Brother Word Page 7

  “Two days ago?”

  “Let me explain. Two days ago we were eating out at a diner in Columbia, and this man came up to us and asked if he could pray over Eddie. I was kind of hesitant at first, but he prayed everything you’ve just been talking about—that Eddie was healed by the stripes of Jesus and that his physical body must line up with what the Word of God says.”

  “Glory to God! Saints, are you hearing this? The Bible tells us in Mark 16 that we shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover!” Smallwood turned his attention to the young child.

  “Eddie, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy answered.

  “Glory to God! Eddie, would you like to run down the center aisle, touch the door, and come back?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Have you ever run before?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  “Well, Jesus has healed you, so you can now run for His glory!”

  The bedlam of praise erupted throughout the sanctuary once more as the center aisle was cleared for Eddie. Lynn clapped her hands along with everyone else and wished she could see the jubilant expression that must’ve been all over the little boy’s face.

  “Saints, the Healer is here,” Smallwood declared, amidst the joyous shouts of the congregation. “Come forward now to receive what God’s Word says is yours!”

  Lynn got to her feet. Using a cane that she tapped out in front of her, she carefully made her way to the front, where she heard a concert of voices praying all around her.

  The altar workers must have already been lined up,she thought.

  “Sister, I’ll pray for you,” Lynn heard a woman’s voice say. Walking in the direction of the voice, Lynn reached out her hand. A soft hand enclosed hers.

  “My name is Sister James. I’m here to pray for your healing.”

  The woman’s soft, grandmotherly voice sounded faint and quivering, and for a second Lynn felt a pang of disappointment. The sharp contrast in demeanor from the fiery T. R. Smallwood to the soft-spoken, gentle Sister James didn’t mean this lady possessed less faith, but Lynn nevertheless had wanted someone a little more radical to pray over her.

  “What are you standing in need of, sister?”

  Lynn swallowed. Wasn’t it obvious what she was standing in need of? “I’m . . . I’m blind. My prayer is that the Lord would restore my sight.”

  Sister James clucked her teeth together. “Oh dear,” Lynn heard the old woman whisper.

  Oh God,Lynn thought, sensing a spirit of doubt in the old woman. It was a spirit she knew all too well. Help her unbelief . . .

  TEN MINUTES LATER, Lynn returned to her seat, still unable to see. Sister James had prayed over her (and Lynn had been praying, too), but her sight had not been restored. All around her, she heard random shouts of people testifying of their healing.

  Then why not me, Lord? Why . . . not . . . me?

  Did she have a lack of faith? Was there unconfessed sin in her life? Had she done something to warrant being in that accident and losing her sight? Maybe God’s mercy had already been shown on her behalf by allowing her to live while that other driver had died.

  These thoughts bombarded Lynn’s brain like a barrage of cannon fire, and for the first time since the doctor had said she might remain permanently blind, her faith began to waver.

  “Lord, please help me,” she whispered. “I know that You can heal me. You opened that little boy’s ears and healed his legs. You healed Pastor Smallwood’s heart. I know You are not a respecter of persons; if You did it for them, You can do it for me . . .”

  Thirty minutes later, Lynn got to her feet again.

  “Are you going to the front for more prayer?” her mother asked.

  “No. I’m . . . I’m just going to the restroom.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Lynn was in no position to refuse her mother’s help, especially since she had no idea where the bathroom was. It turned out the church’s lone restroom was at the rear of the building, and at the moment it was fortunately empty.

  “I’ll be right outside,” Jeannette said.

  “You don’t have to wait, Mom. I’m getting better at moving around.” Lynn didn’t voice what she wanted to—her mounting frustration at both losing her independence and the fact that she might never see again. Turning on first the cold and then the hot water from the sink, she splashed her face with the water, letting the warmth mix with the tears that had begun running down her cheeks.

  “Lord, I know You can restore my sight. I . . . I just want to see again.”

