Policeman Abraham
He was a big man with an even bigger smile. His uniform told everyone he was a policeman. He was part of the security team during our stay in Monrovia. He was Policeman Abraham. We hit it off immediately. He wanted to go with me whenever he could. You could tell he was captivated by what we were doing.
He was with us when we went to the orphanage and watched the children being taken away. Some policemen were inciting the crowd against us and WACSN. They were passing along the lies that the kids were being held hostage and sold as slaves. Some of the policemen beat the security guard at the orphanage.
And the police stood in a line as the children were led out of the orphanage. But back away from them a uniform caught my eye. It was Policeman Abraham. His face was sad, his head hung low. He was not happy with these events.
I went over to him and put my arm around him. I told him it would be alright and that God was in control of this situation. I told him we loved him and that we didn’t blame him for what the police were doing.
He told me that being a policeman in Monrovia was hard. Very few of the police have a gun. So if you tried to stop a criminal or enforce the law, the bad guys would find out where you live and try to get even. Yet Monrovia and Liberia really need good, honest policemen to make it a safer place. Liberia needs more Policeman Abraham’s, who love their people and want to make them safe.
Pray for Policeman Abraham and others like him. They are all the safety that many Liberians have, and they need courage to do their job.
Kris
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Bishop Zarway
Bishop Zarway
Without exaggerating one bit, I visited with hundreds of pastors on our trip, perhaps 250. As you could imagine, names could not be remembered. And with most, I had no idea whether they pastored a large church or a small one, and I really didn’t care. I just wanted to encourage them and let them know God had big plans for Liberia.
On Tuesday morning, after the crusade was over, I met a pastor with a big gapped tooth smile named Bishop Zarway. He is a person you just instantly like. We visited for a little while and I began my usual encouragement to pastors to get out into the communities, markets and streets to share the gospel.
He smiled and said he agreed. Just a few weeks ago his church had baptized 56 people. My heart jumped as I came to see this pastor “got it”. His church ran an elementary school for 800 children and a high school for 400. He took great satisfaction in telling me that he made certain every student heard the gospel at least once a week. What a powerful ministry this man leads.
His wife is a doctor. They had just completed a brand new clinic and he asked me to come visit. Later that afternoon, we made our way down the long, bumpy dirt road that led to the clinic. As we walked up to the gate, Bishop Zarway was walking out. We almost ran into each other. As soon as he recognized me that big, gapped tooth smile began to shine and he grabbed my hand and said “you came, you came”.
The clinic was first class with tiled floors and bathrooms, air conditioning, a lab, an ultrasound, a surgical room and a pharmacy. God has blessed the people of this community with a great medical facility and a highly trained doctor and staff. What a blessing they will be to many, many people.
We gathered together to pray with Bishop Zarway and ask that God bless this new clinic and his ministry. But I think we were a little late. This pastor “gets it” and God is already blessing his ministry greatly.
Thanks God for Bishop Zarway, his doctor wife, and his amazing ministry.
Kris
Without exaggerating one bit, I visited with hundreds of pastors on our trip, perhaps 250. As you could imagine, names could not be remembered. And with most, I had no idea whether they pastored a large church or a small one, and I really didn’t care. I just wanted to encourage them and let them know God had big plans for Liberia.
On Tuesday morning, after the crusade was over, I met a pastor with a big gapped tooth smile named Bishop Zarway. He is a person you just instantly like. We visited for a little while and I began my usual encouragement to pastors to get out into the communities, markets and streets to share the gospel.
He smiled and said he agreed. Just a few weeks ago his church had baptized 56 people. My heart jumped as I came to see this pastor “got it”. His church ran an elementary school for 800 children and a high school for 400. He took great satisfaction in telling me that he made certain every student heard the gospel at least once a week. What a powerful ministry this man leads.
His wife is a doctor. They had just completed a brand new clinic and he asked me to come visit. Later that afternoon, we made our way down the long, bumpy dirt road that led to the clinic. As we walked up to the gate, Bishop Zarway was walking out. We almost ran into each other. As soon as he recognized me that big, gapped tooth smile began to shine and he grabbed my hand and said “you came, you came”.
