The music blasted over the loudspeakers. The fast, rhythmic beat barely registered as the young man I had just prayed for walked away. I opened my eyes and adjusted them to the night sky looking for someone else to pray for. The crowd dispersed after receiving prayer following the sermon Felito had shared. But I felt like my night wasn’t quite complete.
An older woman to my right caught my attention and I felt God whisper in my ear, “Go pray for her.” But as I took my first step toward her my squadmate Andrea walked up to her and beckoned to Felito to translate. Deterred, I stopped and waited to see if God might have been talking about someone else, but everyone else had already received their prayer and was either headed home or gathering to watch the younger men and women dance.
The nagging feeling that I needed to pray for the woman dwelt and I saw that Felito had left Andrea to pray on her own, so I walked over, put my arm on the older woman’s shoulder and joined in. I immediately felt a prickle in my knee that hadn’t been there earlier, so I bent down and hesitantly placed my hand over her knee. Andrea bent down and placed her hand beside mine (and I must admit I was relieved to see that God hadn’t strayed me wrong in what to pray about).
After praying very few words I felt something shift under my hand – as if a bone had moved. Somehow I knew that I could stop praying and that something had changed. I thanked God for the healing happening right beneath my hand and straightened. I stepped back at the precise moment that Andrea stopped praying and pointed to the woman’s knee, doing her best to motion the question of how the woman was feeling.
It was a strange moment, waiting as the woman bent her knee. Calmness emanated from Andrea; perfectly reflecting how I felt as we waited on the woman’s response. Her knee bent and straightened. Bent and straightened – this time a little faster. After repeating this a few times she looked up in disbelief, eyes moving quickly between Andrea and me. Her open mouth curved into a smile and a little laugh escaped her lips. Wide eyes crinkled as she placed weight on her leg. She began to dance and without a word she danced to where the crowd of young men and woman danced. Her movements matched the quick beat of the Mozambican rhythm.
The last time I saw her she was in the middle of the crowd, arms lifted, leaping up and down, singing words of praise to the God who had just healed her knee.
