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I saw my first dead person. Not like lying in a coffin dead person. He was a relative to a lot of my friends here, especially my friend Mxolisi. He was hit by a car going 160 kilometers per hour, so that’s 98 miles per hour. Majabane came into our room late that night and told us that a man was dead and he needed a blanket to cover him up. Majabane was with his friends’ right on the side of the road where the man was hit. He and I ran out of the house down the dirt path in the dark, jumped the fence with the blanket and went over to the body which was 50 meters down road from where he was hit. The man was already slightly covered and a small crowd had started to form. The mother and wife were there screaming to the heavens in siSwati. I couldn’t help but continually think to pray over the man’s body.
Right when we got there, me and Majabane were sent to find the man’s leg which came off on impact. We ran up the road using his cell phone as a flash light and saw the broken glass sparkling, then I saw a bloody lump lying on the side of the road, ran over, picked it up, put it in the blanket and wrapped it up and carried it back to the body. The whole time, I wanted to get back to the man to pray over him.
After lying the leg down I saw his wife, and walked over to her. I prayed over her in a prayer language for a while, and then I was asked to pray over the mother, the things I was praying for just seemed to not be weighing on my heart anymore, so again I prayed mainly in a tongue. What I was speaking to God seemed to really connect with her because her actions and attitude completely changed, she stopped yelling in mourning and began to rock back and forth really hard and seemed to kind of spasm and making noises like she had just been punched in the gut. The girls took the family’s children to our house. Those are dear kids to us. The whole time I couldn’t keep from feeling like I was going to raise this man from the dead.
Then I somehow found the driver of the car standing by himself on the side opposite side of the road. I felt that I should speak truth and grace into his life. I told him to just say grace to it, like Jesus does with us. He is a teacher and spoke very well English. I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing the dead man rise up from under the blankets and walk home.
I saw Jon and called him over, we started praying aloud just standing there a few feet away from the body as the cops did there thing. I missed my chance… the cops wouldn’t let me pray over the man. I kept seeing that he was going to rise, the Spirit was calling to me to raise this man, to experience Gods power like this, to bring glory to Jesus who conquered death. It was like every time I had the chance to go and lay hands on him, something else came up that I went to go do.
Our really good friend and Swazi brother (whose name I’m not going to say) came over to me and Jon. The dead man was his uncle, but more like a father to him. He broke down in our arms, we held him there, continually praying. He leans up and says to us, “I’m going to go get my pistol…” and runs off. Jon and I look at each other, just look at each other, not really sure we heard what we just heard. We chased after him to his house, praying that angles were going to stand guard over us as I was about to get between an unreasonable man with a gun and a soon to be dead man much like the other, lying in the back of the cop car. After a while of waiting I figured that this was really stupid, but I’m not going to not do anything, so I ran and told the police man to keep an eye on the driver, and there are some very angry people here who are confused and don’t understand why someone who made a really stupid mistake should live after they just killed their uncle. This cop kind of blew me off… I then later saw him walk out from the path to the road with a long coat on followed by his brother. A group of people standing right next to them stopped them before anything happened. Three or four more times after this I stopped my friend and his brother from their cunning schemes to kill the driver, and every time they just fell to pieces in my arms not knowing what to do with their self. “Why God, why?” was all they would yell.
I don’t know why I didn’t raise that man from the dead. I remember in training camp back in Georgia before we left for Mexico, a leader was telling us a story about when the team she led tried to raise a man from the dead. I was hoping that I’d have that opportunity, to feel Gods power like that, and experience brining such glory to Him. I really had faith that the man was going to get up from the blankets, his leg would be attached, his bones would be mended, his smashed bloody flesh would be smooth skin, and he would walk away with his family praising God. I’ve been trying to discern why I felt such a strong tug on my spirit to raise this man from the dead, but nothing happened. If that’s what God wanted me to do, then why didn’t he just make it happen through me? I believe in miracles and I strongly believe that God can and will do anything through a person who just has faith that it can happen, if that’s what He wants. I believe that God doesn’t waste his power or just give it away for no reason. What was the reason why I felt Jesus stirring in me to raise the man? I learned that I wasn’t supposed to raise him; I was just supposed to really feel the capabilities of Jesus’ power through us. It’s like God is preparing me to do it. I mean later that night I felt like I really failed because I didn’t at least do something to attempt to raise him. I stood from a distance while the cops did there thing. I hate failing and I’m not going to do it again, I learned from my mistake. I learned just to do it. It’s simple. The next time, just do it.