He leaned against the concrete wall, hands on his head peering out at us. As we stood in the doorway of a small adobe hut conversing with the family about the pair of glasses needed for their abuela, I couldn’t help but glance curiously over at him. One of my teammates whispered that the man had been following them around the village all day, in a heavily intoxicated state, and thus had wandered to his neighbors where we now stood. Apparently, a few teammates had spoken to his wife earlier in the day about her husbands drinking problem, her exhaustion, and the affects that his lifestyle was having upon their children and life in general. Our ministry for the week was visiting homes in the villages surrounding Santa Cruz, Honduras to merely talk the families about their lives, and offer encouragement and prayer for a number of needs. As I watched this man, whom I came to find out is named Jose Margarita, it became evident to me that though his walk was twisted and his words were skewed, he looked upon our huddled group with an indescribable stare of clarity, like he was seeking something out.
When it was time to pray for the eyes of the grandmother and protection over the family, Jose staggered up to the porch to join the circle. We began our Worldrace style prayer in which each of us lays hands upon the people we are praying for, and speak over them in unison whatever God puts on our hearts. As we prayed over the family, a slight moaning began to rise in the back of the huddled group. This sound was not a wail, nor a crying out, it was a remorseful moan which matched the large crocodile tears which dripped of the face of Jose as the prayer came to an end. Immediately, in a crazed fit of bawling his eyes out and spewing out Spanish words, he began to search for his son who had been watching the scene from the yard. Calling out “Hijo, Hijo, Hijo,” he frantically grabbed for his son and drug him up to the porch. Once there, Jose proceeded to lean upon the shoulders of his son yelling out for us to pray for him, while hugging and hanging on to him like a child, while the tears from his eyes covered the boys face and shirt.
I found myself feeling like I needed to puke. The eyes of the son were like windows, and in them resided shame in its truest form, and though Jose was intoxicated, a spirit of guilt and sorrow was incredibly present. The word that began to shoot through my head was oppression, and I realized that in that moment I was relating to father and son alike. It became clear that though the exact scene that appeared before me was in itself new, the concept of some type of bondage having dominion over an individual or a family was entirely familiar and incredibly universal. Driving home that day my teammate Derron made the nonchalant comment that perhaps God would visit Jose in a dream, and begin to do some work. We didn’t realize then how carefully God was listening.
Fast forward two days, my team and I once again found ourselves in the remote village of on top of the mountain finishing up our visits. A storm was brewing over the mountains, but we decided to make a quick stop at Jose’s to say goodbye to his family. When we arrived we were greeted by a very different Jose Margarita, who took our hands and invited us to sit. He told the team that he had a dream about us coming to visit again, that he had felt so ashamed of the way he had behaved, and had experienced extreme conviction about the lifestyle he was living. The conviction was evident, now all he needed was the grace. God worked through our hosts and ourselves that day, as we were able to express to this man that many of us personally, our family members, parents, and friends have been controlled by a substance, or oppressed by some “thing”, and often still struggle. However God himself is not only forgiving, but he is freedom in every sense. We explained that he has given his son to pay our ransom, that we might live in liberation, and dance in a state of hope and healing because he himself has ability to break every chain.
Gathering around that family as the rain begin to trickle down and the prayers poured out, Jose and his family a had blessing and truth spoken over them, and I made the connection I’ve been searching for. This year I have received the question asked myself the question, what is the point of a trip like this in which you merely drop into people’s life for a month, and then peace out. Isn’t investing time and relationship the way to make a change. I heard in that moment that God also sends individuals as seed planters or well diggers for the human soul, to answer the cry of his people ( 1 Corinthians 3:5-9). He has called us this year on this Worldrace, in a unique style, to go out to his people and introduce a life of freedom that can be theirs by merely accepting the gift that Jesus offers; no charge. Knowing that God leaves no project unfinished, I see the truth that we are being used to break down doors of oppression that the healing might begin to flow freely in these lives. We are currently on a big healing train , physically, emotionally, and spiritually, and the Holy Spirit is moving. This year I have taken up the cross in the from of a traveling vessel, and due to the power of the Holy spirit, we were able to see the shackles of years of oppression fall from Jose as he began his new journey of true living. There is power in breaking chains through the spirit of love, and there is redemptive beauty when healing begins to blossom.
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Village Children in their little uniforms
Days before performing for “Day of the children”.
Provers 3:5-6
God has put this verse on my heart this week in so many amazing ways.
