I have prayed this prayer every day for years. Many times I have gotten weary of repeating it. Many times over many Saturdays, I look over the motley crowd of people we serve at the street alley and I wonder.... when, Lord, when will You answer? Many just walk out the minute they swallow the last mouthful of rice. Some are so smart they only come in just before the food is distributed, so they don't have to listen to (boring) Jesus songs and (another boring) 'lecture' about how good Jesus is. Of course there are many who sit through the 1/2 hour pre-feeding programme but only God knows what's going in their minds actually; whether they are hearing/understanding the message or just plain in a world of their own, waiting for us to finish fast so the food can be served. Many times, I wonder.....
I have served enough Saturdays on the streets to know many just don't/can't believe there really is a God who loves and cares enough to die for mankind, sinners that we all are. To them I am just a nice old aunty, who talk to them, pray over them, cry with them, and tell them fantastic tales about a God who can do miracles and take them to heaven when they die.
It's one thing to talk or hear about or even to see miracles at a huge rally, where some preacher calls up the sick and suddenly the lame walk, the blind regain sight, the deaf hear and all sorts of healing takes place. I have witnessed all that from afar. But when out of the blue, God decides to answer my own prayers. when I get to see with my own eyes miracles happening to people I have come to know personally - people in truly obviously desperate conditions - I can only say I am totally humbled and awed. And not just 1, but 5 miracles in a day is what I call a super-duper bonus. I guess God knows how tired I am of praying already; He knows how much I can take, and as always just at the right time, He gives me a 'booster' shot of His faithfulness, showing me He can touch anyone, everyone like...
.... the obese uncle who has been a fixture at the alley, ever since I can remember. He's heard about Jesus countless times, eaten countless plates of chicken curry rice. He always holds out his hand to me and asks for money, when I stop to say hello, He knows full well my standard reply, "Silver, gold or money I do not have. All I have is Jesus, and freely He is yours for the taking." But he's never taken, even though he agrees with everything we tell him about Jesus. Until this Saturday, as I sit with him and ask him if he would like to pray, he quietly says yes. His eyes tell me a miracle has happened in his heart as finally he lays hold of the gift of God.
.....the Christian brother, whose clothes cover a bag with tubes poking into his insides to hold the discharge from a body ridden with cancer, who has to lean hunching over a walker to move, who tries to hide the obvious pain he's feeling, and keeps telling me he's ready to go home to the Lord. How many times I have prayed over and with him, for God to release him from the suffering anyhow somehow . Yet this Saturday, I see him smiling from ear to ear, walking well and straight without that metal thing. pain-free ....that's a miracle to shout about. And no, it wasn't I. It was some other preacher who had simply declared over him, "Brother, you are healed, rise up and walk in Jesus' name." Almost the exact same words the apostle Peter used on a man lame from birth 2000 years ago. No, my brother didn't have a medical report to show his cancer is gone. But he did have 1 very obvious thing to show - the vitality of life written all over his face instead of the depressing shadow of death.....the non-Christian, whom doctors had written off as a 'gone' case, with the cancer already spread into his bones, affecting nerves and tissues, put on morphine to dull the constant pain, hanging onto a crutch, unwilling to go home because he didn't want his family to suffer with him. He tells me how his heart was stirred the first time when he was in such pain, he had dragged himself to hospital to get medication, and as he was desperately trying to stay steady on his feet, a nurse appears seemingly out of nowhere to help him.... and he sees the cross around her neck. What's even more amazing when he recently collapsed near a church, the pastor along with some others carried him into the sanctuary, prayed over him, and immediately he felt one of his legs 'gone different'. He pulled up his trousers and showed me the obvious difference; it was soft and normal to touch, unlike the other leg which was hard and lumpy. He recounted softly, "That's when I knew this God that you always talk about is real." He doesn't need his crutch anymore but he continued, "Now I have a bigger problem. They checked my blood and found I have HIV on top of the cancer. But I am not afraid. I choose to believe." The miracle isn't about believing he will get healed from the diseases plaguing him. It's about him experiencing the peace of God that surpasses all human understanding, which is what Jesus promised to those who would come to Him, all weary and laden.
....the prostitute who brought along 7 other down-n-out characters to come and eat a decent meal. 2 years ago, I had connected with her (here ) Since then, she has been more absent than present at the alley, but every time I see her, she would smile her sad smile and assure me she's ok because she now has Jesus. She's still painfully frail and thin, but in spite of her own struggles with alcoholism, drugs, gastric and diabetes, she can declare confidently "I only depend on Jesus, I know He will take care of me, so I can take care of others." The others for this Saturday include a fellow prostitute who was just released from prison for being 'in possession' of drugs which were thrown at her feet during a raid. I see a miracle unfolding in her spirit as tears roll down her face and she grips my hands tight when I tell her over and over again just 3 words that God prompts me to say to her - Jesus loves you. I guess no one has ever told her they love her.
.... me, whose heart is so prone to wander/wonder. He sends an old uncle to draw a caricature of me and a brother who serves alongside regularly. I never knew he had this talent, I only knew him as somewhat grouchy and sometimes drunk. Yet here he is, friendly and sober, pulling out crayons and pad and telling me that I have a beautiful smile and beautiful eyes, so he is coloring them blue. Honestly I have seen better drawings but it's the caption he scribbles over me that captures my heart and causes a lump in my throat - Christine Lai, the Queen of Ptg Street! That's my miracle - for all the years I have put in, the blood, sweat and tears poured into these people, when I am apt to think I cannot ever reach them, here is God telling me, I am accepted as one of them, I am counted as their friend. I don't bother to pay uncle, though I am sure he can use the money. But money would only demean his labor of love for me.There are miracles, and there are miracles. Obvious earth-shattering ones and not so obvious quiet ones that stir the heart to just know there is a God, no matter how much human minds may deny, reject or disbelieve Him. With my own eyes, I have seen what the God of miracles can do, even in the midst of a rebellious, sinful, unbelieving generation. He goes beyond my (little) faith to prove Himself true, as Lord of the harvest, He is bringing them all in...
"But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness" - Psalm 86:15
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