The clinic was first class with tiled floors and bathrooms, air conditioning, a lab, an ultrasound, a surgical room and a pharmacy. God has blessed the people of this community with a great medical facility and a highly trained doctor and staff. What a blessing they will be to many, many people.
We gathered together to pray with Bishop Zarway and ask that God bless this new clinic and his ministry. But I think we were a little late. This pastor “gets it” and God is already blessing his ministry greatly.
Thanks God for Bishop Zarway, his doctor wife, and his amazing ministry.
Kris
Revival at Peace Island
The revival at Peace Island
Peace Island is a large hill surrounded by swamp. The hill is made up of rock and rocky dirt. Not much grows there. Dust is everywhere. Since the place has no value, they let families with nowhere else to go set up home there. Peace Island is the place of last resort for those that have nothing.
And thousands and thousands of people live there. There is a big hole in front of almost every house where the residents dug out dirt to make crude bricks. They stack these bricks up to make walls. Then they use tin to make a roof. Some have doors, some don’t, none have windows.
Electricity is a dream, as is a car. Part of the duties of men in the church is to carry out sick people who need medical attention, as well as the dead. There are no bathrooms or sewers so the waste ends up in the swamp, leaving it polluted and mostly dead.
Yet they survive. Some get jobs, some get help. Among the families and children live former soldiers with drug addictions and psychological problems. They cause trouble and are hard to handle. The men band together to try to keep as much law and order as possible. Peace Island has to stick together, no one seems to care much about them.
One of the ten or so pastors there insisted I come with him to see his church. The sides were woven palm branches, the structure was made of small tree trunks, and the floors were of course dirt. They had some rough wooden benches and a few chairs up front.
The church also doubled as one of the schools at Peace Island. They had two old chalkboards that were barely standing. On them was an English lesson and some math problems. Students don’t have books, and the teachers have very few. If you want a chair, bring your own.
We had visited the area earlier and got to visit and play with the children. They laughed and giggled at us. Not many white folk make their way to Peace Island. We were treated like royalty. They let out school just so the kids could talk with us and stare at us.
The pastors were so gracious, only wanting thank us for coming. But they just couldn’t keep from telling us their people were poor and had nothing. They asked for school books and supplies, Bibles, other real needs, and prayer. They need our prayers as they scratch survival on what some would call a God forsaken rock.
But God has not forsaken Peace Island. Pastors minister there and people worship. They give thanks to God for even the little they have. And they thanked God when we showed up, music blasting as our little caravan wound its way through their world.
We stopped at a dirt field they used to play soccer on. As the music played the people began to come. Soon they formed a big circle around us, five or six people deep. Three hundred, four hundred, maybe more. Come to think of it, there were well over 100 kids there. We got the kids together to sing, play, and go on a bear hunt. They could make some pretty mean, big old bears. I started out leading the singing but Trent soon got Sheila to take my place. I think I was embarrassing him. They loved it all.
Then we preached the gospel of repentance, forgiveness, new creations, and hope. Michael Frisbie, an Enid pastor and Dax did a tremendous job of explaining the gospel. We asked them to come forward to accept Jesus as their savior. And they came. Young men, old women, mothers, fathers, kids, all came expressing a desire to make Jesus their king. Well over a hundred came.
The pastors, Dax, Michael, Chris Zuniga, Keith and Lisa French, Tammy, and Trent were soon busy praying and encouraging the people who wanted Jesus. What a great picture I have in my mind as I continued to call for others to come forward while watching our people help lead lost people into the Kingdom. Arms around shoulders, hand in hand, there was no black and white, there was no Liberian and American, just new brothers and sisters in Christ together.
God is not done with Peace Island and neither are we. God is not done in Liberia and neither are we. The harvest is great and there is a great need for workers. The message of repentance is powerful in Liberia. Satan has had his way, but now God is convicting of sin and calling people to repentance. Liberia is hungry for the gospel. They are captivated by it. We can’t wait to go back and tell others about Jesus.
