A Symbol of Hope


From the comforts of home to the rugged terrain of the three mightiest mountain ranges in the world, I embarked on a journey with a message of hope. It took 14 hours on a plane, 2 hours on a public bus, a rough 22-hour van ride and a 5-hour jeep ride to just barely be at the entrance of one of the most beautiful and exhilarating places in the world.

My team and I began our trek at the foot of the Himalayas, immersed in the beauty of creation but looking forward to fulfilling our purpose. We were called to pray in this remote place for the truth of salvation and the Spirit of God to enter the land. As we walked for five hours the first day and two and a half the second day, we knew that we were in a spiritual battle. We prayed, worshiped and stood firm in our faith as we entrusted ourselves to God.

At the end of our two-day trek we came to our destination—an unreached village of women and children with a few men who harvested the fields on the side of the mountain. My heart filled with joy as the children, who have rarely seen Westerners, ran to look at us. The kids wouldn’t come close, but eventually the women motioned to us to invite us into their home. Without speaking the same language, we smiled and laughed as they pointed out their children and “asked” if I had any. I smiled as I shook my head and drank the chai they gave to me. Silently, I was praying that salvation would come to this home. I felt privileged that God would allow me to be in this remote village.

Before the trip, I had been given a bracelet with the “wordless book” colors on it that visually explained the story of salvation. As we were packing up our tents the next day, I felt God impressing on my heart to give the bracelet, as a symbol of the truth that would one day come, to the woman who had invited me into her home. I found our Muslim translator and took him into a field with the woman. I told her that there was a story in the colors of the bracelet. I couldn’t tell her the gospel because of religious persecution in that country, but I knew that I was being obedient to what God was asking of me. I thanked her again for inviting me into her home, and she told me that she knew I was grateful and that I had shown respect for her by coming down from my tent to talk to her. “I will keep the bracelet for the rest of my life,” she said through the interpreter.

I left the village with a familiar burden on my heart, with the once again unanswered question, “Who is going to reach the unreached?” Yet I rejoice because the only one who can answer that question is God, who through His great love, seeks out the single lost sheep.

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