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Have you heard the expression “Boots on the Ground?” Well our Live Dead Missionaries are the boots on the Silk Road. Here we’d like to take a moment and allow one of them to share a snapshot of their life with you. Some names and details have been changed, but this is a true story from this colorful, vibrant, and sometimes surprising region.

When I met my language teacher I wasn’t sure we would hit it off. She seemed cold, distant and suspicious of us. I continued on in my lessons with her, and respected her for her patience with me. Then, my husband started joining with me for lessons. He started making special coffee for her. Our kids warmed up to her.

Suddenly she seemed less cold.

I would ask her questions about her life. She would share, becoming less distant step by step. She started commenting on the way that my husband and I interacted. She would say how beautiful it was, and she became less suspicious of who we were. I kept asking questions about her life.

Digging Deeper

And one day it went really deep.

She shared about the day she lost her baby at birth.

This little baby was her third, but most importantly it would be her very first boy. In this culture, the greatest success that a woman can know is giving birth to a boy. As a matter of fact, when she discovered she was pregnant with a boy her husband showered her with gifts and took her to a dentist to fix her rotting teeth.

Heartache

So she came to nearly full term in her pregnancy. Home alone, she started bleeding. A neighbor heard her screams and helped her get to the hospital. No one would help her at the hospital without money first. No bribe, no service. A doctor finally, too late, had mercy on my friend. Her baby was stillborn.

She woke up from surgery and her baby was gone. She lay in a hospital room – no one looking after her. She remembers it was cold and she was in pain.

 And then she said through her tears,

I remember being so thirsty and no one was there to give me a drink.

Oh God! There it was. I had been asking Jesus to give me a love for these people, to really see the hurt of living without Jesus.

 And there it was.

 Thirst

Her story is the story of so many. I cried that day… and then I cried some more. I can’t forget the pain on her face and the tears when she spoke of being so alone. I see it. That pain. It’s the face of this nation.

They are thirsty. They all need to find the One who can give them a drink.

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