This is not an actual account of persecution. I have simply been pondering persecution, this is obviously not something I have encountered in my life, this is a meager attempt at putting my thoughts into story form on the subject. But if you are a parent, I ask you this very hard task of contemplating letting your children be missionaries, knowing they might not come back. Also, if you are simply reading this, in any context of ministry, I ask that you contemplate the possibility of being in a position similar to this, would you be willing to lose it all for the sake of Christ?
It's dark in here, I'm not sure what will happen from one moment to the next. I keep writing still, there is some light coming through the cracks in the walls. I think my leg is still bleeding, there is a small rag around here somewhere but it might be healthier to just leave it be rather than put that rag on the bleeding. There are about eleven of us altogether. I only have this small notebook to write on, luckily I never lost my pen in the chase.
We found this shed, we are still not safe although the shed walls are made out of concrete, they are frail it seems. However we are blessed to have a roof over our heads tonight. We have little supplies, fortunately we know how to start up a nice fire, but we have to be careful where we start a fire, they might come and inquire who has started it. Over the past three days we have killed and gathered what we eat, we have tried to stay near the river for water.
All of this because someone left their Bible on the bench of an abandoned house we were using for church. They send out dogs to sniff us out. Some had been noticing that we were gathering there, but we were discreet enough to not raise suspicion, until someone's son had wandered to the house and picked up the Bible. In an alarm he raced to his father's house and brought him back to where the Bible was. They then called the authorities. One of our beloved brother's in Christ lost his life three days ago because they asked did he believe in the God of the Christians, he answered yes. He was native to this country (I don't write his name for fear that this will be found thus bringing trouble to his family).
We fled. About an hour after they had found the Bible and killed him we knew it was time to move. So they started looking for White faces, they had apparently made the assumption that there were missionaries here. They had been successful in this part of the country in keeping Christianity out, God must have really wanted us here because though we went through vigorous interviews about our intentions here. We even got Bibles here and at least every family in our congregation had at least one.
We are scared senseless, it was not our agenda to lose our homes, our congregation, our friends, and possibly our lives for the sake of Christ. Though it wasn't our
agenda, before we even left the States four years ago we knew that this could be a very good possibly, and we came
willing to lose it all for the sake of Christ. Now we are putting our faith to the test, so far the eleven who are still here among us are not ready to give up and praise God for that.
Among us there is a family of four, a man who doesn't know where his wife is, his son, myself and the rest of the team. All who have a great faith in God. We sing songs as we sit in our hiding spots worshiping Him. We repeat verses from memory to one another as we walk, but we keep it at a whisper.
I think the bleeding is stopping, we had to run through thick woods tonight, I think I scraped my leg on a low branch.
I keep praying about the rest of the congregation and hoping that they are keeping the faith and not denouncing God. I hope if they have kept the faith and died because of it that I will see their healed faces when we return Home. I remember back when we were exploring persecution in college, and I told myself that if I ever got into this situation that I would be obedient to Him. It was slightly distant back then, but now it's real. I used to hear about missionaries being persecuted, even read books about it. Now it's not a book, it's my life.
Whatever comes of this, however surreal it might be, I pray for the blind at heart, that they might understand life is not about all the things America can give them. It's not about the pay increase or decrease, not about the promotion you attain, the 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom house you acquire. It's not about who has the biggest bombs, or even as simple as winning the argument about who took out the trash last. It's about how you love one another, and most importantly where your heart stands with God and for God.
I pray that the people of this place can see through our example that Christ is real and he is the true King, and that God is the loving father they don't want people to know about. I pray that they might fall to their knees with hearts full of repentance. I pray that they might have a passion for Christ that puts authority to shame. I pray that their lives can be a shining example in this place.
Hoping to live another day is something I thought I would never have to do, and God says to me "you will live another day, even if you die for my sake". This is the thing that has overcome the world, our faith. God is good, even as I sit in this abandoned shed with ten other people with little to eat, unsure about what to do next, he is good and his love endures not only through this night, but forever. Praise be to the Father who has loved us even through transgression, he deserves nothing less than my utter allegiance to Him, even until death.
All to God
