Ahmed, 17, had been a believer for six months. He had been wondering how to begin to tell his family and neighbours, and until he felt it was right to do so he was just quietly walking The Way.
One Friday there was a ruckus of excitement and entertainment, which also had a frisson of fear: a woman in the village was possessed by an evil spirit. Through the day the ‘witch doctor’ and mosque leader had both had times of working with her to drive the unclean spirit out but to no effect. As evening approached she was still uncontrollable, violent and deeply disturbed.
As the evening wore on Ahmed became more and more disquieted in his spirit. “I know Jesus is more powerful than this” burned in his chest. Eventually he could bear it no more – something had to be done. He went and got his New Testament (which no-one knew he had) and approached the woman. Taking the book he put it on her chest and said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” For a moment there was frozen silence and then, in one violent motion, she snatched the New Testament and threw it, sending it sprawling in the dust, pages dishevelled.
Ahmed was a new believer, with just six months of teaching, and now he’s seeing his faith lying in the dust. So what he did next astounds me. He went and got the book, dusted it off, walked back to the woman, and repeated what he had done before. Holding the New Testament to her chest he said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” This time the lady gave a loud cry and collapsed into unconsciousness. The crowd were at first concerned that she had died but then realised she was breathing and at peace. For the next wee while she stayed unresponsive but then woke up, disoriented and wondering what had happened, but obviously okay.
I first heard about this two weeks after the event. Ahmed’s pastor (an “Imam”) was just bouncing with the news that now there was a community who had seen the power of the Gospel in action, through one of their own, and they were asking, “Who is this man Jesus?”
That question, “Who is this man?” is starting to reverberate round Muslim communities in South Asia. When we first went there 18 years ago we began to hear about isolated “pockets of fire.” Fifteen years later, towards the end of our time, I visited one area twice. The first visit, in 2004, found one family who had faced real persecution for their faith but had stayed faithful. Around them were occasional believers but they were very subdued and I had to be very cautious in conversation as to what I asked, and when I could ask it.
On my second visit in 2007, I brought a colleague with me and I warned him to be circumspect. Therefore, both of us were thrown somewhat to find our first cups of tea were with 25 believers who were busy telling us of their faith; how each month they showed the Jesus film and gave a gospel message to any who wanted to come. We were even invited to preach at the next one, happening the next evening, but had to decline. We met over 80 believers that day, and where there had been caution, now there was courage. Where things had been circumspect, now they were circulating.
Lives and communities transformed. It’s a pretty good start. Over these last 18 years I have seen God in action as His Kingdom is advancing. South Asia has pockets of fire that are starting to coalesce. Now God is moving us to another country where there is a Muslim community in which we can apply the lessons and experience learnt over the last 18 years. This new country (England) in one of the forefronts of Islam and I believe God wants to transform lives and communities there too.
Colin and Christine Edwards have been involved in South Asia since 1988, but are currently transitioning to the UK, where they’ll be involved with crosscultural work with Interserve’s Urban Vision programme.
Ahmed, 17, had been a believer for six months. He had been wondering how to begin to tell his family and neighbours, and until he felt it was right to do so he was just quietly walking The Way.
One Friday there was a ruckus of excitement and entertainment, which also had a frisson of fear: a woman in the village was possessed by an evil spirit. Through the day the ‘witch doctor’ and mosque leader had both had times of working with her to drive the unclean spirit out but to no effect. As evening approached she was still uncontrollable, violent and deeply disturbed.
As the evening wore on Ahmed became more and more disquieted in his spirit. “I know Jesus is more powerful than this” burned in his chest. Eventually he could bear it no more – something had to be done. He went and got his New Testament (which no-one knew he had) and approached the woman. Taking the book he put it on her chest and said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” For a moment there was frozen silence and then, in one violent motion, she snatched the New Testament and threw it, sending it sprawling in the dust, pages dishevelled.
