My Sister has Risen

The houses here in Maputo are colorless; they hold much sickness and much darkness within the walls. They are made of stone and cement and are topped with tin roofs. We walk by these houses every day on our way to church. We see big eyes peeking around the thorn bush fences and cardboard doors. There is much despair in Mozambique.

But there is also hope. There are pockets of light in the crevices of this city.

Our ministry days include going from house to house and praying over the hurting people. Our team has seen healing. We have seen grace; Jesus is moving. Three days ago, we came upon a little house. I stepped over the threshold into candlelit darkness. There was a woman lying on the couch. She was covered by a blanket; beads of sweat rolled down her face. Malaria.

We were told to pray over her.

And prayed we did. I didn’t know this woman’s name. I had no idea what her story was or where she was in her walk with the Lord. I didn’t know what her favorite color was or what made her laugh. But God did. God formed her and created her very being. And that was enough. I prayed that grace would fill this dark room—that the Holy Spirit would overwhelm this place with healing.

Nothing happened.

We finished our prayers and said goodbye. She didn’t even look up at us.

The next day we came back. The same house stood before us. This time she was sitting up on her couch, the TV blaring in the background. There was more awareness in her face; she remembered who we were.

Again, the voices of our team rose up to heaven, pleading on behalf of this woman. We needed to God to show up in a big way. We wanted to see the Great Healer heal this woman. My faith was being stretched beyond what I thought I could bear.

Nothing happened.

The team left the house, still holding on to the hope that some sort of healing had taken place. We carried on with our day. This woman was still very much on my heart.  I couldn’t get her out of my mind. The fact that we prayed and nothing seemed to happen was hard. The fact that we left her in that house, with malaria still racking her body with pain was even harder. I wanted so badly to show this woman that we served a Mighty God.

On our prayer rounds the next day, we came up to this little woman’s house. My heart was heavy with desire for restoration. I sent up silent words to my Father. Before I could finish my prayer, I saw a changed woman running out of her house. This was the woman who had been bed ridden for who knew how long? This was the woman who had been identified by us as a malaria-infested body who needed healing? No longer.

This woman knew joy deep in her soul. God had healed her. Our God had healed her.

She came up to each of us and kissed us on the cheek. She hugged me so tightly I couldn’t help but laugh. God had healed her. I couldn’t stop thinking it. My God was bigger than malaria. He was bigger than my worry and concerns. He loved this woman so dearly.

Susan.

Her name was Susan. She was not nameless anymore. Her entire being radiated God’s glory. And so we celebrated as a team and with her. We sent up prayers of thanks. It was amazing to be so close to God working.

The houses here in Maputo are colorless; they hold much sickness and much darkness within the walls…there is much despair in Mozambique.

But there is also hope. There are pockets of life in this city. Because my God is healing people in this country. He is working miracles in Mozambique. My God is in Africa.

And it is so cool.

Psalm 103: 1-5