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Finding God in Home Visits

October 29, 2014

While we were in Honduras, the local pastor from HOI joined us in the village one day for home visits. He invited members of our team to join him as he went house to house to spend time in fellowship and prayer. Diane and Wednesday took him up on the offer to visit and pray with families in their homes. I could tell that Wednesday was truly touched after she returned from the last house, and she talked about what they had seen and heard. She shares her remarkable story below…

Wednesday enjoying the hammock after a hard day of work in the village.

Wednesday enjoying the hammock after a hard day of work in the village.

Julie asked me to share a time on the mission trip where I saw God. I felt God’s presence when I went on the home visits. When you go, you hike up into the mountains to see people who have requested a visit from the local pastor because of some difficulty they are having. I was told I’d have an opportunity to pray with them and get to know the people and share a little bit about myself through an interpreter who would be going with us.

The first home was the one I had worked at earlier that day. The woman we were visiting was elderly and had pains in her leg and a fever. There are no doctors in the village. The woman was upbeat and chatty. She told us about her nine children and where they lived. We prayed together then left to go to the next home.

On the second visit we met a woman whose parents were one of the three founding families of the village. The visit followed the same pattern; a little chit-chat as she proudly showed off her cement floor that had been put in the previous year, a prayer for her and her family and we moved on to the next home.

Tazajeras is a beautiful village, but every house is spread far and wide.

Tazajeras is a beautiful village, but every house is spread far and wide.

When a woman met us at the door of the third house I knew something was seriously wrong. She looked awful, her eyes had a wild desperation in them and her face was red and puffy from crying. The house was in disarray and the yard a mess. We sat in uncomfortable silence. A chicken ran through the courtyard. The pastor quietly asked her some questions in Spanish and she whispered back single word answers. No translation was given. Everyone stood and a prayer was said in Spanish. As we silently began to file out I reached over to give her a tentative side shoulder hug. I felt her clutch my arm so tightly—I have never been able to physically feel someone else’s pain before. 

When we were a distance away the interpreter told us she was severely depressed, her husband had left her and her two children and she felt horribly lonely. As we continued to walk down the dirt path we could hear her begin to sob. I started to well up with tears that just wouldn’t stop. The pastor came over and put his hand on my shoulder. “The smoke from the fires,” he said in broken English, “get in my eyes too.”

Pastor Wilmer, in the middle with the guitar, leading our morning devotional.

Pastor Wilmer, in the middle with the guitar, leading our morning devotional.

Wednesday shared with passion and enthusiasm how she had been touched by these home visits, and how these families had opened up to share with her. When she returned from talking to these families she said, “I felt my heart break open.” I can’t think of a better experience than to be so moved that our hearts break open and allow more room for love.

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