We can’t wait to go back to Peace Island. They captured our hearts, while God captured theirs. And there is much more to do on that rough, dusty old hill that God has not forsaken.
Kris
Peace Island is a large hill surrounded by swamp. The hill is made up of rock and rocky dirt. Not much grows there. Dust is everywhere. Since the place has no value, they let families with nowhere else to go set up home there. Peace Island is the place of last resort for those that have nothing.
And thousands and thousands of people live there. There is a big hole in front of almost every house where the residents dug out dirt to make crude bricks. They stack these bricks up to make walls. Then they use tin to make a roof. Some have doors, some don’t, none have windows.
Electricity is a dream, as is a car. Part of the duties of men in the church is to carry out sick people who need medical attention, as well as the dead. There are no bathrooms or sewers so the waste ends up in the swamp, leaving it polluted and mostly dead.
Yet they survive. Some get jobs, some get help. Among the families and children live former soldiers with drug addictions and psychological problems. They cause trouble and are hard to handle. The men band together to try to keep as much law and order as possible. Peace Island has to stick together, no one seems to care much about them.
One of the ten or so pastors there insisted I come with him to see his church. The sides were woven palm branches, the structure was made of small tree trunks, and the floors were of course dirt. They had some rough wooden benches and a few chairs up front.
The church also doubled as one of the schools at Peace Island. They had two old chalkboards that were barely standing. On them was an English lesson and some math problems. Students don’t have books, and the teachers have very few. If you want a chair, bring your own.
We had visited the area earlier and got to visit and play with the children. They laughed and giggled at us. Not many white folk make their way to Peace Island. We were treated like royalty. They let out school just so the kids could talk with us and stare at us.
The pastors were so gracious, only wanting thank us for coming. But they just couldn’t keep from telling us their people were poor and had nothing. They asked for school books and supplies, Bibles, other real needs, and prayer. They need our prayers as they scratch survival on what some would call a God forsaken rock.
But God has not forsaken Peace Island. Pastors minister there and people worship. They give thanks to God for even the little they have. And they thanked God when we showed up, music blasting as our little caravan wound its way through their world.
We stopped at a dirt field they used to play soccer on. As the music played the people began to come. Soon they formed a big circle around us, five or six people deep. Three hundred, four hundred, maybe more. Come to think of it, there were well over 100 kids there. We got the kids together to sing, play, and go on a bear hunt. They could make some pretty mean, big old bears. I started out leading the singing but Trent soon got Sheila to take my place. I think I was embarrassing him. They loved it all.
Then we preached the gospel of repentance, forgiveness, new creations, and hope. Michael Frisbie, an Enid pastor and Dax did a tremendous job of explaining the gospel. We asked them to come forward to accept Jesus as their savior. And they came. Young men, old women, mothers, fathers, kids, all came expressing a desire to make Jesus their king. Well over a hundred came.
The pastors, Dax, Michael, Chris Zuniga, Keith and Lisa French, Tammy, and Trent were soon busy praying and encouraging the people who wanted Jesus. What a great picture I have in my mind as I continued to call for others to come forward while watching our people help lead lost people into the Kingdom. Arms around shoulders, hand in hand, there was no black and white, there was no Liberian and American, just new brothers and sisters in Christ together.
God is not done with Peace Island and neither are we. God is not done in Liberia and neither are we. The harvest is great and there is a great need for workers. The message of repentance is powerful in Liberia. Satan has had his way, but now God is convicting of sin and calling people to repentance. Liberia is hungry for the gospel. They are captivated by it. We can’t wait to go back and tell others about Jesus.
We can’t wait to go back to Peace Island. They captured our hearts, while God captured theirs. And there is much more to do on that rough, dusty old hill that God has not forsaken.
Kris
Her last breath
Her last breath
She was laying on the hospital bed dying. Her face was drawn, her eyes stared blankly into the room, and she labored to draw each breath. As I walked into the room with six patients, she was the first to catch my eye. It was clear that she was dying.
