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A hole in her throat

A hole in her throat
When I read this post by Stacey Hume (ministering with her World Race team in Malawi), I wept. Something must be done. I’d like to ask for your thoughts as to what.   I knew that Africa would be different.  I knew from the bus ride,  the dusty landscape,  and the few people I had m…
By Seth Barnes
By Seth Barnes
When I read this post by Stacey Hume (ministering with her World Race team in Malawi), I wept. Something must be done. I’d like to ask for your thoughts as to what.

 

a hole in her throat 28Medium29

I knew that Africa would be different.  I knew from the bus ride,  the dusty landscape,  and the few people I had met, that this place would change me.   Three days in, and it has already come true.

Covered in two days of dust, and five sleepless nights, we were crusading on the top of a mountain range in southern Malawi, in a small village called Namileme.  At the end of our first  night of prayer, preaching and worship, we were asked to pray for the crowd and their illnesses. One by one, they lined up before us in cues.  I can honestly say, I did not know what to expect.

There were all kinds of maladies to pray for, from headaches, to back pain, fertility, and coughs.  There was numbness and arthritis, broken bones and sores.  There were requests to do better in school or for more intelligence, or for a husband or wife.  And then there was her.

She was small, and beautiful. Probably 8 years old, with wide set brown eyes.   She wore a stained gray cotton dress that had turned orange at the bottom edges from the clay roads.  That is all about her physical features I can recall.

She meekly approached me, head hung low.   Wanangwa, one of the pastors that has been acting as a translator for us, asked her what she needed prayer for.  She responded in Chichewa, their native language, and her words were so quiet, I couldn’t hear her voice.   She leaned in close to him and whispered as if it were the most special of secrets, her small hands cupping his earlobe.   His nodded his head, and he walked her slowly by the small of her back to right in front of me.   He spoke to me in bold English something I was not prepared for, “She has a hole in her throat.  When she drinks water, it comes out of her neck and down her chest.”  My brain stopped working for a second, trying to catch up to the sentence.  But there was just no way to comprehend it.  He turned to walk away, but I grabbed him quickly by his right hand. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”    He repeated patiently, “there is a hole, in her neck.  She can not drink water very well.” He pointed to his throat in case it was his English I wasn’t understanding.   I fell to my knees to see if what he was talking about was even possible, and underneath her perfect tiny brown chin, and perfect little pink mouth, was a crescent moon slit about five inches long, from jaw to jaw, mostly scarred over, except in the middle where there was a hole.  It was thick around the edges, and looked as though it had healed that way.  Either my eyes struggled to send the signal, or my brain would not receive it, I just went to blackout.  In a moment that seemed like an eternity, I tried to comprehend how someone could have cut her , and how she could have lived through it.  But there was nothing.  And the world got so small.

All I could think of was that I wanted to take her to a doctor.  Forget the prayer, forget everything, she needed medical attention.   I need an ambulance, I need the police, I need help.  And then looking around for any of these options, I realized we were a million miles from anywhere. Scanning over the crowds of hurting people it dawned on me, I don’t have a car, I don’t have a doctor.  All I have is God.  Crap.  She’s screwed.

I hugged her into my chest and wept, not sure what to do.  Watching as the line behind her was growing with others, I froze up.  And so I did what I came to do.   I prayed.  I prayed to God a simple and honest prayer, “I know you are there, and I know you have done great things.  I need one of them now.   Heal this child, Lord.  My whole body and everything I am tells me that she needs a doctor, but all we have is you.   So I’m sorry if right now I don’t believe you can do it, but ignore me, and heal her.  She needs you. You are all she has.”

And then she walked away, disappearing into the dusk covered crowd. I will always remember the back of that tattered dress, with the lace trim hanging below the frayed orange hem.  I have never wanted to throw up so badly.   But before I could even try, there was another person in front of me, needing prayer.

Later that night,  I was sitting with my team, and we were discussing the day. When it was my turn, I just cried.  Trying my best to hold it together, I held my head in my hands and explained to them what happened. “I know Jesus said if you ask anything and believe, then it will be given to you.  But I asked, and I didn’t believe.  I didn’t believe He could do it.   What if I was her only chance to get healing or see a doctor and I failed.  What if because I couldn’t get it together she dies from this. What if I prevented her from healing, because I didn’t trust God?” And then there were only tears, no more words could get out of my mouth.

They offered me support, and some Bible verses.  The one about the father, who cried to Jesus, “I do believe, help me in my unbelief.”  But it did little help for my heart.  I think it’s shattered. It may even be broken.   I  hope God will bring me some answers and peace.  But mostly I hope for a miracle.   Oh me of little faith.   She will forever be ingrained in my mind.  So I will pray for her now, mightily.   Which is all she ever asked of me.

Please, be praying for her as well. And believe it.  From across the world, send your earnest prayers to God.  He can do great and mighty things.  Maybe He brought me her, so I could bring her to you.

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