I breathed a quiet prayer for guidance as Pastor Borris parked the van along the side of a rocky road and motioned towards a small brick house to the left.
All he said was, “They live here. Come.” as he opened the drivers side door and crawled out.
Andrew, our translator Vicka and I followed suit quickly exiting the van and walking up to the house of the family we were about to visit. This was a new ministry opportunity for our team. Up until this point we had been kept busy by construction projects at the church, children’s clubs and opportunities to speak and share in neighbouring villages. Only two of us could visit a family at a time so tonight Andrew and I were forging uncharted territory and neither of us really knew what to expect.
We had been told before leaving that the woman we were about to visit had 6 children and that 2 of her kids suffered from disabilities. We were also told that her husband had died several years before and the family suffered from severe poverty. As we approached their home I asked God to give me eyes to see their suffering and somehow to offer them hope.
Pastor knocked on the door and a thin, short haired woman bundled in winter clothing invited us to come inside. The first part of the house was cluttered with random scraps and materials that the family collects to make money and the rind of some kind of melon saved for the 18 lb pig that lives with them in the kitchen, at least until Christmas.
She continued to beckon us through another door into a small room crammed with metal framed beds complete with sagging matresses and any scrap of warm material they could find. A spot was quickly cleared for each of us to sit on the edge of the beds and we all sat down to talk about their struggles and about the love that Jesus has for them.
I immediately found myself distracted by my surroundings. The room was freezing and we were told the reason why – no money for the stove. Everyone in the room was bundled in their warmest clothing and I had absently not even considered wearing mine. In addition I was very aware of a little mouse doing laps underneath the bed I was sitting on.
Pastor Borris and Vicka began to speak to the family and soon the woman pointed out that her daughter, age 22, was disabled because of a disease she had as a baby. I didn’t understand the translation entirely but it had something to do with bleeding from the mouth. We asked if that was common and were told that among poorer families such things are not surprising.
Next she told us that her son, age 16, was also disabled but his story was very different. She explained that when she discovered that she was pregnant she went to the clinic to have an abortion but the doctors there couldn’t do it because she was too far along. In desperation she went home and tried to do the abortion herself. The result, she said, is her son’s sickness.
At this point the cold and the mouse don’t even matter anymore. I stared across the room at her 16 year old son listening intently as she told us the story. He seemed to shrink into himself with every word. The bright, interested smile we had recieved upon entering the house with a greeting in a language he had never heard before disappeared.
My heart broke for him.
In just one moment it was like no one else in the room existed. All I wanted to do was look him in the eyes and tell him that he was loved, that God wanted and needed him to be alive, that there was a plan and a purpose for his life greater than anything he had ever dreamed of before. I wanted to invite him into the Father’s embrace. To speak worth over him and see him released from the guilt and the shame until the feeling that he wasn’t wanted got completely immersed in God’s glorious ocean of love.
But for most of our visit it really didn’t feel like I would get the chance to do that. I was asked to share something by Pastor Boris and had absolutely no idea what or how to share. There was a fire burning inside of me to declare life over this boy and it stole away my ability to think on my feet. I asked God was story to tell and he told me which one. Then I stumbled through it with many different distractions and unrelated questions from the audience.
Finally it was time to pray for the family and as the prayer ended I knew my chance was quickly slipping away. I asked Vicka to translate something to the boy for me. I told him that he was loved. That it was not a mistake that he was alive and that God had a special plan for his life.
Even as I was trying to speak out the words God had placed so heavily on my heart the enemy was trying to steal them away. Vicka would translate my words and then his mother would interrupt me to defend herself or to share a story about her son and how she knows he’s special, which Vicka would also translate. It was a hectic moment and a struggle to maintain focus but the Holy Spirit was present and somehow I said what I needed to say.
As we ended our visit I reached out to shake the boys hand. When he looked up at me the huge smile that had greeted us upon our arrival was back in it’s rightful place stretched from ear to ear.