And while some were still in the room, she breathed her last breath on this earth. We had come to pray with her and others in the hospital. We had come to share the good news of Jesus. But we were too late for her. Maybe if we had come a few days earlier we could have told her. Maybe she had saving faith. Maybe she did not.
Yet we cannot escape the fact that this woman now faces Almighty God and she either stands before Him with Jesus as her Savior, or she faces eternity in torment and agony. We were too late.
This is why Jesus tells us that “today is the day of salvation”. And if today is the day of salvation, then today must be the day to share the gospel of salvation. For this woman is not alone. Thousands die each day in the hospitals and homes and streets of Liberia. They die each day in Fairview, in Oklahoma, and America. And they die without Jesus as their savior. They die without anyone bringing the hope of the Son of God.
We who are charged with sharing this gospel stand guilty of the sin of silence. We deceive ourselves and wash our hands by offering up the ingenuous argument that “they” had heard about Jesus and rejected him. “They” had their chance.
But have “they” heard about Jesus as savior? Had this women heard about Jesus as savior? Or have “they” simply heard that name used by church people who were really no different than “they” were? Why are we so hesitant to share about our savior with others? Why can’t we tell them what Jesus is doing in our lives? Do our lives keep them from listening?
She took her last breath while we were in the room. How many will breathe their last without hearing the true gospel and seeing it lived out?
Kris
She was laying on the hospital bed dying. Her face was drawn, her eyes stared blankly into the room, and she labored to draw each breath. As I walked into the room with six patients, she was the first to catch my eye. It was clear that she was dying.
And while some were still in the room, she breathed her last breath on this earth. We had come to pray with her and others in the hospital. We had come to share the good news of Jesus. But we were too late for her. Maybe if we had come a few days earlier we could have told her. Maybe she had saving faith. Maybe she did not.
Yet we cannot escape the fact that this woman now faces Almighty God and she either stands before Him with Jesus as her Savior, or she faces eternity in torment and agony. We were too late.
This is why Jesus tells us that “today is the day of salvation”. And if today is the day of salvation, then today must be the day to share the gospel of salvation. For this woman is not alone. Thousands die each day in the hospitals and homes and streets of Liberia. They die each day in Fairview, in Oklahoma, and America. And they die without Jesus as their savior. They die without anyone bringing the hope of the Son of God.
We who are charged with sharing this gospel stand guilty of the sin of silence. We deceive ourselves and wash our hands by offering up the ingenuous argument that “they” had heard about Jesus and rejected him. “They” had their chance.
But have “they” heard about Jesus as savior? Had this women heard about Jesus as savior? Or have “they” simply heard that name used by church people who were really no different than “they” were? Why are we so hesitant to share about our savior with others? Why can’t we tell them what Jesus is doing in our lives? Do our lives keep them from listening?
She took her last breath while we were in the room. How many will breathe their last without hearing the true gospel and seeing it lived out?
Kris
The crab lady
The crab lady and her family
I remember her as the crab lady. Just a couple hundreds yards from the ocean, she sat on a short, crude bench in front of her family’s “home”, cooking rice and a small amount of oily mixture to give it flavor. She smiled at me as I approached. I smiled back, but could not keep from being overwhelmed by the absolute poverty of her situation.
Her family of least six lived in a cobbled up shack. The roof was old tin, probably taken off the roof of one of the many abandoned homes near the ocean. Once they were magnificent, luxury ocean front homes. The war brought destruction and death. I was told many of the owners of these homes were either killed or had fled.
Now these abandoned homes were free housing to multiple families. These were the lucky ones. The crab lady and her family had to live in a makeshift home. The walls were woven palm leaves. The door was a piece of plywood. The floors were dirt and the roof was rusted tin full of holes. In all it was probably 12 feet by 12 feet.
This was the crab lady’s home, with no better one in sight. As she was cooking the rice on a fire outside her shack, I asked her how she bought food. She told me she went out every morning and picked up the small crabs that lived on the beach. She cooked them then took them to a market to sell.
Her husband told me of how we wanted a job, but could not find one. He told me of the despair, and how his children could not go to school. They invited me to eat with them. I was humbled at the generosity of these people who had so little.
