Most days here in Mozambique look about the same. We wake up each morning around 7, eat breakfast and start group devotions around 7:30. If it isn’t raining, we head to the widow’s homes around 8 or 9 and usually visit about three homes before heading back to our house to prepare lunch. At the homes, we find out about the woman’s story and faith in Jesus. We ask for prayer requests. We sing a few worship songs. We offer up prayers for the family. We head on to the next house.
Like I said, most days look the same. Today, however, was different. As we sat down on a bamboo mat outside of the woman’s house, I couldn’t help but notice the markings on this woman’s chest and face. She had scars that made her look as if she were wearing a necklace made up of three chains of small circles. Her cheeks were scarred with groups of three centimeter long lines at various angles. Some sort of ritual markings from her past? We began asking about her story and how she came to know Jesus. All she would reveal was that she became a believer in 2010 and that she had struggled prior to that time. We asked for prayer requests and she gave very vague responses for health and protection of her home. I asked if there were specific things about her home that needed protection and if anything particular was going on there. She carried on the theme of giving nonspecific answers to our questions. As we prepared to worship, she invited us to come into her home to worship and pray.
We walked through the door into a small, single concrete room with one window and a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the center. The room was dark and there was a heavy, dark feel in the air to accompany the physical environment. As we prayed and worshiped, neighbors and children from the area came in the house to join us. One young woman with a shaved head and a young baby in her arms asked us for prayer and said that she wanted to dedicate her baby to Jesus. This woman’s name is Grace.
As we began to pray for her, I placed my hand on the back of her little girl’s head. As soon as my hand touched her, she began to scream. Tears streamed down my face as this little girl grabbed my thumb and tried to tear my hand away from her. As I looked into her beautiful eyes, I felt all of her hurt and fear. A woman nearby took the child out of Grace’s arms and as soon as our hands were off of the baby she was quite.
I placed my hand over Grace’s heart and began praying for her. As her tears streamed off of her face and down my hand I felt year of pain and heartache leave her. As she wept, I wept. I prayed huge amounts of love over her as Elias spoke to her about Jesus and how much He loves her. As the prayers died down, I offered my hand to her and she gripped it with a need to have something to hold on to.
In that moment, God gave me his eyes for Grace. He showed me all her hurt and pain. I felt my heart break for her as tears streamed down her face. The memory of her tears falling on my hand will forever be etched into my heart. And I loved her with a love much too deep to be my own.
