Couple years ago I went on a walk with God by my house. I used to live by a big hospital and a hill that was perfect for watching Colorado Springs sunsets. I went on top of the hill and watched as the hills turned dark blue and become a silhouette with the sun hiding behind them. I love that. I remember God telling me to start walking down the hill. I walked a ways and came towards the hospital and I felt God tell me to go pray for someone to be healed. Hmm.
I started to explain to God that this was obviously not what he wanted me to do. I exclaimed out loud, “What if it doesn’t work?!?!” I don’t think he was very concerned about that. Unfortunately some people near by walking their dogs were concerned and gave me a very frightened look as they started to walk faster away from the kid screaming at the sky. I decided to go into the hospital and just scope it out. I walked into the lobby and made my way to the Intensive Care Unit. It was about 8pm and I was thinking that visiting hours were probably over so I had nothing to worry about. I walked up to the nurse and asked if I could visit one of the patients.
“Of course, right this way.” Oh no!! My heart started pounding. What am I going to say? Who do I even talk to? Ahh! Ok fine! Whatever! Gall! I came to a group of nurses and they asked me who I wanted to see.
“Anybody,” They looked confused, “God told me to come here and pray for someone. I don’t know who though.” I felt silly. I must have really come off strange. I saw one of them smile and she asked if I was in high school. “Yes, I am.” She told me to follow her down the hall. We walked to the second door and she told me to wait outside. I overheard her.
“You have a visitor; do you want to see him?
“Who is it?” I heard what sounded like an old woman say.
“It’s a young man from Liberty high school.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t want to see him—“
I walked into the room.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “My name is Matthias, and God sent me here to pray for you.” A woman maybe in her late 60s stared back at me in shock. After a rather awkward silence I repeated myself, “God told me to pray for you.”
“Why would God care about me?” her voice sounded defeated and tired.
“Because,” I exhaled and smiled, “He really Loves you.” She invited me to sit down and we started talking. She told me all about her husband and how he comes in to read to her every once and a while but he works a lot. She talked about how much she treasures the times when he reads to her and how growing up with him remains one of her fondest memories. After talking with her for a while I prayed with her and went home. About a week went and I stopped by the hospital to visit my new friend. I walked down to her room but the room was empty. The nurse explained how she checked out a few days ago and went back home. That everything was ok.
What I love about Jesus’ miracles was that they weren’t about the magic tricks. The magic tricks were temporary. He fed the five thousand, but they got hungry again the next day; he raised Lazarus from the dead, but he eventually died of old age. The amazing thing about Jesus’ miracles was not the magic trick, it was his Love. The blind man was changed forever by Jesus’ love. The woman at the well was changed by his Love. His miracles were ways for showing his unconditional, indescribable, Love. I haven’t talked to that woman since that day, and I don’t know for sure what happened to her but I know one thing: she will always remember that day. Not because of the dorky, awkward, blonde haired kid that prayed for her, but because of the God that pursued her even when she thought that he didn’t care.