Thursday, January 27, 2011

HANDS

There was something very cool about my breakfast at Cracker Barrel this morning. I sat with a friend from our church who has walked thru his own journey of faith - not without pain and frustration - but never with his faith being shaken.

We talked for an hour over eggs (him) and oatmeal (me) and told of the life-bending and miraculous things God was doing in both our lives. The hour flew by.

At the end, he asked if he could pray for us. Usually that's my job, it seems, but I was eager to have it play out this way this time. Yes. Definitely. Please do.

We joined hands there in the restaurant - with tables chattering next to us - and waitresses breezing back and forth - and he began to pray a blessing on our church and on my life.

I opened my eyes halfway thru (sorry, but I did) and glanced at our right hands that were clasped in the center of the table - my white hand, his black hand. I couldn't even close my eyes at that point. I just stared at our hands while the man continued to pray. It was a beautiful sign of what God is doing in our church and one of those moments indelibly imprinted in my heart.

Thanks, friend, for what you did for me this morning. I needed it.

And be blessed.

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