The child and mother death rates in our serving country are horrific – 1 in 10 children dies before the age of 5, and 1 in 8 women can expect to die of a complication during pregnancy or delivery. What’s worse is that they say that God has ‘written’ this for them and they see no possibility for change.

The clinic and health teaching are a response to the physical needs of the people but our goal is also to address their spiritual needs. I have often prayed with patients and try to bring a conversation about the Father into as many consultations as possible. Recently, though, I’ve been challenged to expect more.

I was walking down one of the streets in the shanty town during the weekend with two colleagues, Darren and Steve, specifically looking for people who needed prayer for healing. I’d been doing the same on and off with another friend for the previous four months but with no “success”. All of sudden Darren told us clearly, “The next man we’ll come to has pain in his neck and God is going to heal him”.

Darren and Steve are specialists. They’d come here specifically to pray for the sick and they have faith built on many experiences of answered prayer. In particular, they thrive on ‘words of knowledge’ – knowing what the Father is about to do – and Darren knew that the next man we met was about to get well. So we stopped outside the next shop. The 45 year old man standing there had indeed had neck pain for several years, unhelped by medicines. Darren told him about the word of knowledge he had just received and asked if we could pray for him in Jesus’ name. Our new friend willingly agreed.

We prayed together for about a minute and then stopped to ask how he was feeling. With an almost expressionless face he said, “Yeah, the pain in my neck’s completely gone, but my back still hurts.” So we prayed for his lower back too and in another minute that too was fine. We were delighted, but the local guy didn’t seem particularly surprised! (I’ve seen him several times since and he’s still well.)

By that stage we had unwittingly gathered a crowd of about fifteen spectators, most of whom were children. Darren got another word of knowledge that there were children there who had pain in their thumbs. I turned to ask the boy next to me how his hand was. He’d bashed his thumb three days ago and it was still sore. I prayed for him with no change, but when Darren prayed… guess what! In fact four children in the crowd were immediately released from various pains in their hands – and the look of surprise on their faces convinced us that they weren’t just playing along. Something really surprising had happened.

Needless to say, by now we were the centre of attention! A man was literally tugging on my arm to get us to come and pray for his wife who had a severe kidney infection and was in real pain. We went with him to his house. As we prayed for her Steve knew that the main problem wasn’t physical but that she needed a spiritual encounter with God. So we prayed for a vision. She then described how she saw “a heavenly being” pass in front of her closed eyes and she felt a release in her self. When we arrived she had been hunched over and totally depressed but we left her smiling and relaxed. Her physical pain also lifted gradually and she was healed without antibiotics overnight.

At least two other women were also healed that day. One was so pleased that she later organised a meeting for fifteen friends and invited me and another couple to go back and pray for them. When we returned, we had to correct some misconceptions. She had told her friends that we were going to read the Qur’an over them – a traditional healing method here. We gently explained that, just as Jesus healed people when he walked on earth, he heals people today when we pray to him. We sat with these women and prayed for each one in turn. Several reported that their pain was gone, while others simply felt the presence of a heavenly power.

For me, the most significant part of this second meeting was that these Muslim ladies were gathering earnestly to seek God in a faith that they’d never looked into before. It felt like the beginnings of a church. I believe that some have started to recognise the fruitlessness of their past and may soon seek God in a new and living relationship through the only mediator, Jesus.

However, miracles on their own do not bring people into this relationship. There is still much hard work to do in explaining the good news of complete healing – of salvation. This work (which in the west we might assume is easier than working miracles) is actually harder here. People are very willing to have their illnesses and minor problems healed (who wouldn’t be?) but the idea of repenting and turning to a new faith is not so popular. Furthermore, in a society where decision-making is corporate, and where a monolithic religion stands guard over the mind and will of individuals, change is slow.

This was made apparent by the response to the gospel itself. After the second meeting I left two copies of the New Testament with the woman who had organised the meeting. The community leaders quickly found out and were very angry – warning me that giving out the Book could result in a fast ticket back to the UK. Their threats are real. I continue to wait and watch for the opportune time to pray again for healing and to explain the Good News.

“Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but… against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Eph. 6:12) May the God who so clearly has authority over sickness also demonstrate his authority over this oppressive, false religion and liberate the captives into the Kingdom of the Son. Please pray with us.

As we whizzed in and out of cars that seemed to be hurtling down upon us from every imaginable angle, it quickly became clear this was every man for himself and I was astonished at how it was possible that the cars didn’t all crash into one another at every turn. And as I noticed the great number of machine guns sticking out of the sides of the cars that were passing us, combined with the soldiers in uniform walking down the street hand-in-hand, I was beginning to wonder what I had let myself in for.

