We started the day just like any other—busy preparing for our tasks. One group was organizing their VBS materials, while another was setting up for the women’s Bible study.
Our destination was the Terraces, a small community perched on the side of a mountain overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The houses were makeshift, pieced together from whatever materials were available. On each level of the mountain, there were soup kitchens—places where a few dedicated women partnered with the government to feed the poor. The government provided surplus meat and produce, and these women cooked massive pots of soup, serving hundreds of people every day, five days a week. Their work was entirely voluntary. This was their ministry.
As we arrived, a man approached us and asked if we could visit and pray for a family who had just lost their husband and father. Without hesitation, we agreed. The men in our group made the climb up the mountain to reach their home. When we arrived at the street where they lived, we noticed several cars parked in front of the house—a clear sign that we were in the right place. A few men stood solemnly outside the front door as we entered.
The small garage served as the gathering place. Inside, women were seated in front of an open casket. We embraced each one, offering prayers as we made our way to the widow. She wept uncontrollably, overwhelmed with grief. Though she didn’t understand English, she understood the compassion and prayers being offered. We took our seats behind the casket, and moments later, someone approached Pastor Elger and spoke to him. He turned to me and said, “They want us to pray, and you can say a few words.” At that moment, I realized we would be leading the funeral service.
Scrambling to find the right verses, I recalled those often shared at funerals at home in the U.S.. Though this was not my first funeral, it was certainly my first in a garage. When Pastor Elger finished praying, it was my turn. As I stood, I saw the pain in their eyes—an overwhelming despair and hopelessness. I knew that God had placed me there for a reason.
Hope for the Helpless
They likely had no church, no pastor, and no funeral director. It was up to me to give them a real funeral. With the Holy Spirit guiding me, I did my best. I spoke of Christ’s love, the hope we have in Him, and the sacrifice He made so that we could have eternal life. I reassured them that grieving was okay—the depth of their grief was a reflection of the depth of their love. I acknowledged the sting of death but pointed them to Jesus, the only One who can heal those wounds. I reminded them of the promise of no more pain or sorrow and that we had come with the peace of Christ to share it with them.
By the time I finished speaking, the entire room was filled with sobs. The Holy Spirit’s presence was undeniable. We knew that we had been in His presence.
Heading Back Down the Hill
As we said our goodbyes and made our way back, I lagged behind, overcome with emotion. I wept as God touched my heart in a way I struggle to describe. It reminded me of when Moses encountered God in the cleft of the rock—an experience so powerful that he was physically changed. I hadn’t seen God’s face, but I had been in His presence, and I knew I would never be the same.
“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” – Jeremiah 29:13
When I reached the bottom of the hill, I took in a breathtaking sight.
At the Bottom of the Hill
To my left, our team was teaching the children in VBS. To my right, the other half of our team was leading women in a study on what it means to be born again. At that moment, I felt an urgency to pray.
I called out to God, saying, “Lord, I can share the Gospel with these people. I can lead them to You. But they need a place to gather, a place to pray—a House of Prayer. A place they can call their church.” I know that soon and very soon, He will answer….to be continued.
To God be the glory – Cal