Wednesday, October 23, 2013
My favorite stories have my hands in them:
At the end of our very first date, my now-husband asked if we could pray before we parted. I said, "Sure" and reached out to grab his hand. That's just what we do in my family; when we pray, we hold hands. When Brad tells this story, he says his heart melted right then and there.
At our church here on the Jicarilla Apache Nation, people come forward for healing prayer every Sunday. After their anointing, my husband the preacher asks for anyone to come forward and lay hands on those being prayed over. I love the idea of the Holy Spirit working through my hands to touch somone.
Not too long ago, a woman from our congregation came to visit. She, like many here, has much grief in her life. In the past, I might've given her a quick hug as she left, but I was moved by the Holy Spirit to ask her if I could pray with her. She got teary-eyed and grabbed my hand. I put my arms around her and prayed for God to comfort her.
And today, while outside washing The Pastormobile and our personal car, two young women came through the yard. We greeted them, and I watched as they continued walking. Soon, one of the women looked up and saw me. I said something inane, like "beautiful day" and expected them to walk on. Instead, the woman said, "Will you pray with us? My friend was badly hurt in an accident and this is her first time out of the house in months." We gathered, my husband the pastor, our almost-7-year-old, the injured woman, her friend, and me. I reached out to take the hand of the injured woman... and in a short time, there were hands linked all around our little circle. We prayed together for God's healing hand, physically, emotionally, spiritually.
And I looked down at the brown American Indian hand in my left and my husband's pale Anglo hand in my right, and the power of God connecting us all. What grace! What a gift to us.
The hand of God is here in this place, using our hands and our hearts to do His work.