I don’t think I ever got used to the strangeness of this new culture: the early morning call to prayer from the local mosque, or the women dressed from head to toe in black robes, or going to a wedding where there were no female guests, only men dancing in a huge circle leaping up and down and twirling daggers in the air; or being invited for tea to the equivalent of the Bank of England at midnight by a stranger I had got chatting to an hour earlier in the middle of the street. But by far more striking than the unfamiliarity of the culture was the hospitality and generosity of the people. I thought I would have very little contact with the locals but thanks be to God the exact opposite was the case. It was practically impossible to walk from end of the street to the other without someone coming up to greet you with a huge smile and often within minutes you’d be exchanging numbers and arranging to meet up for dinner. I have never felt so welcome or safe anywhere. People ask me if I ever felt unsafe, but in fact the only time I ever felt in danger was when trying to pay for the bill after eating out!

My fondest memories, however, were of the children, who seemed to be everywhere you went. Whether it was walking through one village and finding all the children at the local waterfall doing the washing, or walking through another village and joining in with a football game, everywhere the children were full of joy and life and just wanted to play all day, despite having practically nothing of their own, often not even any shoes. It was always a mistake to get out your camera as you would be caught for hours being forced to take photo after photo as the children lined up to have their portrait taken.

Despite the many times of joy and fun, there were also times where it felt my heart was breaking. The poverty was not as obvious as I had expected but you didn’t have to go very far from the main streets selling computers and cameras to find little shanty villages where whole families were living in tiny sheds made of corrugated iron. One in two children suffer from malnutrition, one in six women die from complications related to childbirth, and literacy is 30% among the men, 10% among the women. Drug addiction is widespread.

Even more heartbreaking though was the spiritual plight of this people I had fallen in love with. Out of the millions of people in this country there are few who have heard of who Jesus really is and barely a handful who worship him as Lord and God.

As our team was worshipping one day in a hotel where we were staying for the weekend, with the adults singing out of tune and the children playing their instruments out of time, I noticed two of the hotel workers peeking their heads around the door to see what was going on and I was struck by the grace of our God who welcomes anyone into his presence despite our failings and weaknesses because of the cleansing blood of his Son. How different to their idea of God who demands outward perfection in the ritual observances of washing and prayer and yet who seems to care so little for the inner parts. So often I was reduced to tears thinking about the millions of people in this country who have lead such hard lives and are facing an eternity of darkness without ever even having heard the gospel.

And yet God is so clearly at work in this land. I was amazed by the opportunities I was given to share my faith. In a country where nearly every conversation begins “Where are you from? Are you married? Why not? Are you a Muslim? Why not?” it was far easier to talk about Jesus than in England. And I was amazed at how open people were to taking scripture. I remember asking one guy, who became one of my best friends while I was out there, if he would like a copy of Luke’s gospel and was a bit dispirited when he declined. However, he then said that what he really wanted for many years now was a whole Bible and I was overjoyed to be able to pass one onto him. The next time I saw him he was memorising the Sermon on the Mount! Another friend, whose name literally meant ‘Servant of the King’, when presented with a gospel shouted out “I love you I love you I love you I love you” and then declared we were best friends for life. The greatest privilege, however, was being able to pass on a Bible to someone who had been born again by listening to Christian radio but knew no other Christians and had no Bible of his own.

The whole trip was an amazing experience, not only in the joy of meeting people from that country but also in getting to know the people I was on the trip with and other Christians who are working out there, all of whom immediately felt like family for me. I have thought about my trip every day since returning to England and can’t wait to return one day for longer. I saw so much of God’s heart for people while I was out there and the experience has changed my life. I just pray now that more and more people from that country will be set free by the God who came to die for them.

As we whizzed in and out of cars that seemed to be hurtling down upon us from every imaginable angle, it quickly became clear this was every man for himself and I was astonished at how it was possible that the cars didn’t all crash into one another at every turn. And as I noticed the great number of machine guns sticking out of the sides of the cars that were passing us, combined with the soldiers in uniform walking down the street hand-in-hand, I was beginning to wonder what I had let myself in for.

I don’t think I ever got used to the strangeness of this new culture: the early morning call to prayer from the local mosque, or the women dressed from head to toe in black robes, or going to a wedding where there were no female guests, only men dancing in a huge circle leaping up and down and twirling daggers in the air; or being invited for tea to the equivalent of the Bank of England at midnight by a stranger I had got chatting to an hour earlier in the middle of the street. But by far more striking than the unfamiliarity of the culture was the hospitality and generosity of the people. I thought I would have very little contact with the locals but thanks be to God the exact opposite was the case. It was practically impossible to walk from end of the street to the other without someone coming up to greet you with a huge smile and often within minutes you’d be exchanging numbers and arranging to meet up for dinner. I have never felt so welcome or safe anywhere. People ask me if I ever felt unsafe, but in fact the only time I ever felt in danger was when trying to pay for the bill after eating out!