I spent the next 15 minutes or so sitting with them on a short, dirty bench. I told them that Liberia was rich. That God had blessed their country with more than enough to live on. They agreed but they just couldn’t see how to get what God had given. So the crab lady continues to gather her crabs.
We must help Liberians see the riches God has provided. We must help them begin to use those riches. We must help them turn their hearts towards God and His Son, so their eyes will be opened. The war has devastated the country and broken their spirits. They have no vision. They are just surviving day to day. Satan has deceived them into believing they must beg from America and the UN for their lives to get better. They see the riches, but they don’t know how to get them.
So the crab lady hunts crabs to feed her family. Thank you God for supplying the crabs. Help them see they can have so much more.
Kris
I remember her as the crab lady. Just a couple hundreds yards from the ocean, she sat on a short, crude bench in front of her family’s “home”, cooking rice and a small amount of oily mixture to give it flavor. She smiled at me as I approached. I smiled back, but could not keep from being overwhelmed by the absolute poverty of her situation.
Her family of least six lived in a cobbled up shack. The roof was old tin, probably taken off the roof of one of the many abandoned homes near the ocean. Once they were magnificent, luxury ocean front homes. The war brought destruction and death. I was told many of the owners of these homes were either killed or had fled.
Now these abandoned homes were free housing to multiple families. These were the lucky ones. The crab lady and her family had to live in a makeshift home. The walls were woven palm leaves. The door was a piece of plywood. The floors were dirt and the roof was rusted tin full of holes. In all it was probably 12 feet by 12 feet.
This was the crab lady’s home, with no better one in sight. As she was cooking the rice on a fire outside her shack, I asked her how she bought food. She told me she went out every morning and picked up the small crabs that lived on the beach. She cooked them then took them to a market to sell.
Her husband told me of how we wanted a job, but could not find one. He told me of the despair, and how his children could not go to school. They invited me to eat with them. I was humbled at the generosity of these people who had so little.
I spent the next 15 minutes or so sitting with them on a short, dirty bench. I told them that Liberia was rich. That God had blessed their country with more than enough to live on. They agreed but they just couldn’t see how to get what God had given. So the crab lady continues to gather her crabs.
We must help Liberians see the riches God has provided. We must help them begin to use those riches. We must help them turn their hearts towards God and His Son, so their eyes will be opened. The war has devastated the country and broken their spirits. They have no vision. They are just surviving day to day. Satan has deceived them into believing they must beg from America and the UN for their lives to get better. They see the riches, but they don’t know how to get them.
So the crab lady hunts crabs to feed her family. Thank you God for supplying the crabs. Help them see they can have so much more.
Kris
Dorcas wanted prayer
Dorcas wanted prayer
Hundreds of people were responding to the gospel during the invitation. Many more came for prayer. One lady walked right up to me and asked if I would pray with her. Her name was Dorcas. She had a niece in the hospital that was very sick and she needed our prayers. I put my arm around her and we prayed for her little niece. We asked God to heal her and bring her family peace and comfort.
Dorcas gave me a hug, a big smile, and a thank you. Then off she went into the crowd.
Two days later we were visiting a hospital, going from room to room praying with sick people and their families. As I was walking to a room I heard “Pastor Kris, Pastor Kris”. It was Dorcas. I was standing right by the door of her niece’s room. She grabbed my arm and we went right to her niece’s bed so we could pray.
We finished our hospital visit and began visiting with people in the market nearby. I once again heard that voice say “Pastor Kris, Pastor Kris”. Dorcas was smiling as she brought the news her niece was sitting up and feeling much, much better.
All quite a coincidence some might say. God’s people know that is just God.
Kris
Hundreds of people were responding to the gospel during the invitation. Many more came for prayer. One lady walked right up to me and asked if I would pray with her. Her name was Dorcas. She had a niece in the hospital that was very sick and she needed our prayers. I put my arm around her and we prayed for her little niece. We asked God to heal her and bring her family peace and comfort.
Dorcas gave me a hug, a big smile, and a thank you. Then off she went into the crowd.
