We visited some old friends in their new church today. When I say old friends, I mean, old, old, OLD friends. Like, when we first moved to Mississippi old.
They're missionaries at heart. Good, godly, people. They want to reach the lost and shine light in the darkness. All that.
Good, good, good people. God's best.
So, we found this little old church in the middle o' nowhere where they are preaching. The singing was good, the message good too.
When we were going to their church a long time ago, I was still in elementary school.
My fingers were covered in warts, like over a hundred. I am not exaggerating. I counted them. That was my morbid little hobby in those days, counting how many warts I had on my fingers. For the longest time it was at a little over 60, but before it was all over I had over a hundred. At a women's retreat, my mother was told to have my hands prayed over. When she got back, my hands got prayed over, and slowly my warts went away.
So, today, I was wearing an over sized sweater with sleeves that covered my hands. I like stuff that covers my hands. I don't know if that's leftover from those days as a child when I would just always cover my hands so the warts didn't show, or if I just like stuff that covers my hands for the heck of it. Hey, there's leftover sleeves, let me tuck my hands in them.
The pastor's wife checked my hands. She pulled my sleeves back and asked me if I remembered when they were covered in warts and how they were prayed over and taken away.
I don't talk about it a lot. Part of it is because, well, it's a weird story. A little girl's hands were covered in warts and now I don't have anymore because of prayer. I don't want to be seen as a holy roller, someone you can't talk to because I'm too religious. Another part of it is that I just don't think about it that much, I was a little kid. As an adult, albeit a young one, it really wasn't a big deal. I mean, I was self-conscious about it and it bothered me, but it's not like I had cancer or anything. In the grand scheme of things, it sounds like a really minor problem. There are kids out there starving and I'm worried about a bunch of skin problems. I feel like I was a silly child.
It's not the kind of story you tell at testimony time, at least, I don't. The point of this story, I think, is that God cares about the little things too. If it bothers you, it bothers Him.
It's the only miracle I've ever had happen to me. Largely, I come from a blessed background. No poverty, no one close to me has ever had cancer or died. I mean, sure, there have been deaths in the family, but no one I really grieved for, except, perhaps Maw Trudy, which is a story for another day.
There are bigger problems out there. It's the closest thing to a miracle I've ever witnessed, period. I hear a lot of stories, but that's the only one I've ever seen, personally.
After church, we the family started reminiscing. "Do you remember..."
As a twenty-something with very little idea of what she believes, if she believes anymore, and wondering if any of it's true or not, it was nice to visit with these people. No matter what I believe, these people do believe. They have seen miracles. They believe in "it was a God thing." It's real to them.
Whether or not God still wants anything to do with me, or vice versa, God is working in these people's lives.