  As she turned around, she stumbled and started to fall. At the last second, her hand reached out and grabbed what felt like the door handle. She took a few seconds to calm herself before opening the door.

  Immediately, she sensed something was wrong. Instead of the hallway she’d just come from, she sensed the cool evening air on her skin and heard the chirping of crickets around her.

  I’m outside, she thought. How in the world did I get outside?

  Her sense of direction must have gotten turned around when she had stumbled, and she had grabbed the wrong door handle. Not being able to see, and never having been to Hope Springs Church before, she hadn’t known the church’s small restroom had been built like most country churches built in the early 1900s. There was a door leading in from the outside as well as inside. Lynn turned around and retraced her steps back to the door, but when she grabbed the doorknob, she discovered that it would not turn.

  Suppressing the urge to cry for help, she took a few awkward steps to her left, keeping her palm against the outer wall of the church. She took comfort in knowing that if she kept one hand on the wall at all times, it would be impossible to get lost.

  THE MAN HAD BEEN WATCHING her careful trek around the church, and at first it had been like seeing a ghost from his past. He realized that she was blind, but her physical stature, her skin tone, the way she wore her hair pulled back from her face—it all reminded him of someone who’d been taken from his life years earlier.

  He would have remained content to watch her and nothing more, had it not been for the garden rake lying haphazardly on the ground a few feet in front of where the woman was headed. Someone had carelessly neglected to set the rake upright, or perhaps it had fallen over—who knew? What the man did know was that in a few more seconds, the woman was about to have an unfortunate accident.

  Quietly and quickly, he moved to where the rake was and picked it up.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, just as he was retreating.

  Apparently, he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d wanted. He’d underestimated this woman’s heightened sense of hearing.

  “There was a rake lying on the ground,” he replied. “I didn’t want you to step on it.”

  “Oh . . . oh, thank you. That was very nice of you.” She waited a moment before adding, “Listen, can you help me back inside the church as well? I somehow got locked out of the restroom, and . . . well you can probably see my predicament.”

  The man cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  Taking her free hand in his, he began leading her around the church.

  “I take it you’re here for the healing crusade,” the woman said. “What are you doing outside?”

  “I guess I just like the outdoors,” the man replied.

  They had come around to the front of the church when the woman stopped. “Can I ask you something? Do you believe in healing? I mean, everything that Pastor Smallwood is saying—that believers in Christ can lay hands on the sick and they shall recover?”

  The man cleared his throat again. “Yes, I believe that we can lay hands on the sick and they can be healed.” He hesitated for just a second. “I’ve seen it happen.”

  “You have? Then would you mind praying for me? I had come here for prayer, but I don’t think the sweet old lady who prayed for me truly believed God could restore my sight. You, on the other hand, sound so . . . so different. For some reason, I don’t kn
ow, I . . . just believe you have faith that God can do it.”

  “God can do all things,” the man responded. “Including allowing you to see again.”

  “Amen! Then would you . . . would you pray for me?” she asked again.

  The man nodded. “What is your name?”

  “Lynette Harper. Everybody calls me Lynn, though.”

  The man nodded again. “Lord Jesus, I come to You on behalf of my sister Lynn. There is nothing too hard for You, and it is with that confidence that I stand in agreement with her faith that You would restore her sight. Your Word declares in Matthew 18:19 that if two believers agree on anything we ask for, it will be done for us by our Father in heaven. Now I confidently stand upon Your Word and ask that You would restore her sight.”

  He placed his hands over Lynn’s eyes. “As I lay hands on my sister’s eyes, I speak the healing power of Jesus Christ to manifest with her eyes being—”

  Suddenly, the man felt Lynn inhale sharply and begin to fall backward. He had seen this happen before—the Spirit of the Lord had this effect on many people. Looping his arm quickly behind her, he broke her fall as she descended gently on the grass. Lynn was wearing a dress with a hemline that stopped just above her knees, so to respect her modesty he took off his checkered suit coat and draped it across her legs.