Two days later we were visiting a hospital, going from room to room praying with sick people and their families. As I was walking to a room I heard “Pastor Kris, Pastor Kris”. It was Dorcas. I was standing right by the door of her niece’s room. She grabbed my arm and we went right to her niece’s bed so we could pray.
We finished our hospital visit and began visiting with people in the market nearby. I once again heard that voice say “Pastor Kris, Pastor Kris”. Dorcas was smiling as she brought the news her niece was sitting up and feeling much, much better.
All quite a coincidence some might say. God’s people know that is just God.
Kris
Why Calvin was a little late
Why Calvin was a little late
Calvin Burgess is a man who owns and operates a large farm in Kenya. He agreed to travel with us to Liberia to speak at the crusade and tour the country, looking for opportunities to build sustainable projects.
Saturday he once again left out in the morning to see the land and people. Calvin was scheduled to speak at 6 pm, so he wanted to get back by 5. The praise singers were leading the people in worship, so Dax and I went outside, in front of the stadium, to wait on Calvin. We sat on some steps and waited. Dax got up to go talk with someone. I stayed waiting on Calvin. He was late.
I was looking around at the people milling about outside the stadium when I felt a nudge. A young boy, who turned out to be 14, had slid up beside me. He wore a Texas Longhorn Tshirt. He said “I want to be your friend”.
This is common in Liberia for Americans. We are all viewed as rich and a good source of money. If you go to Liberia, most people you meet will want to be your friend in hopes of getting money. This little boy wanted to be my friend.
I asked him his name. It was Joseph. I began to tell him about a friend he could have that would be the best friend he ever had. I told him about Jesus. Soon I was surrounded by 8 or 10 young boys, all huddle around me, listening closely as I told them about Jesus. They couldn’t get enough. They stayed and stayed as I talked about God and His Son.
Then I asked them if they wanted to ask Jesus into their heart. I asked them if they believed that Jesus was God’s Son who came to earth, died on the cross for our sins, and was raised from the dead. I asked them to repent of their sins and ask Jesus to be the king of their lives. Five of them did. One of them was Joseph.
I believe they meant it. I am convinced that Joseph did. And he did become my friend, spending time the next two days with Brook and I. He told me he had gone home and told his family about Jesus. He went to church and told his pastor he had asked Jesus into his heart. He couldn’t keep from smiling.
After he spoke, Calvin began to apologize for being a little late. I stopped him, smiled, then told him why he was a little late. God had planned that Joseph and his friends hear about Jesus. The stops to fix the car Calvin was using weren’t wasted time. It was just the time God needed to let some young Liberian boys hear about His Son.
Thank you God for making Calvin a little late.
Kris
Calvin Burgess is a man who owns and operates a large farm in Kenya. He agreed to travel with us to Liberia to speak at the crusade and tour the country, looking for opportunities to build sustainable projects.
Saturday he once again left out in the morning to see the land and people. Calvin was scheduled to speak at 6 pm, so he wanted to get back by 5. The praise singers were leading the people in worship, so Dax and I went outside, in front of the stadium, to wait on Calvin. We sat on some steps and waited. Dax got up to go talk with someone. I stayed waiting on Calvin. He was late.
I was looking around at the people milling about outside the stadium when I felt a nudge. A young boy, who turned out to be 14, had slid up beside me. He wore a Texas Longhorn Tshirt. He said “I want to be your friend”.
This is common in Liberia for Americans. We are all viewed as rich and a good source of money. If you go to Liberia, most people you meet will want to be your friend in hopes of getting money. This little boy wanted to be my friend.
I asked him his name. It was Joseph. I began to tell him about a friend he could have that would be the best friend he ever had. I told him about Jesus. Soon I was surrounded by 8 or 10 young boys, all huddle around me, listening closely as I told them about Jesus. They couldn’t get enough. They stayed and stayed as I talked about God and His Son.