Ahmed was a new believer, with just six months of teaching, and now he’s seeing his faith lying in the dust. So what he did next astounds me. He went and got the book, dusted it off, walked back to the woman, and repeated what he had done before. Holding the New Testament to her chest he said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” This time the lady gave a loud cry and collapsed into unconsciousness. The crowd were at first concerned that she had died but then realised she was breathing and at peace. For the next wee while she stayed unresponsive but then woke up, disoriented and wondering what had happened, but obviously okay.
I first heard about this two weeks after the event. Ahmed’s pastor (an “Imam”) was just bouncing with the news that now there was a community who had seen the power of the Gospel in action, through one of their own, and they were asking, “Who is this man Jesus?”
That question, “Who is this man?” is starting to reverberate round Muslim communities in South Asia. When we first went there 18 years ago we began to hear about isolated “pockets of fire.” Fifteen years later, towards the end of our time, I visited one area twice. The first visit, in 2004, found one family who had faced real persecution for their faith but had stayed faithful. Around them were occasional believers but they were very subdued and I had to be very cautious in conversation as to what I asked, and when I could ask it.
On my second visit in 2007, I brought a colleague with me and I warned him to be circumspect. Therefore, both of us were thrown somewhat to find our first cups of tea were with 25 believers who were busy telling us of their faith; how each month they showed the Jesus film and gave a gospel message to any who wanted to come. We were even invited to preach at the next one, happening the next evening, but had to decline. We met over 80 believers that day, and where there had been caution, now there was courage. Where things had been circumspect, now they were circulating.
Lives and communities transformed. It’s a pretty good start. Over these last 18 years I have seen God in action as His Kingdom is advancing. South Asia has pockets of fire that are starting to coalesce. Now God is moving us to another country where there is a Muslim community in which we can apply the lessons and experience learnt over the last 18 years. This new country (England) in one of the forefronts of Islam and I believe God wants to transform lives and communities there too.
Colin and Christine Edwards have been involved in South Asia since 1988, but are currently transitioning to the UK, where they’ll be involved with crosscultural work with Interserve’s Urban Vision programme.
Ahmed, 17, had been a believer for six months. He had been wondering how to begin to tell his family and neighbours, and until he felt it was right to do so he was just quietly walking The Way.
One Friday there was a ruckus of excitement and entertainment, which also had a frisson of fear: a woman in the village was possessed by an evil spirit. Through the day the ‘witch doctor’ and mosque leader had both had times of working with her to drive the unclean spirit out but to no effect. As evening approached she was still uncontrollable, violent and deeply disturbed.
As the evening wore on Ahmed became more and more disquieted in his spirit. “I know Jesus is more powerful than this” burned in his chest. Eventually he could bear it no more – something had to be done. He went and got his New Testament (which no-one knew he had) and approached the woman. Taking the book he put it on her chest and said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” For a moment there was frozen silence and then, in one violent motion, she snatched the New Testament and threw it, sending it sprawling in the dust, pages dishevelled.
Ahmed was a new believer, with just six months of teaching, and now he’s seeing his faith lying in the dust. So what he did next astounds me. He went and got the book, dusted it off, walked back to the woman, and repeated what he had done before. Holding the New Testament to her chest he said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” This time the lady gave a loud cry and collapsed into unconsciousness. The crowd were at first concerned that she had died but then realised she was breathing and at peace. For the next wee while she stayed unresponsive but then woke up, disoriented and wondering what had happened, but obviously okay.
I first heard about this two weeks after the event. Ahmed’s pastor (an “Imam”) was just bouncing with the news that now there was a community who had seen the power of the Gospel in action, through one of their own, and they were asking, “Who is this man Jesus?”
That question, “Who is this man?” is starting to reverberate round Muslim communities in South Asia. When we first went there 18 years ago we began to hear about isolated “pockets of fire.” Fifteen years later, towards the end of our time, I visited one area twice. The first visit, in 2004, found one family who had faced real persecution for their faith but had stayed faithful. Around them were occasional believers but they were very subdued and I had to be very cautious in conversation as to what I asked, and when I could ask it.