My fondest memories, however, were of the children, who seemed to be everywhere you went. Whether it was walking through one village and finding all the children at the local waterfall doing the washing, or walking through another village and joining in with a football game, everywhere the children were full of joy and life and just wanted to play all day, despite having practically nothing of their own, often not even any shoes. It was always a mistake to get out your camera as you would be caught for hours being forced to take photo after photo as the children lined up to have their portrait taken.

Despite the many times of joy and fun, there were also times where it felt my heart was breaking. The poverty was not as obvious as I had expected but you didn’t have to go very far from the main streets selling computers and cameras to find little shanty villages where whole families were living in tiny sheds made of corrugated iron. One in two children suffer from malnutrition, one in six women die from complications related to childbirth, and literacy is 30% among the men, 10% among the women. Drug addiction is widespread.

Even more heartbreaking though was the spiritual plight of this people I had fallen in love with. Out of the millions of people in this country there are few who have heard of who Jesus really is and barely a handful who worship him as Lord and God.

As our team was worshipping one day in a hotel where we were staying for the weekend, with the adults singing out of tune and the children playing their instruments out of time, I noticed two of the hotel workers peeking their heads around the door to see what was going on and I was struck by the grace of our God who welcomes anyone into his presence despite our failings and weaknesses because of the cleansing blood of his Son. How different to their idea of God who demands outward perfection in the ritual observances of washing and prayer and yet who seems to care so little for the inner parts. So often I was reduced to tears thinking about the millions of people in this country who have lead such hard lives and are facing an eternity of darkness without ever even having heard the gospel.

And yet God is so clearly at work in this land. I was amazed by the opportunities I was given to share my faith. In a country where nearly every conversation begins “Where are you from? Are you married? Why not? Are you a Muslim? Why not?” it was far easier to talk about Jesus than in England. And I was amazed at how open people were to taking scripture. I remember asking one guy, who became one of my best friends while I was out there, if he would like a copy of Luke’s gospel and was a bit dispirited when he declined. However, he then said that what he really wanted for many years now was a whole Bible and I was overjoyed to be able to pass one onto him. The next time I saw him he was memorising the Sermon on the Mount! Another friend, whose name literally meant ‘Servant of the King’, when presented with a gospel shouted out “I love you I love you I love you I love you” and then declared we were best friends for life. The greatest privilege, however, was being able to pass on a Bible to someone who had been born again by listening to Christian radio but knew no other Christians and had no Bible of his own.

The whole trip was an amazing experience, not only in the joy of meeting people from that country but also in getting to know the people I was on the trip with and other Christians who are working out there, all of whom immediately felt like family for me. I have thought about my trip every day since returning to England and can’t wait to return one day for longer. I saw so much of God’s heart for people while I was out there and the experience has changed my life. I just pray now that more and more people from that country will be set free by the God who came to die for them.

As we whizzed in and out of cars that seemed to be hurtling down upon us from every imaginable angle, it quickly became clear this was every man for himself and I was astonished at how it was possible that the cars didn’t all crash into one another at every turn. And as I noticed the great number of machine guns sticking out of the sides of the cars that were passing us, combined with the soldiers in uniform walking down the street hand-in-hand, I was beginning to wonder what I had let myself in for.

I don’t think I ever got used to the strangeness of this new culture: the early morning call to prayer from the local mosque, or the women dressed from head to toe in black robes, or going to a wedding where there were no female guests, only men dancing in a huge circle leaping up and down and twirling daggers in the air; or being invited for tea to the equivalent of the Bank of England at midnight by a stranger I had got chatting to an hour earlier in the middle of the street. But by far more striking than the unfamiliarity of the culture was the hospitality and generosity of the people. I thought I would have very little contact with the locals but thanks be to God the exact opposite was the case. It was practically impossible to walk from end of the street to the other without someone coming up to greet you with a huge smile and often within minutes you’d be exchanging numbers and arranging to meet up for dinner. I have never felt so welcome or safe anywhere. People ask me if I ever felt unsafe, but in fact the only time I ever felt in danger was when trying to pay for the bill after eating out!

