The grass and sand formed a narrow tunnel around us, hidden from view. His face is burned onto the inside of my eyelids.
tall. dark eyes. dark clothes. jumpy. switchblade in right hand.
He wanted our phones. He wanted our earrings and pocket change. He wanted to know where our house was, he wanted our bodies.
This man was mugging us. Threatening to rape us, threatening to do something with that knife he nervously swung around. I stood there within a foot of those hands, that knife, looking into those eyes.
Later when we all sat around the floor, eyes bloodshot from crying, hands shaking, retelling the story for the 50th time, I had to walk to the bathroom to just get away. I tried to catch my breath again and I started feeling God nudge me. At first a little, and then I couldn’t ignore it.
You need to pray for that man.
No.
No, thank you very much for the idea but I will have to pass.
Excuse me, God but do you know what this man just did to not one but three of your daughters? The ones over here busting their butts to do the thing you called them to do? Why are you not smiting? Isn’t that what God is supposed to do?
I realize that’s what the world has taught me to think. That’s what the lowercase “c” church taught me growing up. That we are a special little club and God just wants to to pop out more little white christians behind our white picket fences and never actually know the Father’s heart and just be content and maybe happy a few brief moments of the day.
I knew I would have to pray for this man.
The God I know, that I follow, expects more out of all of us. So we sat as a group and I prayed for that man along with the other two girls who were there. We prayed blessings over him and his family, that the chains of addiction and violence would break, that one day he would be a brother in Christ. And I prayed for forgiveness for this man who hurt us only the hour before.
Because that’s the Father’s heart.
I will end up spending most of my life trying to truly understand that kind of love, but I know it and he doesn’t.
I know that I’m valued, I know what He sacrificed for me, I know that He is pursuing me endlessly. I know His voice and I can see His hand on my life and I love to worship and I’ve prayed for healing and spoken life into people and I’m currently giving up this nine months (plus the rest of my life) doing what He wants me to do and despite all of that He does not love me more than that man on the path. He loves me perfectly, but He does not love me more.
This man is His child, His creation, who has been hurt and broken by the world. But the Big Man upstairs has huge plans for him and a life that he cannot even imagine right now. And as I looked around and heard my team and our hosts and the other girls who had been with me pray for him with tears falling down my face the only thing I could think of is this:
This man chose the right people to rob, because now we are all fighting for him.
Lost a phone, but I might gain a brother.
Can I get an Amen?