Then I asked them if they wanted to ask Jesus into their heart. I asked them if they believed that Jesus was God’s Son who came to earth, died on the cross for our sins, and was raised from the dead. I asked them to repent of their sins and ask Jesus to be the king of their lives. Five of them did. One of them was Joseph.
I believe they meant it. I am convinced that Joseph did. And he did become my friend, spending time the next two days with Brook and I. He told me he had gone home and told his family about Jesus. He went to church and told his pastor he had asked Jesus into his heart. He couldn’t keep from smiling.
After he spoke, Calvin began to apologize for being a little late. I stopped him, smiled, then told him why he was a little late. God had planned that Joseph and his friends hear about Jesus. The stops to fix the car Calvin was using weren’t wasted time. It was just the time God needed to let some young Liberian boys hear about His Son.
Thank you God for making Calvin a little late.
Kris
"I'll take you to some people who need hope"
“I’ll take you to people who need hope”
Kennedy Hospital is a large hospital in Liberia. It was built in the early 60’s, so it is almost 50 years old and is showing its age. By our standards it is dirty and run down. It smells. Catheter tubes run into dishes on the floor. Sheets don’t get changed every day. Bedpans lay full next to beds. There is no air conditioning and the patients suffer in the heat. Much of the routine care is left to the family.
Yet it is all they have, and many cannot afford even this. The doctors and nurses work hard and do the best they can. But death is everywhere and uneventful. Pain is constant, even with many of the children. Their cries echo through the halls and pound upon your heart.
It is a place of heaviness. It is a place of worry and sorrow. And it is a place of healing and joy. As with the other hospitals we visited, it wears on you. Praying with mothers whose child lays sick, with men whose limbs are gone, or women who have just given birth drains you. Yet at the same time it brings a sense of satisfaction that you have brought some light and hope to a desperate people.
We came to Kennedy Hospital with Elder Ross, a Liberian who teaches at the orphanage. As we came to one of the wings of the complex, we were met by a well-dressed woman who wanted to know what we were doing. She was the assistant administrator for this entire wing. Elder Ross explained that we had come to pray for the sick.
The skepticism was evident on her face. At first, I thought she would turn us away. Then she looked right at me and said “I’ll take you to some people that need hope”. She turned and began to walk into the building as we followed.
We were led to an area that was home to 40 or so women, some girls as young as twelve. These women had been raped. Some by multiple men. They had been torn up inside, requiring surgery and care. Many were forced to sit on buckets because of the damage to their bodies. The assistant administrator told us that their families had abandoned and rejected them because they had been raped.
So for an extended time, this was their home, and each other was their family. And they had no hope. You could see it in their eyes. Their bodies were broken, they been brutally used for pleasure, their families condemned them, and they had no home, no future. Before us was the least among us.
And they were gathered together staring at us, looking at me as I stepped forward to speak with them. How do you prepare for such a moment? What words can give them even a bit of comfort? Am I capable of even praying for these poor young women? The overwhelming sense of utter helplessness overcomes you. All you can do is cry out to God for them.
I told them we loved them. I told them God loved them. I told them that God gathers his lambs in His arms and carries them close to his heart. And I told them that God had loved them so much he sent His Son for them and if they would ask Jesus, he would come into their hearts and never leave them. I told them that Jesus was preparing a place for them and that they would one day sit on the throne with Jesus. I told them there was hope and love and peace and comfort. I asked God to heal their broken bodies and their broken hearts.
Thank you God for being a God of love, mercy, and hope. Thank you Jesus for loving us enough to die for us. Thank you Holy Spirit for being our comforter and intercessor, for my words could not begin to express my heart. Please Holy Spirit, surround these dear young girls with your love and peace. Let them know they are not alone. Let them know they are loved. Let them know they have hope. They desperately need it.
We so often lead such easy lives we don’t pray desperate prayers. We don’t simply cry out to God with the overwhelming sense that we can do nothing, knowing only He can. But what a comfort and joy to realize anew that we serve a God who can heal any broken body and heal any broken heart.
Maybe God is asking you to go to Liberia, to Monrovia, to Kennedy Hospital, to this wing to simply give these dear young women a loving hug. I don’t believe I will ever forget those words “I’ll take you to some people who need hope”. Will you help bring them hope?
