I had come to Pakistan to finish buying freedom for 13 indentured servant/slaves. But the first night in Kasur, Pastor Shokat told me I would be preaching. I wasn’t prepared, but was willing.

My new friend and interpreter, Nadeem Masih Gill, lent me this yellow T shirt. I didn’t think it appropriate to preach in a ‘Merferd’ shirt with cut off sleeves. Pastor Shokat’s church court yard was packed with people who would not have fit into his church. The crowd disappears into the darkness in the photo.

I had not come Pakistan dressed to preach. One suitcase was filled to the brim with the rest of my Merferd shirts and coloring books to give out, and the second suitcase toted worn jeans, on that I had planned to work in a couple Brickyard’s to get a feel for it. That was not going to happen on THIS trip. There were gifts of large bags of M n’ Ms for my hosts. There was underware and socks filled with thousands in cash, the rest of the redemption money for the families in slavery. My hosts had to dress me up to preach.

I did not feel spiritually ready to to open my mouth and speak, for who was I to give these subjugated sacred souls something, anything. I felt less than holy, as I starred at the wall of precious subjugated Pakistan peasants. Shokat told them what I had come to do. If they had come to hear a deliverer ‘deliver’ a message, then God Himself, would have to deliver. I began to speak and don’t remember what I said. Afterwards Shokat asked me to pray for people. I was even less prepared to do that. But God took that over also.

Shokat’s daughter, Sundrella, in the red dress in the photos, led me through the audience, telling me what sicknesses and ailments different ones had. There were numerous issues; stomach ailments, back pains, hurting knees, and aching backs.

After I had prayed for the last person, Sundrella was holding an arm full of my Merferd’s T-shirts. She had gone into my suitcase and found them. She began to give them out to certain young men. They were her brothers, a couple cousins, and a couple of shokaut’s evangelists.

This was Irfan, who for the next three weeks would shadow me, singing worship songs under his breath, and caring a big rifle at his side.

After spending several days with Shokaut and Rihanna and their tribe, I left Kasur and came to Okara where I spent a couple of days with Pastor Jame’s family. We visited several brick yards and prayed over families. Suzyanna reported to me after I returned to America, some good news about the healing of several we had prayed over, including a young woman with Diphtheria.

Pastor James has the gift of healing. It had been so long, since I had done this sort of ministry, and I prayed over more people in my 19 days Pakistan, than in my life. I came to realize I had a bit of the same gifting too.

After spending an intense few days of brickyard hopping and praying with Suzyanna, her mother Parveen, Pastor James, and sons, Saraam, Shanza, and Somerose, I met up with Obaid Karamet.

We visited brickyards where Obaid ministered during the day and we preached and prayed over the sick in villages by night. A compassionate man, Naveed Tariq, set up medical camp at the brick yards we visited.

Pastor Obaid Karamet and I at one of the villages we ministered together at.
This man had a club foot. His brother had broken through the crowd, asking that I come to the back of the courtyard, where the small bent over man was leaning on his cane. As I fixed my eyes on him, either my faith was going to fall or it was going to rise. I flew forward, laid a hand on his forehead and Obaid and I began to pray out loud in the spirit (tongues) and as he passed out, I laid him down. During the half hour that he was unconscious, (slain in the Spirit), he told us that the inside of his body had been vibrating. He got up and began hopping back and forth and forth, and walked out at the end of of the meeting without the help of his cane.

There was a day with Adeel Warris, his father and brothers and his new wife, Sonya. We drove quite a distance to a village where an entire brick yard of families came for the word and for prayer. We hope to free that yard August of 2021.

While most churches have a raised place and a pulpit, there’s something about being on the ground level with the people.

I had a chance to pray with precious ones with Tahir Younas, who brings food to the Brickyards that are laid on his heart. He has a burden for teaching the children, that they will not grow old without an education in these places of lack.

Here, Tahir brings a yummy change from the small portions of lentils and potatoes and onions the people subsist on, with his chicken biryani. At times he will bring fruit, and milk, and other items, the Brickyard families never ever get a chance to eat.
Tahir asked me to pray over certain ones. The man in the big black beard recently lost his wife in this brick yard.
Tahir’s life, when not working, consists of making suffering brick yard families happy.
Tahir, Teaching the children
Tahir and his team, and Nadeem. I had to climb the ‘Sacred’ big tree.
L-R / New friend and interpreter, Nadeem Hamid, me, in the outfit that Shokat gave me,Malik Rasheed, and Shokat. Rihanna had called Malik Rasheed, asking him to come to our last crusade I was to preach at. He is a Muslim parliamentarian, in this majority Muslim nation, who is a friend to the Christian and Hindu minorities. He just so happened to be far from Islamabad and close enough to come. Rehana and he had one another’s numbers because God had directed her in a dream to share with him the blessings and curses from the book of Deuteronomy. He had not only received her, but then asked her to go and share with the rest of his family as well.
When Malik Rasheed walked in, everyone stood. We met and shook hands, and I continued with the sermon. After hearing my testimony of the Brick yards bondage in his homeless he told my hosts that he was moved in a major way. I also preached on the 23rd Pslam, because that is how my new friends in Pakistan had loved on me.
Friday’s are the only free half days that bonded laborers have off; the brick master’s own holy day. I speak to my brothers and sisters from here in the USA, while Nadeem interprets from Okara, on a screen and with amplification.
People begin arriving at noon to Pastor Shokat’s small church. Within a month the crowd became a multitude and they filled a field outside the walls of his compound. By law in Pakistan Christians cannot assemble like this in the open, so they rent large makeshift walls so that they are completely. enclosed

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