Bolivia: Poverty, Power, and Pig Fat

Witchcraft, demonic superstitions, abysmal roads, and the worst poverty in South America…welcome to Bolivia.  My team kicked off our time in our seventeenth country with a shaky border crossing that foreshadowed our Bolivian days to come.  The Americans on the team were not able to get visas in advance before busing to the border and decided to risk getting denied entry into the country.  Upon arrival at the border “station”, we saw nothing more than a dry, dusty plot of land, a shack with a Bolivian man who stamped passports inside, and a tiny house that probably belonged to the man.  Immediately, us Americans were reprimanded for not previously obtaining a visa and shoved to a line on the side of the shack.  Kimmie and I went to explore the field to find a place to go to the bathroom, and the border official yelled at us to turn around, afraid we were about to make a run for it and cross by foot.  We reluctantly followed orders and waited with the rest of the team for quite a long time.  Eventually, the border official said he could issue only three visas for a lucky trio of Americans, and the rest of us would have to continue on our bus illegally and work our way towards a migration office hours from the border the following morning.  Confused, three team members received the stamps while the rest of us entered as illegal aliens for the following twenty-four hours. 

We got back on our bus, and within an hour, we’d already gotten stuck on a sandy road.  The warnings about poor infrastructure quickly proved to be true.  The men got out to push while the girls were asked to stand in the back right corner and jump over the tire when instructed.  After quite some time, the bus emerged from the sand, and we continued on our journey.  We were off to an interesting start…

We finally arrived in the city of Villa Montes and spent the night there.  In the morning, we spent hours getting our paperwork sorted, and $135 dollars later, we were allowed legal entry.  I tried to not worry about the overwhelming expenses of the trip and focus on what God had called me to do.  Little did I know, finances would be the least of my worries while in Bolivia. 

Bolivia possesses a deep beauty; however much of the country is sadly overrun by witchcraft and demonic practices.  As soon as our team entered the nation, we began to feel the effects.  It began in Villa Montes with Nicole being physically attacked by a demonic presence.  She felt like she was being stabbed by a knife in her chest.  The attack lasted for a long time, but when she started praying against it, it finally left.

The following morning, our team headed to a village called Caprendita where Tanya’s cousin Angela had lived for years.  Angela, a tiny and timid blond woman, lived alone in an indigenous community and traveled to surrounding villages to run children’s programs and share the gospel.  Her Spanish was impeccable, and she had learned how to speak the tribe’s mother tongue as well.  Her knowledge and dedication to the culture was remarkable.

Angela let us know that the tribe believed in many demonic traditions and was ruled by fear.  They believed in “land owners”--demons that ruled the rivers, the trees, the land, etc.  Some of the tribe believed in Jesus as well; however they believed the land owners were more powerful than Christ and mixed witchcraft with Christianity.  Fear ruled the region so heavily that women even believed superstitions such as imminent death if they visited the river while on their menstrual cycles.  As soon as we arrived in Caprendita, I could feel the darkness and oppression.  Exhausted from not sleeping enough during the journey, I took a nap as soon as we arrived.  For the first time in my life, I encountered a demon in my dreams.  In my dream I said, “We don’t need to pray.  The spiritual oppression isn’t that strong here.  We don’t need to bother.”  Then I saw a white mist-like creature at the foot of my bed that looked like a ghost.  I tried to scream but couldn’t.  I began to pray to Jesus, and I woke up. 

Throughout my entire time in Caprendita, I felt like I was literally under attack.  One night, while desperately trying to get some quite alone time, I went in my tent to listen to music.  Yet moments later, I began to feel like something was stabbing me in the chest, just as Nicole had.  I immediately ran outside to find my teammates, and they prayed for me until it left me.  Many of my teammates had similar experiences, but we refused to live in fear.  We believe that God has adopted us into His family and given us all love and authority in Christ Jesus. 

My teammates preached at the local church to explain this very concept to the tribe.   We told them they didn’t need to fear the so-called “land owners.”  They didn’t need to be slaves to religious practices or demonic superstitions.  They were loved by God and could simply receive as sons and daughters and walk in the authority that Jesus Christ had given them through the Holy Spirit.  Many people said they had no idea about these truths and were excited to know they could live in freedom. 

