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.