After church and lunch I began to feel better. We needed a team to go to the hospital to pray for the sick and dying. Most everyone was suffering from extreme exhaustion so Paul, Lauren, Tim and I left for the hospital with pastor George and pastor Robert as our interpreters.

I was partnered with pastor George and Tim. Our first stop was the men's ward. I walked in, smelled the combination of urine, mold, rotting flesh and something unknown but ghastly, and got instantly queezy and light headed again. All the sick men in the stifling hot room just stared at the white mazungus (westerners) while lying motionless on their cots. Pastor George looks at us and says, "Okay, stand in the middle and preach salvation to them." Tim and I lock eyes. It was clear that we both thought we'd only be praying for healing to individuals. I whispered to Tim, "Can you do this one? I don't have words or the strength right now."

Awkwardly at first Tim began to talk about how much God loved them, and how he is a healing God. Then he gained momentum and morphed into the gifted preacher that inspires us all. He spoke about why we all need a savior and how it's a free gift for the taking because of what Jesus chose to do on the cross. He had a captive audience.

After Tim finished preaching, we started to walk towards the left side of the room. We were heading towards one man when pastor George touched our arms and said, "Over there, he's waving at you." From underneath a bed in the corner we saw a thin, weathered arm. We changed directions and walked towards the man. I was stunned when the emaciated, ailing man came into view. With his shirt off, you could see that he was literally skin and bones. His calves were as thin as a my forearms, his ribs were protruding out of his chest, his face was a thin layer of skin outlying every curvature, and his eyes were sunken in and hollow. I felt like I was staring death in the face.

His name was Moses. Pastor said he wanted prayer. We asked him if he knew who Jesus Christ was and that it's His power that heals. He said he knows all about Jesus. He gave his life to Christ when he was younger, but has since back slid. He said that he knows and believes in Jesus' power because he witnessed it while in prison. He knew that the only one who could save him now was Jesus.

He was laying on his left side nearly paralyzed from weakness and as he spoke about my precious Lord, tears started rolling down towards the concrete floor. My heart swelled with compassion and sorrow, my eyes filled with tears, and another bout of queeziness flared in my stomach.

"Lord, I can't do this. It's too much! It hurts too badly."


"My power is made perfect in your weakness."


We asked him why he was sick. To my surprise he uttered the four letter word no one in African hospitals or cities dare to utter: AIDS. The word itself is taboo. To them, it's a word that stigmatizes and shames. However, Moses knew where he was, he knew what he had, and he knew who he needed - desperately. At that moment, in the eleventh hour, all that mattered was Jesus and prayer. He wanted to ask Jesus back into his life as his Lord and Savior for all eternity.

We sat on the dirty hospital floor and layed our hands on Moses' fragile body. Tim prayed the prayer of salvation in English, and Moses repeated in Luganda. We then invited the Holy Spirit's presence and asked for comfort, healing and wholeness in Jesus' name. I opened my eyes and saw Moses' tears still streaming down to earth. He didn't look like death any more to me. He looked radiant and at peace with his precious Lord. We asked him how he felt and he said God is faithful, no matter what happens now.

We stood up to go, but as we did, he asked pastor for a bible in Luganda. The closest town to purchase bibles was an hour away. "Of course," I promised. Inwardly I knew we had to make the trip the following day. Time was passing.

We continued to walk from cot to cot praying for healing and salvation for every man who would accept our invitation. After two emotional, heart-breaking hours of standing in that suffocating room, I felt completely drained. I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. I had a fever. I physically couldn't stand any longer, so I sat on the edge of an old, blood-stained mattress.

"Jesus, please! Please let me go outside for some fresh air. Tim is strong and on fire and can continue your work."


"Sweetheart, stay and support your brother. My power is made perfect in your weakness."


"You keep saying that Lord, but I have nothing left!"

Nothing but silence...

"Okay, okay. I'll stay until you tell me to go."

Throughout our three hour visit, five desperate men were saved, one tormented man was freed from demons and one genuinely interested woman wanted to know about Jesus and asked for a bible. God only knows how many were healed partially or completely.

After the hospital we drove to another medical clinic. It was made official. I had typhoid. (I'm fine now! God has protected me and the symptoms are minor.)

Late that night, after taking my medication, I looked up at the stars and thought about all the freedom I would have missed out on if I had thrown in the towel and given in to defeat. God says that he will never give us more than we can handle. Last Sunday He proved this to me. Every time I thought I couldn't take another step, or pray another prayer, the Lord gave me the strength to press on. As he promised to me over and over and over again, His power was made perfect in my weakness.

It was an exhausting, heart-breaking, freedom-filled day. And I'll never forget it.