My fondest memories, however, were of the children, who seemed to be everywhere you went. Whether it was walking through one village and finding all the children at the local waterfall doing the washing, or walking through another village and joining in with a football game, everywhere the children were full of joy and life and just wanted to play all day, despite having practically nothing of their own, often not even any shoes. It was always a mistake to get out your camera as you would be caught for hours being forced to take photo after photo as the children lined up to have their portrait taken.

Despite the many times of joy and fun, there were also times where it felt my heart was breaking. The poverty was not as obvious as I had expected but you didn’t have to go very far from the main streets selling computers and cameras to find little shanty villages where whole families were living in tiny sheds made of corrugated iron. One in two children suffer from malnutrition, one in six women die from complications related to childbirth, and literacy is 30% among the men, 10% among the women. Drug addiction is widespread.

Even more heartbreaking though was the spiritual plight of this people I had fallen in love with. Out of the millions of people in this country there are few who have heard of who Jesus really is and barely a handful who worship him as Lord and God.

As our team was worshipping one day in a hotel where we were staying for the weekend, with the adults singing out of tune and the children playing their instruments out of time, I noticed two of the hotel workers peeking their heads around the door to see what was going on and I was struck by the grace of our God who welcomes anyone into his presence despite our failings and weaknesses because of the cleansing blood of his Son. How different to their idea of God who demands outward perfection in the ritual observances of washing and prayer and yet who seems to care so little for the inner parts. So often I was reduced to tears thinking about the millions of people in this country who have lead such hard lives and are facing an eternity of darkness without ever even having heard the gospel.

And yet God is so clearly at work in this land. I was amazed by the opportunities I was given to share my faith. In a country where nearly every conversation begins “Where are you from? Are you married? Why not? Are you a Muslim? Why not?” it was far easier to talk about Jesus than in England. And I was amazed at how open people were to taking scripture. I remember asking one guy, who became one of my best friends while I was out there, if he would like a copy of Luke’s gospel and was a bit dispirited when he declined. However, he then said that what he really wanted for many years now was a whole Bible and I was overjoyed to be able to pass one onto him. The next time I saw him he was memorising the Sermon on the Mount! Another friend, whose name literally meant ‘Servant of the King’, when presented with a gospel shouted out “I love you I love you I love you I love you” and then declared we were best friends for life. The greatest privilege, however, was being able to pass on a Bible to someone who had been born again by listening to Christian radio but knew no other Christians and had no Bible of his own.

The whole trip was an amazing experience, not only in the joy of meeting people from that country but also in getting to know the people I was on the trip with and other Christians who are working out there, all of whom immediately felt like family for me. I have thought about my trip every day since returning to England and can’t wait to return one day for longer. I saw so much of God’s heart for people while I was out there and the experience has changed my life. I just pray now that more and more people from that country will be set free by the God who came to die for them.

As we whizzed in and out of cars that seemed to be hurtling down upon us from every imaginable angle, it quickly became clear this was every man for himself and I was astonished at how it was possible that the cars didn’t all crash into one another at every turn. And as I noticed the great number of machine guns sticking out of the sides of the cars that were passing us, combined with the soldiers in uniform walking down the street hand-in-hand, I was beginning to wonder what I had let myself in for.

I don’t think I ever got used to the strangeness of this new culture: the early morning call to prayer from the local mosque, or the women dressed from head to toe in black robes, or going to a wedding where there were no female guests, only men dancing in a huge circle leaping up and down and twirling daggers in the air; or being invited for tea to the equivalent of the Bank of England at midnight by a stranger I had got chatting to an hour earlier in the middle of the street. But by far more striking than the unfamiliarity of the culture was the hospitality and generosity of the people. I thought I would have very little contact with the locals but thanks be to God the exact opposite was the case. It was practically impossible to walk from end of the street to the other without someone coming up to greet you with a huge smile and often within minutes you’d be exchanging numbers and arranging to meet up for dinner. I have never felt so welcome or safe anywhere. People ask me if I ever felt unsafe, but in fact the only time I ever felt in danger was when trying to pay for the bill after eating out!

My fondest memories, however, were of the children, who seemed to be everywhere you went. Whether it was walking through one village and finding all the children at the local waterfall doing the washing, or walking through another village and joining in with a football game, everywhere the children were full of joy and life and just wanted to play all day, despite having practically nothing of their own, often not even any shoes. It was always a mistake to get out your camera as you would be caught for hours being forced to take photo after photo as the children lined up to have their portrait taken.

Despite the many times of joy and fun, there were also times where it felt my heart was breaking. The poverty was not as obvious as I had expected but you didn’t have to go very far from the main streets selling computers and cameras to find little shanty villages where whole families were living in tiny sheds made of corrugated iron. One in two children suffer from malnutrition, one in six women die from complications related to childbirth, and literacy is 30% among the men, 10% among the women. Drug addiction is widespread.

