Mud caked the bottom of my shoes. It had been raining off and on all day and water was puddled in the pot hole riddled village streets of Lajas. Now the sun was out and I welcomed its afternoon warmth. My team’s ministry for the week was home visits and evangelism. That morning we visited house after house, praying for the people who lived inside. Now, with stomachs full from lunch, we were back on the streets. A local Christian woman, named Carmen, lead us from home to home.
Carmen led us confidently towards a makeshift barbed wire fence surrounded by colorful flowers. Behind the fence, tucked back farther from the road, was a small house. The house itself didn’t look like much, especially compared to my American standards. It was made mostly of unpainted wooden boards, dirty and worn with age. Although it was old and simple, it was kept orderly and neat. As we approached it, Carmen yelled “Saludos! (Greetings!)” A response came from an elderly woman with glasses who, unnoticed by me, had been sitting on a wooden rocking chair on the porch. She quickly stood up as Carmen, in her rapid Spanish, explained that my team and I were a group of missionaries who had come to pray for her and her family. The woman motioned us inside, giving us a warm smile of appreciation and hugs as we passed by her to enter her house.
I wiped my feet on a towel just outside the door of the house and entered. Inside, the house was gloomy. What light there was came through small cracks in the walls and slits in the windows. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the house was laid out like a lot of the other houses we had seen in Lajas. Most of the houses in the area were about the size of an apartment and this one was no different. Immediately upon entering was a sitting area with chairs and a table. I could also see a kitchen farther back. Other rooms were hidden behind sheer curtains that hung over the doorways, swaying lightly in the breeze. The walls of the house were mainly made out of cinderblocks. One wall had a couple of faded pictures of Mary hanging, slightly lopsided, on it. While the house wasn’t super poor, I could tell that the people who lived in it didn’t have a lot of money.
Slouched on a chair right next to the door was an elderly man with a red plaid blanket pulled over his head. As I entered the house, Carmen pulled the blanket from his head and pushed it behind him. Grumbling, and muttering in Spanish, the man grabbed for the blanket again, but Carmen snatched it away from his grasp, pushing it even further behind him. The man continued to mutter, more to himself than Carmen and, after being unable to reclaim the blanket, crossed his arms over his chest. I noticed a beaded rosary around his neck, partially hidden by his crinkled button up shirt.
“Hola,” I said, slightly amused by the blanket incident. Then I noticed that the man’s eyes were clouded and unfocused. The man was blind. I reached for his hand and repeated my greeting. He clasped my hand tightly in his and repeated my greeting back to me. Earlier this morning my team and I had witnessed several healings and, as I looked at the man, I wondered if God would restore his sight.
“Sientence! Sientence!” The elderly lady said coming inside the house, waving for everyone to take a seat. As with the other houses we visited, everyone sat awkwardly on the furniture. I noticed that the nearest chair had a red accordion sitting on it, covered by a couple of pillows. Not wanting to sit on the accordion, I sat down on a worn loveseat. The woman quickly grabbed other chairs from the kitchen, concerned that there weren’t enough chairs for us.
Tony, our translator and a missionary who works with H.O.P.E. Ministries, pulled a chair up for the woman, whose name was Armana. At first she was reluctant to sit and she made sure the rest of us had a place to sit. When she was satisfied that we were all seated, she finally sat . She looked a little uncomfortable at first, her fingers nervously playing with her skirt. I’m sure she was partially nervous because Tony had pulled her chair into the center of the room and partially because I’m sure she wasn’t sure what to expect from us. As we talked with her and asked her about her life, she visibly relaxed. As we prayed for her, she gave nods of agreement as well as lifted up some prayers of her own. I also heard the blind man give some murmurs of approval as Tony translated our prayers to them.
Then we turned our attention to the blind man. At first, I think he was surprised that we wanted to pray for him or even talk to him at all. He introduced himself a Fermino. I placed my hand in his, hoping to convey emotions that he couldn’t see on our faces. As we talked to him, he sat up in his chair and became more animated. Armana, who was the man’s husband, informed us that the man had been blind for 8 years from cataracts. When we asked if it was okay for us to pray for him and for his eyesight, the man readily agreed. We placed our hands over his eyes and prayed for his eyesight. I could feel the anticipation and hope that filled the room as we prayed. But, when we lifted our hands off of the man’s eyes, there was no change. His eyes were still milky white and unfocused. We tried praying again, but there was still no change. I think the man sensed our disappointment. He flashed us a smile and squeezed my hand. Then he motioned to Carmen and told her something in Spanish.
Carmen moved the pillows away from the accordion and handed it to him. She carefully guided his hands along the accordion, helping his shaky fingers find the proper placement. Then the man began to play, a little slowly at first as his hand fumbled for the right notes. Then, as a song began to form and with a cracking voice, he sang for us. He closed his eyes, recalling words and accordion patterns that he had learned long ago.
“He used to play in a band,” his wife said proudly. She watched her husband with a sudden fondness, and I wondered how much she missed this enlivened version of her husband. His song ended way too quickly. As the last notes of the song faded, Carmen waved us out the door and we all left hesitantly, sensing that God had done something amazing through the man’s music. We wished we could linger longer and hear more. There was something powerful in that man’s playing; a tangible human connection that we all felt. And God was there somewhere, bringing about healing that we couldn’t understand, but that we could definitely see.
As we left, one of my teammates said that the man was probably used to being ignored by people and that was probably why he had tried to cover himself with the blanket. It was far easier to shut out the world than to have the world continually shut you out. He probably thought that we wouldn’t even give him the time of day. He was rejected and alone, unable to do so many things for himself or his family because of his blindness.
But maybe our visit made a difference for him and his wife. I know meeting them made a difference for my team and I. We saw that the people of Lajas needed more than just our prayers, they also needed our love and friendship. They needed someone to talk to them and take the time to get to know them. And we needed that too. Their stories were as much as an encouragement to us to hear as they were for them to tell. (Like the fact that Fermino and Armana have been married for over 70 years! Whoa!)
I know we all left Fermino’s house feeling like God had blessed us with something incredible. We even went back at the end of the week and asked him to play for us again. He gladly obliged us and we spent an entire afternoon listening to him play and hearing his and Armana’s stories. It was one of the best afternoons that I’ve ever had and I thank God that he allowed me to meet them.
(I did have some pictures and a video to go with this blog, but due to the internet connection I have, I was unable to upload them. Hopefully I will be able to upload them later this weekend.)
