FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBloggerBump-bump-bumping over rough, icy roads, I turn in. “Grande macchiato,” I say to Barista, “stirred, with a shot of the whip.”
I never come to Starbucks on Tuesdays close to noon, but for some reason, I am here. Inhaling the aroma, I settle in. And there he is.
In the corner, a young fellow, an African American, rests on a chair made of leather. He’s practically laying on his spine, neck all crooked up. A phone’s clutched tight in both of his hands, and his eyes, they are glued to the screen.
Sipping espresso, I reach for my phone, sipping and scrolling the news. Now, he mutters.
I glance up. He’s sitting upright, murmuring, intense, laser-like focus on phone. I read on.
Caught up on news, I take out my journal. Italian leather in bright red, all embossed. Cracking the cover, I put pen to paper. Heart and soul curl across it in ink.
Then, a loud exclamation.
I look over at the source of the outburst. I think it’s a swear word I heard. And he sees me. “Sorry,” he says with chagrin, looking down. So young, and I think of my sons.
“You are fine.” That’s what I say, and I mean it, and my head bends once more over pages.
“How can I pray for you?” Like that, whisper comes. That question, the tool, the equipping.
It’s Day 23 of Revive Indiana, and the Holy Spirit’s afoot in our county. Revival has come, and the church, it is shaking. King Jesus is high, lifted up.
“How can I pray for you?” That’s the tool that they’re teaching to help Lord Christ’s friends reach to others. For the need…oh, there’s great, crying need, and the masses are famished, are starving.
“How can I pray for you?” I hear it again. The boy in the corner’s still muttering.
“Lord, him? Do you mean it for him?” I ponder, peace settles, I wait.
I close up my journal, tuck pen in mesh pocket. I slip *BCP into purse.
He looks up. Our eyes meet, and I speak. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” he says, polite. He’s not hostile.
I smile. “I have 4 boys, ages 25, 21, 16 and 8.”
“You have four boys?”
“I do. Looking at you makes me think of them, and I’m wondering how I can pray for you?”
An electric charge. He sits up, spine shooting straight. One hand reaches up, removing a do-rag. I think that he senses the Carpenter. Come for him.
Then, phone still clutched in his hands, he hunches over, straining. And this is what he near-groans, “I have to make this a good one!”
Ah, that need.
When he looks up at me, he’s decided. “I need God to prosper…” he’s grappling to say it. To frame his desire into words. “I need God to send prosperity.”
I smile once more, and I look into his longing eyes. “I want you to know that when we pray for you, God can send you prosperity in every way, not just financial. He can give you peace and wisdom, and He’ll guide your steps, give direction. We will pray. What’s your name?”
“Marcellus,” I say, “tonight, the Schrocks will be praying. I believe that God’s got a purpose for you.”
I gather my things, zipping bags, tugging gloves on. I stand up, preparing to leave. Once more, I look back.
“Thank you.” He says it again.
“Watch for God.” That’s what I say. And, turning, I walk into sun’s brightest light, knowing Friend Christ has come. For Marcellus.
“Red, brown, yellow, black and white. We are precious in His sight.” And Jesus loves the Marcellus’s of the world.
*BCP – Beloved Cheetah Phone