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.