The day we left Caprendita, I noticed that the water in the tap shut off.  I later found out from Angela that the whole area had been in a terrible drought, and there was normally no water at her base.  However, the water tanks had mysteriously filled up as soon as our team arrived, supplying just enough water for our time in the village.  When we left, it dried up again.  Angela said there was no explanation for such a miracle other than a blessing from God.  Water had never appeared and disappeared like that before.

After our time in Caprendita, we bused to Entre Rios, a city about six hours away on terrible windy roads through mountains and steep cliffs.  From Entre Rios, we split into several groups of five people and traveled to remote villages with local pastors to minister for the next few days.  By the time we left, I was so physically exhausted that I headed to the next bus barely holding back tears.  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept well, the last time I’d been clean, or the last time I felt truly rested.  I was completely overwhelmed by the thought of heading to a remote village with zero fuel in my tank and didn’t think I had enough strength in me to do it.  However, I remembered how powerfully God had come through when I was at the end of my rope in Peru and declared out loud that the same thing would happen in this next village. 

Hours later, Stephen, Breck, Kelly, Katherine, and I were dumped on the side of a dusty road in the middle of nowhere La Cueva with a local pastor named Adel.  With half my life strapped to my back, I began the trek to Adel’s family house.  Partway through, we stopped to take off our shoes and walk through some water, then continue with sandy feet and heavy packs.

We finally arrived at Adel’s in-laws house and were greeted by Lucilla, the sweetest woman in Bolivia.  She offered us some tea and bread, then began to prepare a chicken we’d eat later on.  Stephen encouraged Katherine and I to help Lucilla pluck the chicken, and I held back the urge to gag as I ripped feathers out of the rubbery bird.  Lucilla informed us that she had problems with her stomach and couldn’t eat more than one meal a day.  She also had terrible headaches.  Both conditions had lasted for about two weeks.  In addition, Lucilla had had a tingling sensation in her leg for a long time that made it constantly feel heavy and asleep.  We prayed for her, and right away, everything was healed!  She began rejoicing and crying, thanking God for healing her. 

The next day, we hiked through the village and visited several homes with Adel.  We found out that Adel worked in Entre Rios during the week as a carpenter and spent every weekend traveling to La Cueva, often with his wife and son, and visited houses to share the word of God.  He also organized church services on Friday evenings and Sunday afternoons.  La Cueva still didn’t have its own church building, but the community found alternate places to gather for the time being.  We accompanied Adel on his normal travels, amazed at his faith and dedication.

Each home greeted us with open arms, warm hearts, and TONS of food.  In three days, I ate more than I normally eat in a week.  In Bolivian village culture, it is considered extremely rude to not finish everything that is put on your plate, which really put my stomach to the test.  Every time we arrived at a home, the residents wanted to feed us, even though we’d been fed by the previous home.  We prayed for several people within the village, each prayer accompanied by a meal, snack, or drink.  Secretly, I was praying I wouldn’t throw up any of the food that had been so kindly served me.

The following day, we continued visiting homes but trekked further into the village.  The views as we walked were breathtaking.  We hiked through green hills of farmland, occasionally walking next to cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, etc.  Vast fields covered the region like a beautiful emerald blanket.  After trekking through the fields, we had to cross a river to get to the other half of the community Adel normally visited.  We took off our shoes, rolled up our pants, and traversed the freezing cold river to get the other side and continued to visit people.

We spent quite a bit of time with a woman named Feliza.  Her husband was an alcoholic, and her family claimed to have seen much saw demonic activity happening at the house.  Feliza’s mother-in-law was involved with witchdoctors, and a witchdoctor had cursed the house eighteen years ago. 

We decided to pray over the entire house and pray for God’s presence to fill Feliza’s home.  We slept there overnight and asked Feliza how she felt in the morning.  She told us that she’d dreamt of a white snake in the night.  Its tail had been cut off, and he said he was angry, because he could strike no longer. 

