Bible Holster: This is my belt of Truth for the year.
This “holster” is the perfect size for my Bible and a journal.
Surprisingly, as we combed the streets of towns and cities in Panama, God brought believers in my path. At first I was a bit discouraged with this – I mean, come on God, I want to save someone. I’m not working here if I’m not presenting the Gospel to someone. Oh, how my perspective and expectations are skewed!
Not one sheep is forgotten in God’s flock, though. Not one. We all have times in our lives that we need an encouraging word. And that is what these encounters were – edification and encouragement of the body of Christ. Greeting in joy, departing with an overflow of thanksgiving. And because of it, each believer’s ripple effect is that much more profound and far-reaching.
I prayed with a woman for her brother to come to know the Lord and for shackles to fall off her hands (she confessed to an overzealous love for TelaNovela, the Spanish soap opera). Another man, a fellow believer, was greatly encouraged to find us in the park – believers from the States here in Panama. We prayed for his eye to be healed. But no matter what city I stepped foot in, I found myself in conversation with a cowboy.
I’m not quite sure how it happens. Perhaps a little magnetism for the cowboy hat mixed with divine appointments. Maybe it is because I have a Bible Holster. That brim brings an instant smile and twinkle to my eye, and I’m ready for a chat. I wasn’t surprised to have a talk with one in Volcan, a tiny town in Panama. But then to run into two in David, a bustling city 45 minutes away, was a delightful surprise of the divine nature.
One particular cowboy I spotted on the way to an empty parking lot in David, our stage for a drama. We exchanged smiles and a nod. I expressed how much I liked his “sombrero.” I didn’t think I’d meet him again.
But a few minutes after the drama, the cowboy and I were having a “quick draw” match on the sidewalk. In broken Spanish and English we started a friendship. He pulled out his wallet and found a tiny, folded slip of notebook paper. His full name – four names – was scribbled in blue ink, his telephone number underneath. Fabio. A cowboy named Fabio. He handed the piece of paper to me. He asked me to pray for him and said that he would pray for me.
Cowboy Fabio and me
Praying with Fabio
Fabio and I ended up playing a mimic game on the street, laughing and then praying. I invited him to our church in Volcan. Waving goodbye to my cowboy friend, I half expected to see him two days later in church. Nope. No show.
But another surprise was in store and a jolt of encouragement. The very last Sunday we were in Panama, 30 minutes before the service ended, in walked Fabio, hat in his hand. I stood up and called his name, escorted him to a seat and went to get my team – Fabio is here!
Fabio and friend at church
Turns out that one of the men at the church knew Fabio, his father had worked with the cowboy. It was encouraging to watch the church surround the visitor, get his cell phone (for which he asked me for his slip of paper – he had given me the only piece of paper with his number on it), and greet him warmly with promises of future meetings.
Nope, God never forgets His sheep. Not a single one.
