Thursday, 23 June 2011

Amy's Prayer

She didn't pretend to be poetic or prophetic.
It was the honesty to her faith that made her words real. It was her struggles and her doubts that made her words a prayer. And this is what she prayed over me:

I see a picture of a man who left everything to live among the poor and the broken. He looked like them, talked like them, dressed like them. He ate what they ate, drank what they drank. He became one of them, lived among them.

Years later he died.

Sometime after, a missionary came to that village with the Gospel- to share the story of Jesus to the villagers. And in hearing that story, they responded "Oh yeah! We know Jesus. He used to live here a few years ago."

This has become my prayer. Even though it was forever ago that I was in a room with Amy and those dear friends, I'm still praying that prayer tonight. Even though I feel so far from the Messiah and the Missionary, I'm still praying that prayer tonight. Every prayer waits the arrival of the dawn.

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