Feeling skippy, I took the bus downtown to spend the afternoon in the park. I decided to bring my Bible along; I wanted to read in Revelation under the shade of my favorite Oak tree and observe the ocean of people, each minding his own business and simply trying get through the day. The bench under that Oak is the kind made of wooden slats and no back, perfect for a five-minute rest, but slightly uncomfortable for any further lounging.
Finding my book of choice, I began reading. I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t pause, I didn’t even look up. I read through the entire book in one fell swoop. I often consume entire books like that, but never before had I done so with part of the Bible, nor in a public park. I was surprised when I reached the end; the words of the book had gripped me like they never have before, sucking me into the storyline completely. I momentarily forgot where I was, for two seconds maybe. Then I heard someone call my name. I looked over to my right toward the voice. A huddled mass had just crossed the street and were now making their way to their respective destinations, and amidst the crowd stood my father.
My heart pounded; could this be real? Are my eyes deceiving me? Every ounce of sanity told me it wasn’t true, but my eyes and ears confirmed it: yes, he was real. He had to be real. But how did he find me? How did he know? It’s impossible … he couldn’t have … could he? And as I questioned, he faded and disappeared. I was torn with grief. I had been going through anxiety already because of our separation; at that time, I had been in Brazil for two months. But this pushed me over the top. I began to cry as I walked down the street, searching for something, anything. I need an Açaí.
What was that? How did it happen? Later that afternoon my mom called, and I told her the whole story. She cried. I expected her to. But one thing I didn’t expect was that she believed me. I just somehow thought everyone would think I was crazy, or that it was just me. But she believed me. At the time, I didn’t know what happened. I later found out that when Mom told Dad about it, he cried, too. Was this just some kind of gross, practical joke God was playing on me? Why did it happen? Why me? Why now? My questions outnumbered the total seconds I saw my father.
This wasn’t the first time something like this happened between my parents and me, but it was the first time I actually saw one of them. We were reaching into a level of communication I wasn’t aware of, certainly not one I was taught in Sunday School. Was this even Scriptural? Or was I flirting with the Black Arts? I was in desperate need of answers. But my answers didn’t come right away. In fact, I’m only just now beginning to understand what happened. And I’m seeing more and more that I have so very far to go.
When I was in Peru something like this happened, but it happened to my mom. We had been preaching on the streets of Piura. It was July, and I spotted an ice cream cart. This guy is my favorite person in the whole city. I don’t remember what it tasted like; I don’t even remember what I got. But I do remember how I felt later that evening. We went to a soccer stadium where a large meeting was taking place. An evangelist—the one who invited us to Peru—was holding a crusade. I didn’t even make it inside the stadium; I went over behind one of the concrete pylons holding up the seats and awaited the inevitable. I felt like I was going to puke my guts out.
After a couple minutes of waiting, I heard in my conscience that Christians are healed by the blood of Jesus, and healed people don’t act sick. So I started acting healed, and walked toward the entrance of the stadium. Before I got to my seat I was completely fine. The next morning I called my mom to tell her how the previous day went, and to tell her about my little “miracle” story. She gasped, and quickly asked what time that happened. I told her; I could tell she was doing the calculations in her head to see what time of the night it was. Then she told me that at that moment, she was awakened, having heard my voice calling for her. She said it sounded just like those times I woke up in the night feeling sick. She caught herself walking toward my room, realizing I wasn’t going to be there. So she concluded that it must be spiritual, that I needed prayer right then. She prayed for me until she felt a release, and at that moment, as I walked inside the stadium, I was healed.
So why did I see my dad? Did it have anything to do with my reading John’s Revelation? Or was it something different? Was I tapping into dark forces? Or was God trying to use me to help someone? It’s important to note right now that I wasn’t seeking any vision. God chooses to lead us beyond the simple inward witness only as He wills. This was obviously important for God to use this method. The grief I felt was very real. But part of it was my dad’s grief; it wasn’t just my own. I didn’t know it, but Dad took my absence very hard. I knew my mom would, but this surprised me. God was showing me vividly that he needed prayer. Everyone in the church was lifting my mom up in prayer, but who would stand under Dad? God showed me a need I could fulfill.
I probably didn’t do so well in filling that need, considering I didn’t even recognize it. I was so caught up in the vision that I didn’t bother to ask God what it meant. I don’t feel like a total failure, but I didn’t ace that one. What should I have done instead? Calling home was a good first step, but going a step further I could have analyzed what I was feeling. God was showing me empathetically what Dad was feeling. I could have prayed for him along those lines. And it never hurts to ask God what something means. Why didn’t I just do that, rather than think about the vision itself?
Here’s a scripture concerning this type of leading:
Acts 16:6-10 (NKJV)
6 Now when they had gone through Phrygia and the region of Galatia, they were forbidden by the Holy Spirit to preach the word in Asia. 7 After they had come to Mysia, they tried to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit did not permit them. 8 So passing by Mysia, they came down to Troas. 9 And a vision appeared to Paul in the night. A man of Macedonia stood and pleaded with him, saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10 Now after he had seen the vision, immediately we sought to go to Macedonia, concluding that the Lord had called us to preach the gospel to them.
Of the billions of Christians in the world, God was choosing to use me, and I didn’t even recognize it. Next time I’ll be ready, though. Because, yeah, I failed that round, but in failure there is learning.
~Jonathan
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