Monday, April 11, 2005

My Name Is Emok

Brad and I finished traveling up and down the canal and started toward our next objective. We walked mostly on paved roads -- it was uncomfortable. We had been evangelizing an ethnic group. Everything about them was distinct: the archictecture of their homes, their colorful dress, and their agrarian lifestyle. Each community stood out like a sore thumb within the prevailing culture.

We picked our way through side alleys, rice paddies, stands of corn, and indigo fields, making drops along the way. The villages were very small with only one way in and one way out; I didn't like that.

We made all our contacts. Key landmarks, a school and an airport came into view. We had successfully followed our crude maps once again! Now it was time to find a way back to our rendezvous point.

The school we passed had just let out and skads of 8-10 year old kids zipped by us on bicycles. They would giggle and yell, "Helloooo, O.K.!" as they passed (I have know idea where that came from, but I heard it over and over again). We would return a greeting in their language.

I was caught off guard when I heard a child's voice ask in broken English, "What your name?"

I turned and saw a young boy dressed in the orange robes that distinquished him as a monk. I responded, "My name is Bill. What is your name?"

"My name Emok."

"Emok, do you speak English?" I asked. I soon discovered that I had heard all the English Emok knew!

Immediately, God had access to my heart and called me to pray for Emok. I found myself asking aloud that the gospel would find a way into Emok's life. I prayed that his eyes would be opened to the true God. I prayed fervently that he would be delivered from any spirits that bound him, and that Emok would become a Truth Bearer among his own people.

Since that encounter, I have prayed for Emok's salvation every day.

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