Later that day, we visited a few more homes and then went to a large farmhouse for a church service.  I hadn’t slept well and didn’t know how I would function through an entire service.  I started to feel nauseous from lack of sleep, and when we got to the farmhouse, we were greeted with slabs on dead pig piled atop corn and potatoes.  The pork was a mixture of meat, skin, huge blobs of fat, and pieces of fur mixed in.  The amount of carbs alone made me gag as I tried to force it all down; the hog carcass did not make things better.  Stephen was a hero, choking down so much skin that I gagged just watching him.  Breck joked about making a sacrificial move for the sake of others and face-planting with his plate in hand.  This would allow him to lose his food while Katherine, Kelly, and I made a run for the trash during the distraction.  We laughed as we planned the maneuver, but in the end, we sucked it up and choked down all of our food.

After our pig feast, we worshipped with our friends we’d made throughout the last couple days and shared with the tiny congregation.  I stood up to speak, Stephen beside me translating.  Midway through sharing, a chicken jumped off the table and almost struck me in the face.  I yelped and grabbed Stephen as both of us, as well as the entire congregation burst into giggles.  “I’m sorry,” I laughed, as I watched the giggling faces of this farming community.  “I’m not used to having chickens at church with me!”  This was a far cry from my church in California.

After surviving church on the farm, a woman named Gregoria pulled us aside for prayer.  We’d met her the day before, and she said that she had a serious offense with one of the other women in the church.  She constantly felt depressed and wanted to leave La Cueva.  When your entire community is only thirty people, one broken relationship means serious trouble.  Gregoria also complained of pain in her stomach, and after we prayed for her, she was healed.   However, we knew she needed more than physical healing; she needed restoration in her heart.  Juliana, a lady we’d met during out first day, came and stood beside Gregoria; and I realized she was the woman with whom Gregoria had offense.  The two women confessed their wrongdoing to us and apologized to each other, hugging, and weeping into one anothers’ arms. 

Afterwards, Juliana asked for private prayer and told us that she had lots of hurt in her heart.  She felt far from God and wasn’t able to receive His love or her husband’s love.  We talked to her for a long time and took her through a process of emotional healing and identity.  We spoke and prayed identity over her.  Juliana shared that she had a dream that God was forming her into a person. He put a white dress before her, and she said, “What a beautiful dress.   I want to wear it.”  However, she didn’t think she was good enough.  Then she heard a voice say, “I will put it on you.”  She realized the dress was for the marriage supper with Christ (a very significant part of the Bible where Jesus unites with his “bride” a.k.a. the church).  We told Juliana she was hearing from the Lord and didn’t need to worry that she was far from Him or unloved.  She began to realize how powerfully God was speaking into her life and decided to receive both His love and love from her husband.  Her face lit up, and she walked away from the farmhouse, looking and feeling lighter.  Joy genuinely was radiating from her.

At the end of the day, we walked back towards our house to pack up, go to bed, and leave early the next morning.  The thought of waking up at the crack of dawn sounded like torture.  But at just the right time, God blessed us with a random man who stopped us on the road and said he was on his way to Entre Rios.  He offered to give us a free ride if we could be ready in five minutes.  We excitedly and quickly packed, said our goodbyes to Adel’s beautiful family, and jumped into the car. 

The next day in Entre Rios, we reunited with the rest of our team and swapped stories of our time in the various villages.  Each group had amazing testimonies of God’s healing, faithfulness, and goodness.  Some of us walked to the city market and bumped into some people from the La Cueva community who had decided to come into the city.  It was odd but fun to bump into people we recognized from the village.  The man who lived in the farmhouse where we’d had the church service told us that the La Cueva community had been very discouraged prior to our visit.  Yet, he gladly shared that the residents were now extremely encouraged because of our time with them.

