Week 4

This week I stood on the southernmost tip of Africa. With my left foot in the Atlantic ocean, and my right foot in the Indian ocean, I faced the beach dunes of Cape Point, my back to the merging of the two oceans; I stood in awe. Friday was my “day off” but instead I decided to take the long 4 hour drive to Cape Point with my two leaders and only two other members of my team-- it was a long day, far from restful, but I believe it was the opportunity I needed to get a good dose of reality. We made the journey for the soul purpose of standing in the frigid sea waters and praying over Africa- being at the bottom of the continent as symbolism for our prayers and words to be carried up through the two oceans from Nigeria to Egypt.
Yes, perhaps it was a bit unnecessary, however, I’m coming to discover that after seeing the things I see, and working in the environments I’m working in day after day, a bit of practicality helps to ground me and reawaken my mind to comprehend that yes--little 19 year old Stephanie is far far away from home. But it’s alright! It’s a good reminder. As my friend Tyler wrote me in a letter when I left home, “The world turns fast and sooner than you know it, we’ll be saying hello again and you’ll be back home.” It’s too true, and so even when the waves of homesickness and the longing for my own bed come down on me- I can rejoice in where I stand now. It’s quite a blessing really, because even though for the past three days I’ve only eaten sauerkraut, chicken liver, rice, hot dogs and chocolate bars, and I sleep in a little room with 12 other girls and have not had a day to sleep in or a day off since I stepped foot in this country, nor have I had the luxury of showering more than twice a week -- I’ve seen that God provides everything that I need daily. He’s provided me with the food, clothing, rest and even fun to get me through everyday. Amen.

I did not plan on going off on that tangent-- sorry-- now getting on to what I’ve been doing the past week….

Language is a barrier. It’s starting to get frustrating. Sure, love is shown more through action anyways, and laughter is a universal language, but how can I share truth with those who won’t listen, and who couldn’t even if they wanted to? Yesterday we went to a colored marketplace to do street evangelism. To be completely honest, this is my least favorite thing to do, for the market is dirty and overwhelming in everyway. Pushing your way through the crowd you come across more who are drunk than sober and my team pretty much sticks out like a sore thumb, being the only people with white skin and long hair. And because we are so noticeably different, not just by our appearances but also for the mere fact that we are friendly and accepting, everyone seems to want to talk to us and touch us. The only SLIGHT problem is that these people only speak Afrikaans and we have no translator. So with smiles, gentle nods, and occasionally rough shoves and punches from our boys when necessary, we try our best to communicate.

I got into a “conversation” with a drunk homeless man who knew enough English to accuse me of supporting apartheid and coming to condemn the black and colored. As Tessa and I tried to talk with this man, we had to have several guys stand around us just in case this man got out of control because his anger towards us as white people mixed with his drunkenness was a pitiful rage. I tried to explain to him that I was not rich by any means, and just because I was American didn’t mean I was living a life of luxury. He just went on spitting and snarling about how he hated me for being in his community and that I didn’t care about people other than Americans. I tried to talk to him about forgiveness and that’s where the language barrier got in the way and our conversation died. As we drove away a while later, I saw him in the crowd as he ran after our van and waved at us as we left. There is definitely a spirit of confusion here in South Africa. Tessa and I prayed that God would provide an opportunity for this man to receive revelation on forgiveness and truth-- little did I know that in less than 12 hours we would be meeting him again!

