the time i chased a woman out of church in India.

It was month seven of the World Race, and I found myself in the city of Nizamabad.

For me, India was the first country we’d visited where I felt hostility for Jesus hanging in the air. It was thick, oppressive, and heavy. We could never tell anyone we were Christians, and we often had to speak and write using code words.

Yet in this atmosphere of persecution there are believers in India, and the name of Jesus is spreading. There are people, like this little girl dressed in white, who so fully know that Jesus is Lord that they worship him with their whole hearts no matter the risk.

Our ministry that month was to encourage these believers, and share the Gospel with people who may have never even heard the name of Jesus.

We were partnered with a local pastor, and an amazing translator, who guided us for the month into the rural villages. Each night of the week we would set out from about 4 p.m. to midnight, arriving in one of these villages to put on a service with the local pastor. Each night we got into our truck having no idea where it would take us, or exactly how the night would unfold. We almost always found ourselves outside underneath the moon and stars. We always led worship music, shared testimonies, preached a sermon, and then prayed with the people. Some nights we arrived at a small church building, other times a small alleyway.

One night, we arrived at a home.

In this local house church, we set up for the service. I remember seeing a little girl and little boy, brother and sister. I smiled and walked toward them, my arms outstretched, but they suddenly looked scared and ran from me. This was a tiny village, and it was likely that we were the first foreigners these little kids had ever seen. I stayed for a while, watching the kids peek out at me from behind their mother’s dress, still hiding, still afraid.

As the service got started I looked around the room. “God, is there anything specific you want me to say to someone in this room? What prayers do I need to be praying tonight?”

My eyes stopped on the mother. And in my heart I heard,

“Just like those little children ran from you, that woman is running from Me.”

“Wow. Okay, God,” I thought. “That’s kind of random and not what was I expecting. I was kind of thinking maybe you’d tell me someone in the room had a physical condition we could pray over, or some kind of healing like that, but this works too, I guess.”

I’d asked God to tell me how to pray, and that was His answer.

After the sermon our team lined up by the door, creating a tunnel of sorts, so that as the people left they could be prayed over on their way out.

I hadn’t got to interact with the mother yet, but I saw her standing in the line for prayer. I decided to keep my eyes open so when she passed by I could pray a specific prayer over her about whatever this running business was that God had told me about. 

We prayed for a long time. People kept coming and coming through the line. Finally, I saw the mother I’d been waiting for; she was getting close. My teammates Ben and Ryan were in front of me, their hands were resting on the tumor of a woman with throat cancer; they were praying for her when suddenly, she was overcome and laid down on the ground.

It was quiet and peaceful, Ben and Ryan continued their prayer, but still, the prayer line had been disrupted. I quickly glanced to my left looking for the young mother. She was a few steps away now. Suddenly, I watched her take a quick glance at the prayer line, and then bolt for the door.

God, this woman is literally running away. I had to decide what to do. Stand here or run after her?

I ran.

The woman had only made it a few steps outside when I saw her put her hands up to her eyes. Tears were streaming down her face. I walked up to her slowly and smiled. We didn’t speak the same language, but I put my hands on her cheeks and she cried even more. I prayed against shame, against doubt, against fear. That this woman would know, just like I longed to play with her little children who ran and hid from me, that God longs to be her Father and be with her. He approaches with outstretched arms and beckons us to come. We get to make the choice where we’ll run–away from him? or into his arms? 

I prayed this woman would one day run without fear into the arms of her Father.

When she settled down, I went back inside. We came out a bit later and I was pleased to see the woman still there! She wasn’t crying anymore and I as we walked out, I gave her a hug goodbye. Just then, the Lord provided a translator. I explained to him about my prayer, and asked if he would explain it to the woman.

He told her and I believe she understood. She smiled at me. I smiled back. 

It was in India God really started to speak to me about hearing His voice.

My Daughter, stop doubting yourself. He would say. You hear from Me. I dwell inside your heart.

In moments still when I question if I hear the voice of the Father, I remember this story, and I smile. I remember that what he says doesn’t always seem to make sense, but that it always does in time. I remember to ask him what he’s saying. To ask him how to pray. To be looking around the room, and when he says, “Katy, chase after them,” to be ready to take off.