Charles

Dave and Cindy Lux, the Wycliffe missionaries who served as our hosts while in Cameroon, had told me the story about Charles at some point earlier in the trip.  We were driving somewhere, and we got to talking about the AIDS rate in Noni.  He said he didn't know the exact percentage, but guessed it was around 1 in 8 that were HIV positive. Then he began telling me about Charles.  Charles had grown up in their compound (immediate neighborhood), had done quite well in school, and had gotten a good job in the city.  He faithfully sent money back to help his family in the village, and was his mother's best hope for financial security.  However, he fell in love with one of the concubines of a village chief, and before long he fell ill.  Test results confirmed that he had contracted HIV, and within a year he was in the hospital.  He had grown well enough to be released to his family in the village, but now was on his deathbed.  In fact, he was staying in the house next door to the Luxes, where we were staying.  On Sunday morning before church Dave and Cindy told me they were going to pray for Charles, and invited me to come along.  As we walked into the room, Charles' mother, happy to see us, yet clearly worn from weeks of caring for her son and bearing the burden of watching his life slip away, welcomed us, and told us how Charles had not eaten the previous day.  Charles lay shaking under the thin blanket on the bed, eyes closed.  I felt quite out of place, yet I watched as Dave and Cindy ministered--reminding Charles of the things he had done to love his family, calling him to place his faith in Jesus, caring for the mother who stood by the bed, and the nephew who stood against the wall, sobbing.   
As we left the house, we agreed that it would be good to have the entire group come back that afternoon to sing a few songs for Charles from outside the window.  After church and lunch when we announced to the group that we were going to go and sing, there was no outright refusal, but there was definitely unspoken resistance.  We had a free afternoon scheduled, after all, and this was eating into that free time.  But we walked over, and gathered around his window, and began to sing.  One song, then another, then another.  As we sang, lifting up words of promise, words of encouragement, words of hope, I really don't know what was going on in Charles’ spirit.  But I do know that God's Spirit settled upon us, and we were softened.  As after singing, weeping, and praying for a man that none from our group except me had even seen, I walked away amazed at how God could take our reluctant obedience and turn it into a sacred space.