I remembered how burned out and exhausted I had felt before busing into La Cueva.  I’d had nothing to offer, but God had come through.  I knew that such a quick and significant change in the community had nothing to do with anything I or my teammates could have accomplished on our own.  God had simply showed up in a moment of human weakness and shown his incredible strength and love when I had no strength of my own.  In just a couple days, I had seen countless people physically, spiritually, and emotionally healed.  This beautiful farming community had shifted from thoughts of despair to feelings of encouragement and hope.  And as I was a part of this community’s transformation, I went through the same change in my own heart.  I no longer felt weary and weak.  Instead, I felt rejuvenated by the love of God and full of hope, joy, peace, and pig fat. J

Paraguay: Finding Freedom

After just a couple weeks in Brazil, my teammates and I left our cars behind and headed to the two poorest nations in South America—Paraguay and Bolivia.  Unfortunately, there was no way to travel to these countries without somehow backtracking or awkwardly weaving quite far out of the way.  In addition, these countries are far less developed than some of their neighbors; thus their roads are poorly constructed, dangerous, and jarring to drive on.  Just as we’d left our cars behind and bussed throughout Chile and Argentina, we again decided to leave our vehicles for a brief period and use public transportation to travel to Paraguay and Bolivia.  We would resume ministry in Brazil after visiting these two. 

We first traveled to Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay, and spent about a week in the city.  Stephen connected with a local pastor from a German Mennonite church with whom we ministered throughout the week.  Though the word “Mennonite” often rouses mental images of bonnets and long skirts, I quickly found this to be a misconception.  Not only was the Mennonite pastor very modern in appearance, he fiercely believed in the power of the Holy Spirit. His congregation’s radical faith in God’s power had caused a split with the rest of the church, and they were hungry to learn more about the Holy Spirit.  The pastor had a son, Jonathan, who had been seriously injured and believed in God’s ability to heal him.  He invited any willing teammates to come visit his home and pray for his son.

Twelve-year-old Jonathan had fallen out of a hammock five years prior, hit his neck in just the right spot, and become paralyzed from the neck down.  Not only was he unable to move his limbs, the part of his brain that was meant to tell his lungs to breathe ceased to function, and Jonathan was hooked up to a breathing machine that forced his lungs to inhale and exhale.  Jonathan often had trouble during the night, and his parents were used to waking up frequently to adjust his breathing apparatus and suffered from sleep deprivation. 

Each day in Asuncion, a few of my teammates took taxis to Jonathan’s home to visit and pray.  The day I met Jonathan both broke my heart and inspired me.  This sweet young boy politely greeted me in Spanish, yet quickly impressed me with his ability to also speak German fluently, as well as share various phrases from several other dialects.  Jonathan connected to David quickly, and the two of them teased and joked like old friends.  While David spoke to Jonathan, he made funny faces at the rest of us, playfully tantalizing David when he wasn’t looking.  Though Jonathan could move only his head, he used this ability to its fullest to joke around.  This kid was both sassy and smart; it was clear that he didn’t skip a beat.

We prayed for Jonathan and chatted for quite a long time.  Throughout our talks, his ferocious faith was revealed, and I was amazed that such a tragic accident had produced nothing but intimacy with His heavenly father.  Jonathan knew his bible unbelievably well and was optimistically awaiting miraculous healing, yet utilizing his time of paralysis to commune with God. 

I caught a glimpse of pictures of Jonathan and his sisters before the accident—one of them hanging off of his back in sisterly affection.  I could see that he’d been a playful and strong child.  Now he sat before me, propped up in a chair, the sound of heavy breathing interrupted by beeps on his breathing machine.  He would laugh and talk but then suddenly stop for a moment, sobered by the reality of the prison his soul was living in.

David asked Jonathan what he missed the most about his life before the accident and what he would love to do most if he were healed.  Suddenly, Jonathan’s sweet face lit up as he replied, “Soccer.  I want to play soccer!”

As we said farewell to Jonathan that evening, I wondered if and when God would heal this precious child.  I felt so much compassion towards him and was in awe of his real faith that had truly been put to the test. I realized my own faith for his healing was starting to waiver, but David reminded me to always hope when he said, “In the future, I would come back to Paraguay just for that kid.  Really, one day I am going to come back and play soccer with him.”

And though Jonathan didn’t get healed that day, I remembered the woman from Panama who got out of a wheelchair and the deaf man in Peru who received full healing and the woman with breast cancer in Colombia who was completely healed with one prayer.  In my moment of weak faith, I prayed that one day David would really come back to Paraguay and play soccer with Jonathan.  And I remembered that even though Jonathan was imprisoned by his own body, he had found freedom.

