Last Sunday, my wife Ada and I stopped by the homeless camp. Jeff was lying in his tent, alone, and dressed in the same orange shirt I’d found him wearing a week before. He looked bent and tired, his face worn like the end of an old pencil.
“Do you want to go to church with me?” I asked.
Jeff quickly declined. I sent Hawaii over to Jeff’s tent, hoping he might convince him to come along. I watched from a distance and prayed. After a few minutes, Jeff rolled over and began to gather his things. A mini miracle.
Both Hawaii and Jeff piled in the back seat of my car, and we drove down I-985 to Buford. We all poured coffee in cardboard cups and entered the service just before the music began.
I prayed most of the service, hoping that God would come down and meet my friends right there. As church wrapped up, we sat still silently processing the preacher’s sermon. Jeff looked glazed, his head staring at the chair in the front row.
He rested his hands on his chin and said, “This has been good for me. I needed this.”
After church, we all went to Wendy’s where I bought three cheeseburgers and a single chili. We drove back to camp, and I told Jeff I’d be praying for him. That was a week ago.
In the meantime, I posted a prayer request for Jeff on the Homeless in Gainesville, Ga Facebook Page. Twenty-thousand people saw the post. I was floored.
On Friday, Ada and I visited Jeff again. He was wearing brand new clothes, and he looked fresh, a grin relaxing the edges of his face. This was the first time I’d seen him seated outside his tent in weeks. We sat down on broken plastic chairs. I could hardly contain myself. Twenty-thousand people have answered Jeff’s prayer for healing. What had God been doing all week?
I impatiently asked, “How has your week been?” – Continue Reading