Kris
Kennedy Hospital is a large hospital in Liberia. It was built in the early 60’s, so it is almost 50 years old and is showing its age. By our standards it is dirty and run down. It smells. Catheter tubes run into dishes on the floor. Sheets don’t get changed every day. Bedpans lay full next to beds. There is no air conditioning and the patients suffer in the heat. Much of the routine care is left to the family.
Yet it is all they have, and many cannot afford even this. The doctors and nurses work hard and do the best they can. But death is everywhere and uneventful. Pain is constant, even with many of the children. Their cries echo through the halls and pound upon your heart.
It is a place of heaviness. It is a place of worry and sorrow. And it is a place of healing and joy. As with the other hospitals we visited, it wears on you. Praying with mothers whose child lays sick, with men whose limbs are gone, or women who have just given birth drains you. Yet at the same time it brings a sense of satisfaction that you have brought some light and hope to a desperate people.
We came to Kennedy Hospital with Elder Ross, a Liberian who teaches at the orphanage. As we came to one of the wings of the complex, we were met by a well-dressed woman who wanted to know what we were doing. She was the assistant administrator for this entire wing. Elder Ross explained that we had come to pray for the sick.
The skepticism was evident on her face. At first, I thought she would turn us away. Then she looked right at me and said “I’ll take you to some people that need hope”. She turned and began to walk into the building as we followed.
We were led to an area that was home to 40 or so women, some girls as young as twelve. These women had been raped. Some by multiple men. They had been torn up inside, requiring surgery and care. Many were forced to sit on buckets because of the damage to their bodies. The assistant administrator told us that their families had abandoned and rejected them because they had been raped.
So for an extended time, this was their home, and each other was their family. And they had no hope. You could see it in their eyes. Their bodies were broken, they been brutally used for pleasure, their families condemned them, and they had no home, no future. Before us was the least among us.
And they were gathered together staring at us, looking at me as I stepped forward to speak with them. How do you prepare for such a moment? What words can give them even a bit of comfort? Am I capable of even praying for these poor young women? The overwhelming sense of utter helplessness overcomes you. All you can do is cry out to God for them.
I told them we loved them. I told them God loved them. I told them that God gathers his lambs in His arms and carries them close to his heart. And I told them that God had loved them so much he sent His Son for them and if they would ask Jesus, he would come into their hearts and never leave them. I told them that Jesus was preparing a place for them and that they would one day sit on the throne with Jesus. I told them there was hope and love and peace and comfort. I asked God to heal their broken bodies and their broken hearts.
Thank you God for being a God of love, mercy, and hope. Thank you Jesus for loving us enough to die for us. Thank you Holy Spirit for being our comforter and intercessor, for my words could not begin to express my heart. Please Holy Spirit, surround these dear young girls with your love and peace. Let them know they are not alone. Let them know they are loved. Let them know they have hope. They desperately need it.
We so often lead such easy lives we don’t pray desperate prayers. We don’t simply cry out to God with the overwhelming sense that we can do nothing, knowing only He can. But what a comfort and joy to realize anew that we serve a God who can heal any broken body and heal any broken heart.
Maybe God is asking you to go to Liberia, to Monrovia, to Kennedy Hospital, to this wing to simply give these dear young women a loving hug. I don’t believe I will ever forget those words “I’ll take you to some people who need hope”. Will you help bring them hope?
Kris
Friday, April 3, 2009
Team Members Will Tell All
Sunday April 5th the team will tell the Church on Sunday morning all about the trip. This is the one to come to since the memory and details will be fresh in their hearts and minds.
And the Fellowship said-
Garen
And the Fellowship said-
Garen
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Headed west and home
I spoke with Kris and Dax at noon here (5 PM there), using the new internet connection, and they were headed to the airport for a 6 PM departure to Brussells, Belgium. Then they will go to Chicago and finally Oklahoma City. The flights out of Brussells are notoriously late in departing. The group should be in OKC late Thursday afternoon.
Garen
Garen
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