On my second visit in 2007, I brought a colleague with me and I warned him to be circumspect. Therefore, both of us were thrown somewhat to find our first cups of tea were with 25 believers who were busy telling us of their faith; how each month they showed the Jesus film and gave a gospel message to any who wanted to come. We were even invited to preach at the next one, happening the next evening, but had to decline. We met over 80 believers that day, and where there had been caution, now there was courage. Where things had been circumspect, now they were circulating.
Lives and communities transformed. It’s a pretty good start. Over these last 18 years I have seen God in action as His Kingdom is advancing. South Asia has pockets of fire that are starting to coalesce. Now God is moving us to another country where there is a Muslim community in which we can apply the lessons and experience learnt over the last 18 years. This new country (England) in one of the forefronts of Islam and I believe God wants to transform lives and communities there too.
Colin and Christine Edwards have been involved in South Asia since 1988, but are currently transitioning to the UK, where they’ll be involved with crosscultural work with Interserve’s Urban Vision programme.
Ahmed, 17, had been a believer for six months. He had been wondering how to begin to tell his family and neighbours, and until he felt it was right to do so he was just quietly walking The Way.
One Friday there was a ruckus of excitement and entertainment, which also had a frisson of fear: a woman in the village was possessed by an evil spirit. Through the day the ‘witch doctor’ and mosque leader had both had times of working with her to drive the unclean spirit out but to no effect. As evening approached she was still uncontrollable, violent and deeply disturbed.
As the evening wore on Ahmed became more and more disquieted in his spirit. “I know Jesus is more powerful than this” burned in his chest. Eventually he could bear it no more – something had to be done. He went and got his New Testament (which no-one knew he had) and approached the woman. Taking the book he put it on her chest and said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” For a moment there was frozen silence and then, in one violent motion, she snatched the New Testament and threw it, sending it sprawling in the dust, pages dishevelled.
Ahmed was a new believer, with just six months of teaching, and now he’s seeing his faith lying in the dust. So what he did next astounds me. He went and got the book, dusted it off, walked back to the woman, and repeated what he had done before. Holding the New Testament to her chest he said, “In the name of Jesus – leave!” This time the lady gave a loud cry and collapsed into unconsciousness. The crowd were at first concerned that she had died but then realised she was breathing and at peace. For the next wee while she stayed unresponsive but then woke up, disoriented and wondering what had happened, but obviously okay.
I first heard about this two weeks after the event. Ahmed’s pastor (an “Imam”) was just bouncing with the news that now there was a community who had seen the power of the Gospel in action, through one of their own, and they were asking, “Who is this man Jesus?”
That question, “Who is this man?” is starting to reverberate round Muslim communities in South Asia. When we first went there 18 years ago we began to hear about isolated “pockets of fire.” Fifteen years later, towards the end of our time, I visited one area twice. The first visit, in 2004, found one family who had faced real persecution for their faith but had stayed faithful. Around them were occasional believers but they were very subdued and I had to be very cautious in conversation as to what I asked, and when I could ask it.
On my second visit in 2007, I brought a colleague with me and I warned him to be circumspect. Therefore, both of us were thrown somewhat to find our first cups of tea were with 25 believers who were busy telling us of their faith; how each month they showed the Jesus film and gave a gospel message to any who wanted to come. We were even invited to preach at the next one, happening the next evening, but had to decline. We met over 80 believers that day, and where there had been caution, now there was courage. Where things had been circumspect, now they were circulating.
Lives and communities transformed. It’s a pretty good start. Over these last 18 years I have seen God in action as His Kingdom is advancing. South Asia has pockets of fire that are starting to coalesce. Now God is moving us to another country where there is a Muslim community in which we can apply the lessons and experience learnt over the last 18 years. This new country (England) in one of the forefronts of Islam and I believe God wants to transform lives and communities there too.
Colin and Christine Edwards have been involved in South Asia since 1988, but are currently transitioning to the UK, where they’ll be involved with crosscultural work with Interserve’s Urban Vision programme.
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.
Well, I made it back, a little weaker in body, especially due to the salmonella friends I brought back with me, but stronger in the broken places and stronger in my walk with God.