The following morning, a group of us bused to the most populated prison in Paraguay where we met up with a man I will call Luis for his protection.  Luis had been a gang leader back in the states, turned his life around, become a Christian, and now ministered in one of the most brutal prisons in South America.  Kelly had contacted Luis via email and asked if we could partner with his prison ministry while in Asuncion.  Kelly wasn’t sure if he would respond to a stranger’s email, but surprisingly he invited us to come meet him outside the prison.

Normally, Luis didn’t allow women to minister in the prison.  The men inside were almost completely cut off from contact with women, and he knew their reactions to us would be quite offensive.  Many of the inmates were lewd, aggressive, and downright dangerous.  We’d been in similar situations before and told Luis we were prepared to go inside.  Though he’d just met us, something inside him decided to give us a chance.  He agreed to let us girls minister in the prison, breaking risky yet exciting new ground for his ministry.

Upon entry, we were split into men and women for a security check.  We presented our passports and were pulled one-by-one into a semi-private area where we were thoroughly and quite uncomfortably patted down by a prison employee.  Afterwards, we reunited with the guys and were led down an outdoor hallway that ended up at the prison chapel.  Though the hallway was probably no more than twenty-five yards, it felt like miles.  I had thought I was prepared to remain unaffected by the inmates, but I’d never experienced anything like this.  The hallway was lined with men standing behind a barred fence--staring, lusting, hissing, whistling, and violently crying out for our attention.  One man gestured at Taylor, desperately shaking one finger, as if begging Taylor to give him just one of us women.   I was so revolted that I looked down and ignored every sexual noise and gesture directed at me, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.  In seconds, I had somehow transformed from a woman into the lowliest of creatures—an animal being paraded around, on display for nothing more than the pleasure of perverse men.  In this moment, I felt far more like property than a person. 

Finally, we arrived at the prison chapel, a safe haven from the leering men; and I felt secure enough to lift my head and look around.  The men there refused to let their environment turn them into beasts; they were searching for something much greater.  I immediately felt I could breathe easy here.

Yet, just minutes later, Luis led us back out of the chapel to take a tour of the prison.   I took a deep breath, preparing myself to be thrown back to the wolves.  The prison building was comprised of three different levels, ranging from extremely dismal to decent living conditions.   Luis was aided by inmates in green vests who were “well-behaved” and trusted enough to gain the job as prison ushers.  Groups of the men-in-green literally formed walls around my team as we passed from place to place within the prison.  We stopped at each of the levels to see how the men lived.  Some men in the highest level were provided with bunk beds, but those in the lowest level had to simply sleep on the ground.  The prison was extremely overcrowded, and there simply was not enough space for everyone.  We were informed that a good percentage of the men had been falsely accused of crimes, and many of them would serve life terms for crimes they had not committed.  Overcrowding and no chance of freedom created an environment of anger and violence.  Men didn’t hesitate to kill other inmates, because they were already serving the time and had nothing to lose by committing murder within the prison gates. 

During our tour, Breck went into someone’s room to chat for a few moments.  He noticed a man at the very end of a hallway and approached him.  Breck spoke words of encouragement into the man’s life. “You are a leader.  I want you to know you’re a son of God.”  The man became emotional at these words and said he had been asking the Lord for confirmation that he really was a son of God.  Now he knew it was true.

After our tour, we returned to the prison chapel where Luis gave us full reign over the service.  Kelly introduced the group, and the inmates cheered her on with genuine excitement and “hallelujahs” after just a brief introduction.  The inmates led a time of worship before Breck and Nicole were called up to speak.  As we worshipped, one of the inmates offered us maté, a traditional tea that South Americans love to share among friends.  They stuff the maté leaves into a communal cup, pour water from a large flagon into the cup, and use a metal straw to suck out the tea without swallowing the leaves.  The drink is always passed around, everyone slurping from the same straw.  Praying for protection over my lips, I received the cup with thanks and sipped on the straw the inmates passed amongst themselves and my teammates.  Afterwards, the inmate who owned the flagon was so moved by Kelly’s tenacity in getting our group to the prison that he gave her the flagon, cup, and straw to keep.  I can imagine that this man owned very few personal possessions, so this offering was quite a sacrifice. 