Even more heartbreaking though was the spiritual plight of this people I had fallen in love with. Out of the millions of people in this country there are few who have heard of who Jesus really is and barely a handful who worship him as Lord and God.

As our team was worshipping one day in a hotel where we were staying for the weekend, with the adults singing out of tune and the children playing their instruments out of time, I noticed two of the hotel workers peeking their heads around the door to see what was going on and I was struck by the grace of our God who welcomes anyone into his presence despite our failings and weaknesses because of the cleansing blood of his Son. How different to their idea of God who demands outward perfection in the ritual observances of washing and prayer and yet who seems to care so little for the inner parts. So often I was reduced to tears thinking about the millions of people in this country who have lead such hard lives and are facing an eternity of darkness without ever even having heard the gospel.

And yet God is so clearly at work in this land. I was amazed by the opportunities I was given to share my faith. In a country where nearly every conversation begins “Where are you from? Are you married? Why not? Are you a Muslim? Why not?” it was far easier to talk about Jesus than in England. And I was amazed at how open people were to taking scripture. I remember asking one guy, who became one of my best friends while I was out there, if he would like a copy of Luke’s gospel and was a bit dispirited when he declined. However, he then said that what he really wanted for many years now was a whole Bible and I was overjoyed to be able to pass one onto him. The next time I saw him he was memorising the Sermon on the Mount! Another friend, whose name literally meant ‘Servant of the King’, when presented with a gospel shouted out “I love you I love you I love you I love you” and then declared we were best friends for life. The greatest privilege, however, was being able to pass on a Bible to someone who had been born again by listening to Christian radio but knew no other Christians and had no Bible of his own.

The whole trip was an amazing experience, not only in the joy of meeting people from that country but also in getting to know the people I was on the trip with and other Christians who are working out there, all of whom immediately felt like family for me. I have thought about my trip every day since returning to England and can’t wait to return one day for longer. I saw so much of God’s heart for people while I was out there and the experience has changed my life. I just pray now that more and more people from that country will be set free by the God who came to die for them.

My patient, swathed in layers of black including a cloth wrapped firmly over her lower face, was indicating the problem that had brought her to clinic today. I could not understand the words, but the actions were clear enough as she clutched almost every joint in her body one at a time.

‘And has she got a headache?’ I asked my translator.

‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘she has a headache all the time, for the last six years.’

‘And what makes it worse?’

‘It’s worse when she works.’

It took me more than two months of living and working in that rural community to begin to understand what ‘work’ meant to the women there. Two months of hearing over and over again about chronic neck, back, knee and arm pain. Two months of watching anonymous black shapes mounting impossibly steep paths with brightly coloured objects on their heads, before I realised those objects were 20-litre containers of water and that the women were carrying them uphill two or three times a day as well as working the fields, cooking the meals, baking bread and looking after their many children.

I felt embarrassed that I, supposedly open-minded and aware, could be so ignorant of how hard these people’s lives really were. We can never know what it is like to live the way they do. I finally realised how dependent we need to be on God and his guidance to have any positive impact in such communities.

One of the most ancient lands on earth, this country is also one of the world’s poorest nations, with high maternal and infant mortality. Despite this, the population is burgeoning, stretching already stretched resources further and further. Most of the illnesses we saw were due to water-borne diseases. Our medicines were only a temporary solution to deep-seated problems. Slices of modern medicine have made an impact, but sophisticated scans and the latest antibiotics do not seem the best solution. We felt like an ambulance parked firmly at the bottom of the cliff struggling to keep up with the injured fallen.

We needed to lean on God the whole time we were away. We had many questions. Why had he called us to this country when we were able to offer so little? What are the best ways to help break cycles of poverty and improve health? How does he regard their religion? How far should we conform to strict standards of dress and protocols that may identify us as members of the religion ourselves? How should we cope with our own feelings of inadequacy and sometimes of not being wanted by certain people there?

God used the time to challenge us too. Why did we need to feel useful? Why did we need to feel that we had made a difference? Although God calls us to be agents of change in a broken world, he wants to do it through us rather than have us take it all on ourselves.

This has two implications. One is that we can let God take on responsibility for the problems that are just too big for us to cope with. His power is sufficient and we can rest in that knowledge. The second implication is that any success in our work is God’s success, not ours; we should be pleased to give him the glory. God used our time in this country to teach us humility and the need to trust in his power and goodness. We are now working on the application of this lesson!