Chief Mambeyan’s head lolled as blood streamed from his mouth. The entire village of Mangga was crammed into his little hut, trying to help. “Rub his back with coconut oil!” one shouted.

“No,” cried another. “Give him warm water to drink.”

From the corner hammock wafted the eerie chants of a shaman while tendrils of black ginger smoke rose from a coconut shell at his feet.

Jimbry glanced worriedly at Kaloy as the two climbed the ladder into the chief’s hut. For more than a year now, their two families had been worshiping each Sabbath in the village. At first, they had visited the sick chief almost daily, sharing their hope in Jesus. Then one day, he met them in a rage. “The spirits are the only power in this world that we can ask help from,” he had shouted. “If God still cares for us, why doesn’t He do something the shamans can’t do!”

Jimbry and Kaloy avoided the chief after that. They hadn’t wanted to make the situation worse. Tonight, though, Chief Mambeyan was dying. In sorrow, the two made their way through the tumult and squatted by the great man’s side.

“Chief,” Jimbry said. “I know that you don’t believe God will help you. But what do you have to lose? Will you let us pray for you?” For a long moment, the chief lay silent. Then, with his eyes still closed, he gave one small nod.

Kneeling, they put their hands on his head and prayed. “God, Chief Mambeyan is very sick. He has not believed in you, but tonight he wants to ask you for help. Please do what no spirits or medicines can do and heal him.”

For several minutes, there seemed to be no change. The hubbub continued around the three men unabated. Then the chief’s eyes fluttered open. He gave a tentative cough, but no blood came from his mouth. After a few minutes, he sat up, his strength slowly returning.
“Jimbry, Kaloy,” the chief spoke loudly enough for the villagers to hear. “You must come back and pray for me again each morning and evening until I am fully healed. I also want you to start worshiping here in my hut. The God our ancestors knew has been silent for many generations. He hears you, though, and I want to know Him, as you do.

Every day, stories just like this are unfolding throughout the mountains of Mindoro. Native believers like Jimbry and Kaloy, who have been delivered from fear and hopelessness, are bringing Jesus to those who never knew Him. Your partnership makes this possible.

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