Every Sunday we help run a service and soup kitchen at a Salvation Army church for the homeless. This particular Sunday, we came halfway through worship and stood in the back. As I came in and sat down, there was a shout from the front, and I looked to see my marketplace friend pointing and staring at me in complete shock and maybe some disgust. The sight actually made me laugh! During the service Tessa gave her testimony about growing up in poverty, and we were able to talk to the man about equality and God’s provision with an Afrikaans translation. The church pastor said the man was again very drunk, and probably wouldn’t remember our conversation in the morning-- but the man left with a new jacket, stomach full of soup and bread, a new haircut and words of truth in his heart--that’s all we can do, and I’m glad for it!
We also started going into hospitals and praying for the patients, and for three straight days we spent hours praying for a terribly ill 22 year old girl with lung cancer. My team along with the Swiss outreach team crowded around her thin, frail figure where I felt the heaviness of mortality more than I ever have before. She couldn’t open her eyes or focus, her inconsistent breathing made it impossible for her to lay comfortably and she was so thin that I could see her heartbeat shake the front of her t-shirt as it pulsed. The first day we went there we talked to Rosalie about Jesus. Rosalie. I don’t want to forget her name. We talked to Rosalie about Jesus and heaven, and she told us by slight nods that she was a believer and that she was being comforted by the Father in her pain. Even bald, thin and with dark circles under her eyes she was beautiful and peace was in her eyes. As we left that first day the doctors told us she would not last the night.
We returned the next day to find Rosalie in a similar state. She even smiled as we entered the room, and this time upon request I brought my guitar and we sang a couple songs to her. We prayed for healing, but after a while we had to leave again.

On the third day we were excited to hear that her family was requesting us to come back and continue our prayers. We got to meet her sisters and speak with her mother and father, but this day Rosalie showed no response to our words or presence. I held her hand and said a prayer whenever words would surface through my incoherent thoughts. The feeling in the room was terribly heavy, and several people on my team had tears running down their cheeks for this girl whom they had never even had a conversation with. After a two hours of being a comfort to her family and standing beside Rosalie through her pain, the tiny heartbeat in her chest slowed and I had to let go of her hand and step into the hallway as the doctors closed the curtain around her bed. Yesterday we attended her funeral upon her family’s request. It was not a terribly sad funeral, which brought much hope, for everyone rejoiced over her life and her faith and her heart. Oh yes, Rosalie is home now, and because of her testimony her family knows the comfort and the grace of The Lord. God saves.

To end on a lighter note, every Thursday we spend the day in a colored community where we work in a soup kitchen, make stew and serve it to the kids while playing soccer with them and painting their nails, etc. On our first day there, I made a friend named Robin. Robin is 11 years old, and she’s quite the dancer, but secretly she wants to grow up and be a doctor. I have spent several days with her, playing basketball, teaching her high school musical dances, learning Afrikaans songs and giving piggy back rides. Robin has a growth on her little left arm that had been cut open and had gotten infected. Every time I saw her it had grown worse because she doesn’t have the ability to go to a doctor or get the right medical supplies for it. Last week she had her entire arm bandaged and the infection was seeping through the gauze. I asked her if I could pray for it. We bowed our heads together as I asked God to heal this wound.

On Thursday, as we drove in Robin was throwing open the door to our van before the engine shut off. She pulled me off to the side and rolled the sleeve to her jumper to reveal a scar the size of a small mole. She looked at me with a big-shy smile and whispered “Jesus healed me.” I hugged her and looked again at the tiny healed scab which had been oozing with infection only 6 days before, “Yes. Yes, He did.” I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty stoked about seeing and being apart of that healing. I wonder what more is to come!

--If anyone reading these blogs has any comments, responses or questions for me about anything specific that I am doing, learning, seeing, etc. Please email me at stephmissiontrip@gmail.com. My access to internet is inconsistent, but I would still LOVE to hear from you and respond when I can!


Note to my prayer warriors back home!:

- If you could pray Ephesians 4:1-16 over my team and I, that would be awesome! This passage is soooo relevant to where I am right now as far as warfare, fatigue and areas in need of growth.
-I only have 1 week left in Worcester before the nine hour drive to Jeffreys Bay for the remainder of outreach. Pray that God ties up and shows us how to finish all the work we have put into this place and these people! Also, I’d LOVE to see God do some more crazy things--that’d be heaps cool. ;)