’t tell it, who will? His name is Huoia, and the world may never know him, but I do.
Upon arriving in Saiphai, Mizoram in India, my team and I joined our host for our very first meeting. His name is Pastor John, and he has dedicated his life to the local people of the village. His heart for God’s children is painted all over his being. He shared his vision for our few weeks in Saiphai, and Team Wimbi couldn’t have been more excited. During our stay we planned to teach English at the primary and high school levels and do home visits. We came to understand and expect that our home visits would consist of drinking tea, eating cookies, and having good fellowship and conversation. The first few were like that. But then one day, it all changed, and my heart shattered. John informed us that we would be heading to a man’s house that has had a fever for six months and needed prayer. That was my first clue that something was wrong, very wrong. We started our journey with expectations but none worse than what reality had waiting for us.
We approached the opened door of a beautiful bamboo treehouse, and a tiny woman welcomed us in. Pengte is Huoia’s wife. His strong, loving, and sacrificial wife. At the first glance, this was not a fever. Skin and bones was all that was left of this man. I could see his ribs poking from his shirt, and his knees were bulging from his frail legs. This was not a fever. This was terminal. I sat down on a tiny bench in the house and began falling apart from the inside out. This man, having never received proper medical treatment, was seemingly without hope for restored health. The Holy Spirit said, “pray for him.” My teammate heard the same thing, but I had always depended upon my team to lead in prayer. But this time, He was calling me into boldness, so I humbly got to my knees at Huoia’s bedside. I pleaded for the Lord to have mercy on him, commanded healing over his body, and more importantly, asked for God’s will. I don’t remember the words of the prayer, but I do remember the feeling. As I prayed, the wind burst through the window along his bed, a cool breeze filled the room, and the presence of the Spirit was moving from the thatch roof to the bamboo floor. I felt his stomach moving and continued praying. I sat by his bed longer than socially acceptable and just wept for this man and his wife. I felt the heaviness of burden his wife carries every single day as she cares for all of his medical and emotional needs while watching her dreams, life, and husband fall through her grasp. I left the house feeling weight I had never lifted before.
My teammate, Chantai, and I went back several more times to pray over Huoia. As we were getting ready to leave one night, Pengte sat down at our feet and asked John to translate for her. She told us we were like Jesus, and she was Zacchaeus. If you aren’t familiar with the story, Zacchaeus was a tax collector and considered an unfavorable in society. Jesus saw him in a sycamore tree and asked him to come down, for he intended to visit his home. Zacchaeus was not worthy of such an honor, and Pengte viewed herself in this way. She told us she was overwhelmed with joy and was humbled we would come all the way from our homes to enter hers to pray for them. Her words were unfathomable. I could not accept she sees me as the man I am living my life to follow. But she does.
I wish I could tell you this story has a happy ending. I wish I could tell you our prayers were answered. I wish I could tell you Huoia was instantly healed and has been
living a wonderful life with his loved ones. I wish I could
tell you that…but I can’t. As I was writing this blog, I received word Huoia is no longer with us but with his Savior. He was not healed in this life but has been fully
restored and renewed in heaven with his Father. He is no longer suffering and no longer in pain: however, his family is just beginning to grieve the loss of a husband, father, brother, and friend.
This story was hard to write. It cuts deep and questions the very nature of a loving Father and His suffering son. But He is a loving Father, and Huoia is now basking in His glory.
This story was not written to broadcast an agenda or fundraise for my trip. This story is written to tell the world about Huoia and his new life with Jesus.
