We are walking back from ministry in Antipolo, a long morning of sitting and talking with Ella, our Ladyboy friend, in his salon and our spirits are high, as we got to pray with him today. The markets are bustling, vendors are holding out sticks of meat while the odor of boiling oil, peanuts, fish, and trash mingle and collide in every breath we take; trash flitters along the street sides and trike drivers call and wave for our attention. And amongst all the noise, The Lord speaks.
Pray for that man.
He is sitting to our right, a familiar face we pass every day to get to our routine destination. Crutches and a wife by his side, he stretches his crooked fingers out to the passerby's who keep their gaze forward. He shakes his tin cup, the sound of emptiness echoing around. His leathered skin basking in the heat of the day while his wife, anchored beside him hovers an umbrella above his head. One leg is wrapped from shin to hip with handkerchiefs and bandannas, his only means of a brace. His leg is dislocated at the hip, a hump protruding from his side.
Pray for that man.
We walk towards him. He holds out his hand for change, anything we have will do. But we have much more to offer. “Can we pray for you?” He does his best, pointing to his leg, using his hands to charade a broken gesture. Conversation ensues in broken English, trying to interpret his motions and Tagalong. Nodding our heads, “yes, yes,” but no one will ever know what he said. People pass us, staring oddly with curiosity. Why would three white Americans be sitting with this beggar? But he is not just a beggar. His name is Alex and his wife is Dominga. They sit together, rely on each other, and love each other. And he does his best to earn a living with what he has.
Pray for Alex.
We place our hands on his broken leg, on his displaced hip. With more belief and fervor than ever before, I begin to pray for healing. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes. The Lord will heal this man. A crowd is forming and encircles us in silence, waiting, expecting. I pray louder, harder. Tears begin to roll down my face as Alex’s friends lay hands on him in belief and hope. We beckon to the crowd.
Come, and pray for Alex.
One by one, they turn their heads. One by one, they step back. With fear they look to each other. It takes everything within me not to jump up and shout. “Don’t you believe! Do you have any faith in your God?” But they were only there for the spectacle.
My attention back to Alex. Pray for him.
We prayed and prayed. I asked the Lord why he would not heal him, after he spoke to us, with Alex’s great need, with all these witnesses? And my faith too, began to die.
“Madeline, don’t you believe? Do you have any faith in your God?”
After an hour or so of prayer and sitting, we smile at Alex and Dominga, hug them and set off for home.
Just as Alex came to us, asking for what he thought he needed and desired, we came before God the same. A beggar. But just as we offered something of greater value to Alex, God too has something more grand, more glorious than what we held our hands out for. And my empty can, my faithless cup I shake before The Lord will be filled to the brim, not from anything I can see but something so beautiful and so divine that it can only be described as the presence of The Living God.
Pray for Alex. Every day.
So we continue, every day, making the trek to Antipolo to sit beside Alex and Dominga. To sing with them. Read scripture with them. And pray for them. Dominga still squatted by his side. Alex still rattling his can. Dominga nudges him when he isn’t listening, his focus on every coin jingling in the passerby’s pockets. Sometimes I wonder if they even understand. But every now and then he will stop. He will put his cup on the ground, rest his hand on his lap and quietly look to the ground. There is understanding. There is recognition. I find myself praying more for their spiritual state than for Alex’s leg. Because the offer that God invited us into that first day was not a miracle or revival. He invited us into Love.
So we pray for Alex. We pray for Dominga.
We pray that they would love The Lord with all their hearts. We pray that the joy and peace of Jesus would meet them on that sidewalk. We pray that their lives would be filled with the Holy Spirit.
And do I still believe that God will heal Alex’s leg?
Absolutely.