After worship, Breck was called up front to preach; then Nicole shared her testimony of feeling imprisoned by sin and finding freedom in Christ.  After sharing, we called anyone forward who wanted personal prayer.  We probably prayed for every inmate in the chapel.  I was amazed to see so many glimmers of hope amid such a seemingly hopeless place.  I met a young man named Richard and could see a peace and liberty he carried in his heart.  I told him that other inmates would see it also and come to him in search of such a freedom.  He nodded as if to say he already knew.  He smiled coyly and walked away, joy radiating from his face.

Nicole and Breck were approached by a man with dark shadowy eyes and a lost gaze; it seemed as if he weren’t really there.   The man confessed that he was involved with witchcraft and drank chicken blood as one of his rituals.  Nicole explained that he could receive the same freedom she had and asked if he’d ever received Jesus Christ.  The man shook his head but he said he’d like to.  Moments later, he gave his life to the Lord.

As people prayed, many men were healed of physical pains, but more importantly, hearts were healing and being encouraged.  Inside this prison, despite all circumstances, I found men who had been set free.

The following morning, we bused to the city of Filadelphia, where we were hosted by a group of German Mennonites.  Just like Jonathan’s father, these Mennonites believed in the power of the Holy Spirit.  They blew us away with their faith, kindness, hospitality, and generosity.  The Mennonites provided our team with a free stay at a beautiful resort fully equipped with beds, hot showers, delicious meals, and an outdoor area comprised of a sparkling lake, zip line, docks, and a waterslide.     

We spoke at the Mennonite church’s youth service, ran a few different children’s programs, and did ministry in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Filadelphia. On Sunday morning, Kimmie, Taylor, Carol, Aleeza, Kurt, and I organized the church’s children program with a German woman named Hedi.  Taylor and Kurt acted out an epic version of the story of David and Goliath, and we shared testimonies of God using children and speaking His heart to theirs.  We asked the kids what the Lord was telling them, and I was blown away by some of the things they said.  Young children already had visions of preaching in front of crowds, seeing God heal the sick, and becoming worship leaders.

Two days later, Hedi invited our team to her house for lunch.  She shared her testimony of living in Somalia and traveling throughout incredibly dangerous areas of Africa to share the gospel.  While visiting London, she met a Bermudan man named Colin, fell in love, and returned to Africa with him.  While passing through Northern Uganda, they were ambushed by LRA rebel soldiers.  Colin had vowed to protect Hedi at any cost and assured her that he did not fear death.  He always told her, “This body is just my house.  You can take my house, but you can’t kill me!  My spirit lives on; this is just my house!”  During the LRA ambush, Colin fulfilled his vow to protect his wife, taking several bullets for her and soon after dying in her arms.  Hedi was devastated that “his house” had been destroyed, but she also believed no one had the ability to kill his spirit.

At the time, Hedi was pregnant with her first child and gave birth to beautiful Shekinah months later.  Years after the ambush, Hedi took Shekinah back to Uganda to visit the exact spot where Colin had been murdered, and Shekinah anointed the land where he had been shot.  Instead of living in bitterness and hurt, this family had chosen to travel to a land of murder and declare it as a land of blessing. 

Though Hedi had lost the person most precious to her, she managed to live in freedom and love.  Though Colin’s “house” had been stolen, he declared no one could steal his soul.  Though the inmates in the Paraguayan penitentiary were closed in by walls, many of them had found freedom in the presence of God.  And though Jonathan was imprisoned by his own body, he had hope that had set him free.

The Bible says, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”  Paraguay proved this to be true.  Despite even the craziest of circumstances, I met people who had found a freedom that can only be attributed to God.  Regardless of their physical condition, these people had faith and hope that brought them beyond their circumstances.  Each of their stories challenged me and reminded me that no matter what I face, I can live in freedom every day when I walk in the hope of Christ.