  Then, with one parting glance at a face that conjured up a host of memories he’d tried for years to forget, he calmly strode off into the evening twilight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  HE CAUGHT A RIDE BACK into town after flagging down the driver of a passing truck—the locals were extremely hospitable, he was fast discovering. Still, he remained shaken over how much that young blind woman had reminded him of Nina. The physical resemblance had been startling—it was almost as if Nina had a secret twin sister living in South Carolina, though he knew that could not be true. Nina had been an only child.

  He looked down at his hands, surprised to see them shaking ever so slightly. There was a loud ringing in his ears as well, and he felt it becoming difficult to breathe.

  Stop it . . . get a hold of yourself . . .

  The question would not stop ringing throughout his mind—why had he come back to Hope Springs Church? It was the first time he’d ever revisited a church where he’d healed someone previously; ordinarily, he made it a rule never to do that. But he’d felt the leading of the Holy Spirit to come back.

  He was reminded of the words of John the Apostle, writing in his gospel that Jesus must need pass through Samaria to minister to the woman at the well. It was a similar, strong compulsion that he had felt—was Lynn to be his own “woman at the well” experience?

  “Hey, the buck stops here,” the truck driver said, stirring the man from his thoughts. “I gotta head on towards Florence, which is goin’ east. You going to Columbia, and that’s the other way.”

  The man nodded, unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door’s handle. “Thank you for taking me this far. I appreciate that.”

  “No problem. Happy trails, partner.” Partner came out of the man’s mouth sounding like pahd-nuh. With a hearty wave, the truck driver pulled away from the road’s shoulder.

  The man stuck his still shaking hands in his pockets and set off in the direction of the bus station. He needed to get to Columbia, and back to Congaree National Park. Above all, he needed to get back to his personal, private sanctuary.

  “LYNN!”

  “My God! Lynn, are you alright?”

  The voices, faint at first, then growing louder, reached her consciousness and caused her dream to dissipate. In the dream, she had been sitting on a bench in the Swan Lake Iris Gardens, feeding the graceful swans that swam to the water’s edge from her personal bag of bread crumbs. Sumter’s Swan Lake, the only public park in the States to feature all eight species of swans, was the place where Lynn had spent many lazy childhood Saturday afternoons, reading, praying, and passing time. Yet the past few minutes hadn’t seemed like a dream—it had seemed so real. And the most glorious part of it all was that she had been able to see!

  But it was just a dream . . .

  “Lynn, are you alright?” Her mother asked again, lifting Lynn slowly from the ground. From the intermingling smells of perfumes and colognes and the whispers, Lynn sensed a crowd forming around her.

  “I waited for you to come out of the restroom, but when you didn’t—”

  “I’m alright, Mom,” Lynn interrupted. “I just went out the wrong door.” She was about to say something else when her eyes fluttered open, as they had done so often during the last six weeks with nothing but blackness greeting them.

  This time, however, a burst of color flashed through her mind like a kaleidoscope. Lynn blinked once, twice.

  I can see!

  She saw the red dress her mother was wearing and the gold pendant swinging from her neck. Looking up, she looked straight into her mother’s eyes. Though her mother had the same Natalie Cole-like eyes as she, they had never looked as beautiful as they did at this moment.

  Jeannette saw her daughter’s eyes, too, and saw that there was no longer a cloudy haze over them.

  “Lynn!” she shrieked. “My God, your eyes!”

  My eyes! “I can see, Mom! I can see!”

  At once, the crowd began shouting and clapping around her—Lynn saw Arlene, Sister Linda, Sister Margie, Brother Charles, Pastor Gentry, and her father giving praise to God—and to see them after six weeks of utter darkness was just . . . amazing!

  Soon, T. R. Smallwood joined the small gathering outdoors and began to give God praise for another miraculous healing. So far, there had been fifteen testimonies of healings that had taken place, and with every one Smallwood had rejoiced louder.

  But his expression changed from one of jubilance into one of near shock as he noticed the checkered gray-and-black suit coat Lynn held in her hands.