Things I noticed when I got home
* Everything was so green and all the food tasted so good. I saw the world with new eyes, nothing deterred me, not even hardly sleeping for three days.
* I caught myself still checking the floor when I got out of bed to make sure I didn’t step on a scorpian.
* I don’t have to cover my head, but I feel half naked without it, and the clothes I wore for two months straight now feel like pajamas.
* I don’t shower three times a day and I wear socks and usually a sweatshirt because I’m always cold.
* People aren’t always holding my hand anymore, reaching out to stroke my blonde hair, kissing my head, laying hands on me to bless me or asking me to do something I don’t know how to do in a language I don’t understand. (I think I’ve lost some popularity and status.)
* I wear a seatbelt and people use breaks – amazing!
And so much more. It’s a totally different world.
So what about God? Never once did I question whether or not God had called me there, but I did question why he had called me and not someone else. Why did he lead me out of my comfort zone, away from the life and people I cared so much about and to a life of pain and starvation and to one that is threatened on a daily basis?
I guess because that was his plan for me. It was his way of refining me. He had prepared a place for me there and I needed to fill it.
I found my heart growing with love for the broken people that I worked with all day, everyday and sometimes through the night, but it was also growing for the people back home in Canada with whom I couldn’t even keep in touch.
It takes tremendous courage to love when we are broken, yet I wonder if love becomes more authentic when it matures out of brokenness. Brokenness compels us to find a force outside of ourselves and leads us to God, whose essential nature is love.
Through being stretched by grief, suffering and loss, my heart and soul were able to feel more peace, strength and joy. In the valley of suffering, despair and bitterness are brewed, but there also character is made. The valley of suffering is the vale of soul-making.
God had prepared a place for me in Pakistan and I needed to fill it.
You realise as everything is crumbling around you that you’re falling – falling straight into the arms of the one who created you, the one who calls you son or daughter. All you have to do is trust that he’ll catch you.
What else did I learn? I learned the truth of the saying, ‘Humility is not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less’. We’re not home yet – this earth is not our home – we’re only here for a short while.
So what’s really important? When we pass into eternity, into our Father’s presence, what will matter? Not the things of this world. What counts are people, service and relationships.
A story of brokenness She looks at me, her face contorted in pain as we inspect her contracted belly. Tears fill her eyes as we tell her she really could not have been feeling her baby move; there is no heartbeat.
How she must have worked to get that baby where she did: I can see the head, but there he sits, stuck, with the life squeezed out of him, on his way into this world but skipping it and passing straight into eternity.
I see his lifeless purple body lying there on the table. Perfect. Every finger and every toe in place, but no breath, no heartbeat. Gingerly I touch him and gently place him in the water, washing away the blood, the dirt. His body is here in my hands, but he is not.
Where is he? Why God? Why must it end like this? How can I stand by and watch? What is happening to my heart?
Rachel’s journal – an extract
Most of the people who come to the hospital are Pushtu speaking Phutans. They are probably the poorest tribe in Pakistan, but they look regal and elegant as they are often tall (apparently they are descendants of Alexander the Great) and appear to be floating under their large burkas which cover them from head to toe. You never know if the person standing before you is a beautiful 20-year-old carrying her first child or an ancient, wrinkly woman until she leaves the presence of men and lifts up the front of her burka.
The men are often herdsmen or businessmen, and the women have children and run the home. The average woman has 8-12 children. It is more important to have sons, so the boys are often fed first. And if they are ill, their parents are more likely to bring them to hospital instead of just letting them die.
When taking obstetrical histories, one often discovers that it is the females who have died. In one example of 2-month-old twins (nonidentical), the boy weighed 10 lbs while the girl only weighed 6 lbs.
We also have some Afghan refugees coming through. The hospital was built on one of the main routes for the purpose of helping refugees.
Address
경기도 성남시 분당구 정자일로 1 A동 1206호
A-1206, 1, Jeongjail-ro, Bundang-gu,
Seongnam-si, Gyeonggi-do, Republic of Kore
Contact
interservekorea@gmail.com
Tel +82 031 778 7931
Fax 031-606-4773