Our time in Nicaragua FLEW by and yet was FULL of God’s favor and goodness and power. We saw blessing after blessing, miracle after miracle, and it was unlike anything I’ve seen in my years on the field. I want to share some stories in the next few days that I hope to remember for the rest of my life. Some stories carry the power and awe of a miraculous God, and some carry the quiet whisper of a Father’s heart.
One afternoon, my team was visiting the hospital where we pray for patients and their families. Very simply, we pray that God would radically heal the sick and comfort the grieving. We walk in as complete strangers asking to pray over their kids, siblings, or parents. I love it because it’s kind of crazy and really beautiful and very, very simple.
This particular day my group was walking around praying in the children’s section of the hospital. Each room is filled with 6-8 beds with family members gathered around each bed. There is no air conditioning, so there are giant windows that allow the breeze to come in, if there is any. There are small fans in the corners of some rooms that hum quietly, but the humidity and heat of rainy season keep everyone sweating behind their masks.
We walked into a room, our translator asked the parents permission to pray over their kids and people nodded around the room. We split up to different corners of the room and I walked up to a bed where a little boy, maybe 3 years old, was lying down holding his mom’s hand. He was crying, and not the loud dramatic kind of cry, but the sad weary cry when you’ve been in pain for so long that you’re questioning if it’ll ever go away. With tears streaming down the sides of his little face, he mumbled softly to his mom as she comforted him.
In my best Spanish, I introduced myself and asked if I could pray. The mom nodded so I went to start praying and the boy reached out his little hand to grab mine – so tender! I started praying and everything in his demeanor changed. He immediately stopped crying, looked into my eyes and didn’t look away. This took me by surprise, because kids are usually squirmy and distracted and don’t really know what’s happening when we pray for them. I kept my eyes open as I prayed, moved by how intently he was looking at me. Like he was looking through me and was fixated on something he saw, drawn in.
Even though I was praying in English, I wondered if Holy Spirit was miraculously allowing this little boy to understand what I was saying. So I started praying more boldly. I prayed for healing, that his pain would be taken away, that any sickness or injury would be restored in Jesus’ name. But more than any physical healing, I prayed that this little boy would have an encounter with his Father. I prayed that as he looked in my eyes, he would see the eyes of a God that’s madly in love with him. As I prayed I felt Holy Spirit moving so strongly, and I knew that this little boy was having an encounter with God.
When I finished praying, I shook their hands and said “God bless you” and we moved onto another room. I don’t exactly know what happened that day, and I probably never will. What I do know is Holy Spirit moved. I felt it. I saw it. I know it. I hope and pray that God used me to open that little boy’s eyes to the love of a Father that knows every hair on his head, every cry, every laugh. That one day when he’s older he has a vague memory of someone that came to visit him in the hospital that looked like Jesus. That this encounter would be the beginning of a life after the heart of God.
Whatever did happen, I walked away filled with the tangible presence of God. I walked away thankful that in my desire to bless someone else, God blessed me by filling me with His spirit as I poured out my prayers. I walked away more confident than ever that, more than I want to see pain taken away, I want people to have an encounter with Love, Himself.