  “Sister, can I ask where you got that coat?”

  Lynn looked down at the coat in her hands. “I . . . I don’t know where— Oh, it must have come from the man who prayed over me.” She looked up, remembering. “A man laid hands over my eyes while I was out here and prayed that my sight be restored.”

  “Glory to God,” Smallwood whispered, practically in reverence. “That’s the same coat the man who laid hands on my heart was wearing.”

  “And the same coat the man who prayed over my Eddie was wearing,” a woman spoke up. By her voice, Lynn recognized her as Andrea Everett.

  “Glory to God,” Smallwood whispered again.

  “But why does this man . . . vanish after these healings?” Jeannette wondered aloud. “It’s as if he wants no recognition at all.”

  “He wants the recognition to go to God,” someone mused.

  “Maybe he’s an angel,” someone else spoke up.

  “What’s most important,” Smallwood cut back in, “is that the glory of God is falling around here like never before! It’s just like the pool at Bethesda, with the waters stirred up and the healing of the Lord available for all who believe and receive!”

  Lynn began rejoicing along with everyone else, her eyes taking in the hues and colors of everyone and everything she could. Still, though, in her mind she couldn’t help but wonder—who was the man God had used to restore her sight?

  Chapter Fifteen

  AFTER PASTORING a Spirit-filled church for fifteen years, Alonzo Gentry was hardly a stranger to witnessing modern-day miracles. One miracle he always reflected on had occurred when one of his most faithful members, Brother Michael Williston, had traveled to Atlanta on a business trip. Not sure of where he was going, Brother Michael had had the misfortune of making a wrong turn off I-75, and had soon found himself driving inside the gates of the McDaniel Glenn housing projects. The Glenn was not a place for outsiders; in fact, it was not a place most Atlanta residents dared even venture into without a police escort. Survival in the Glenn was predicated on knowing the law of the streets, a law Brother Michael knew nothing about. Easily identified
as a newcomer (and one with perceived wealth, based on the luxury sedan he was driving), Brother Michael had been robbed at gunpoint after he’d compounded his navigation error by making another mistake: he’d stopped to ask for directions.

  “He pointed the gun to my chest and demanded money,” Brother Michael had recounted. “But I didn’t have any cash on me, only credit cards. And this kid—he couldn’t have been older than fourteen—starts screaming and cursing at me, waving that gun back and forth to try and scare me. But I wasn’t scared. I kept praying in the Spirit the whole time, loud enough for him to hear what I was doing.”

  Alonzo had been impressed by Brother Michael’s boldness, and he personally wondered if he would have possessed that same spirit of boldness. He preached it behind the pulpit, but to pray in the Spirit with an actual gun to your face?

  “This kid started screaming louder at me once he saw he wasn’t scaring me,” Brother Michael had continued. “But that wasn’t too smart, because a surefire way to draw attention to yourself while waving a gun is to start yelling. And then the kid puts the gun to my head . . . and . . . and he pulled the trigger.”

  “Oh my Lord,” Alonzo had whispered.

  “But the gun jammed, Pastor,” Brother Michael had said, with tears now rolling down his face. It had taken him almost a minute to regain his composure.

  “It wouldn’t fire. And not five seconds later, a police car rolled around the corner. It turned out that someone had heard the kid yelling, saw what was going down, and called the police. But God saved me that night—I know that just as sure as I know my name.”

  “Praise God,” was all Alonzo could whisper.

  And then there was the miracle involving Sister Margie, one of the key members of his current intercessory team. Sister Margie’s daughter Latriece had gone swimming in Stevens Creek one hot summer afternoon while Sister Margie was at work. Latriece, fourteen years old at the time, had swum in Stevens Creek several times, and was an excellent swimmer. However, on this particular day she had dived into a section of the creek and had not seen a rock jutting up from the bottom. After the dive, as she was straightening out underwater, the right side of her head collided with a sharp plane of the rock. Latriece had instantly been knocked unconscious.