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“Pregunta por su hijo. Ask about her son.” I heard these words the moment ‘Maria’ walked into the room. She was visiting our medical missions outreach station for a UTI (which was simple enough to treat with the antibiotics we had brought), but it felt like God had more in store for her than a standard consultation.
As we talked, I kept hearing the same thing: “Pregunta por su hijo.” At the end of my allotted time with Maria, I relented… kind of. I asked, “Do you have any kids?”
“Yes. The oldest, a girl, is 25. My middle son is 21. My youngest girl is a teenager.” She replied with a neutral tone.
OK. So Maria did, in fact, have a son. Now I really had to ask. I explained, “Hey, I’ve been hearing this voice in my head, which I think is God, telling me to ‘ask about your son’ — so I feel like I should ask, ‘How is your son?’”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than she started weeping – and then shared the truth. Her son was not 21; he had been 13 when he died, 8 years ago. At the time, her family had just started a small pizza restaurant with home delivery. Their entire family was excited, as they were coming out of a financial crisis, and this was a great opportunity to recover what they had lost. Her son was eager to help.
At his age, he couldn’t drive, but he could hold the pizza delivery box while someone else took the wheel. On one of the delivery trips, the motorbike driver crashed, and her son fell face-first into the street. His head crashed into the sidewalk, and he was rushed to the hospital, where he was declared brain dead. They kept him there for some time, praying for a miracle. Eventually, friends — including their pastor — visited to say, “It’s time. Let him go.”
For 8 years, Maria carried this ‘double guilt’: guilt that she had let him go out that day, and guilt over turning off his life support. She was hurt both that God had not healed her son and that she had been the one to pull the plug.
I heard the same voice speak gently, "It's not her fault. She needs to let go of her guilt. My burden is light."
As tears cascaded down her face, I heard the same voice speak gently into my mind: “It’s not her fault. She needs to let go of her guilt. My burden is light.” I offered her these words, and she started to weep even more uncontrollably.
She had a lot to release, but she was willing to pray. I encouraged her to know that God cared deeply for her and that she could talk with the psychologist who was part of our medical missions outreach team. When she stood up, you could see the difference on her face and in her demeanor: she left the room a different person.
The Surprise of Medical Missions Outreach: Why Did You Come?
I’ve been helping with medical mission trips since I was a kid, so I’ve experienced a lot on the field. When I was invited onto SEAPC’s residency program, that was where I was asked to focus: healthcare. At the time I joined, I saw this season as a ‘Nehemiah’ work: reconstructing the walls of the medical missions platform. I knew it would take time, with lots of people pulling in the same direction, and lots of regions involved around the world; it was by no means a one-woman job.
When Ps. Melqui and I were planning this 5-day trip to Oaxaca’s coastline region (with 5 coming from his church, Roca de Fe Oaxaca, and another 5 flying in with me from the US), it felt like another ‘brick’ on the foundation, another contribution to the work of the wall. I knew it was important, but I did not necessarily expect God to highlight something entirely new — which He did when ‘José’ came in for help with his diabetes…
José was an older, petite man in his sixties or seventies. As soon as I saw him, I felt a deep sense of sadness. As with Maria, I felt led to share, “Hey, I feel like you might be carrying a lot of sadness. Does that connect with you? Can I pray for you?”
"Hey, I feel like you might be carrying a lot of sadness. Does that connect with you? Can I pray for you?"
Almost exactly like Maria, José broke down crying. He told me that he used to be a pastor and church planter — he had started seven in the region — before falling into sin and leaving the ministry. In the years since, and in this conversation, he realized that he needed to “get back to Dad.” He kept repeating that: “I need to get back to Dad.” He reminded me so much of the Prodigal Son: desperate to return to the Father.
Prayer led to a moment of literal confession: “Dad, I repent. I am so sorry.” Our team lifted him, his wife, and his children before the Father. He received it all with gratitude before going to speak to our psychologist.
Christian Medical Missions: Where does God sow and water?
As José left, and I pondered his and Maria’s stories, I noticed a connection: they had both known Jesus for some time, and they both carried wounds that had led them away from the Church.
So much of the time, when we think of Christian medical missions, we think of new people coming to Christ. This is important, of course — we go for those who do not yet know — but we must also remember those who once knew, but have now forgotten, Jesus’ love.
Our Father is always sowing seeds. Some are sown onto the hard ground, where they grow up quickly but cannot develop deep roots, so they die. I think these people might be even harder to reach: they know the truth, but they also carry rejection, confusion, and betrayal (whether self-inflicted or circumstantial).
Meeting José and Maria was a reminder to pay attention to these people: how do we love our brothers and sisters, and look after them so they grow up in Christ – so we don’t have to offer them ‘spiritual milk’ forever?
Simple: we need eyes to see, ears to hear, and a willingness to trust His heart and intentions. Our Father is always asking after His children.
Interested in supporting or joining future medical missions trips with SEAPC? Reach out to Letícia through info@seapc.org to learn more, or click on the orange button below to sow into what God is doing through Christian medical missions around the world.
"...This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
