This past week, my family and
I visited Philadelphia. Kevin’s ongoing
experimental eye treatment requires follow-up visits which we have turned into
annual vacations. This year we decided
to take the girls and show them the many historic spots of that great
city. We built many great memories this
past week, enjoying that time away as a family.
Kevin made the comment that the hotel room seemed much more comfortable
this year. I agreed that it did indeed,
and yet we weren’t sure why. At one
point, Kevin mentioned that he understood what it was. “It’s the girls,” he said. “That’s why it seems like home.” I agreed wholeheartedly.
Philadelphia has grown into
my heart in the past four years. I’ve
probably made 7 or 8 trips out there, and truly God has given me a love for the
city, as well as the people. Each time that
beautiful, familiar skyline comes into view in my small plane window, my heart
always leaps. And each time I watch that
same skyline fade out of view past the window, my heart always feels a bit of
sadness. Truly, Philadelphia has made
its way into my heart.
The day we were to leave,
Friday, I told Kevin that I wanted to walk once more around the city. He gave me his blessing, and I left him with
the girls to finish up the last minute search of the hotel room for any lost
items that may have been overlooked.
I started walking toward
Independence Hall. My heart thrills each
time I see the sight of this great building where God brought together the
people and circumstances to form this great nation. Our Nation’s history is an amazing testament
to our great God indeed. There is no
other explanation for why the impossible became possible…13 absolutely
different and very self-centered colonies came together in compromise and an
attitude of serving the greater whole rather than themselves alone.
As I stood on that beautiful
green lawn stretching out in front, I noticed a woman jay-walking across the
street. I quickly realized she was the
same woman I had talked with briefly the day before. She is the kind of lady that sticks in your
memory…you won’t easily forget her, and she does not fade into any crowd. She appears homeless, and rolls a small pink
open-top cart behind her. The layers of
sweaters and the pink child’s sweater that she has draped around her shoulders
immediately alert in my mind that this is the same woman from the day
before. A choice is immediately before
me…follow the leading of the Holy Spirit and go after this woman, or follow my
fears and continue my stroll.
I chose the former, with much
trepidation. As I walked down my side of
the street to cross at the crosswalk (no jay-walking for me!), I lamented the
fact that I had nothing to offer…no tract with the Gospel, no money. I felt empty-handed and cheap, until the
Spirit of the Lord whispered into my ear… “Silver and gold have I none, but
such as I have give I thee; In the NAME OF JESUS CHRIST of Nazareth, rise up
and walk!” I had everything I needed to
speak to this woman…the NAME OF JESUS!
Courage poured into my heart as the Lord Himself ministered to my need
of the hour. I crossed over Market
Street, and quickly followed the path I had last seen her take. I spotted her with her pink roll cart sitting
on a park bench as she sorted through the items inside (the same exact position
I had found her in the day before). I
said, “Hello.” She looked up,
startled. I started again, “Hello, we
met briefly yesterday.” She replied,
“Oh, yes, you are the woman with the children.”
The day before, the girls and
I had taken a short walk around the backside of our hotel as we waited for our
taxi driver to arrive. We had walked
down a beautifully cobbled foot path past a Jewish Synagogue, and that is where
we had met this woman. I told her “Good
morning.” She looked at me, and I
ventured further, “It’s a beautiful morning.”
“Yes, it is,” she had agreed. She
then said emphatically, “My skin has a problem right now. I AM NOT on drugs. I am going to a doctor this afternoon.”
Now that the Lord had brought
her back into my path a day later, I asked her how her doctor visit went. Honestly, I thought she may have made that
up, but she quickly told me all about it in a way that I felt that she truly
had seen a doctor. (She later mentioned
that she was going to the doctor because someone did this to her skin…that it
was a legal issue.) I then said, “I am
glad the doctor was able to give you answers.
I’ve been praying for you.”
She said, “I am a woman of
prayer as well,” to which I replied, “Oh, you are a Christian!” She immediately corrected me, and said, “No,
I am not a Christian. I am a Jew. My Messiah is still coming. He is NOT Jesus.” I then said, “Oh, so you are one of God’s
chosen ones!”
I could see her face light up
with joy that someone recognized who she was.
“I am indeed,” she happily replied.
“I am one of His chosen people.”
“I am thrilled to meet you, a
Jewess,” I replied. “I have been
fascinated with God’s chosen people for some time, if not a wee bit envious,
but I am very thankful that I have now been counted as one of His through
Christ.”
“Oh, no, you are not one of
His chosen people unless you are Jewish.
Christ lived, I believe, but He was not the Messiah. Our true Messiah is still coming,” she
replied.
“With all due respect,” I
said gently, “I believe He has already come, and died on the cross in our
place, so that we might go free, so that we might be able to have a personal
relationship with God. His name is
Jesus.”
“No, No, No! Jesus was not the Messiah. I don’t believe all the terrible reports that
they made about him that he drank the blood of his followers, BUT he was not
the Messiah. Our Messiah is still
coming!” she repeated even more emphatically.
I could see that I had reached an absolute block in our
conversation. At this point, I tried a
different approach.
“Okay, I understand that we
believe very differently about this. You
are entitled to believe as you choose, just as I am.” She nodded her head emphatically. “However, we do have something in
common. We both serve the same Old
Testament God.” She nodded her head, and
appeared very interested.
“Would you mind if we prayed
together right now?” “Okay,” she said,
hesitantly.
“You pray for me in your way,
and I’ll pray for you in mine. Would you
like to go first or shall I?”
“You go first,” she said
quickly.
“Now, I am going to pray the
way that I normally do. Please don’t be
offended if I say something that you do not agree with, because I am sure that
I may.”
“I understand,” she
said. “You HAVE to. You have to pray the way that you believe.”
Thank
you, Lord, for this beautiful morning. Thank
you for this lovely park, the trees, the birds, the warmth of the sunshine…all
of which speak Your Name. Thank you for
all the people that are in the park this morning, each one uniquely created by
you. Thank you for my lovely new
friend…(PAUSE).
I looked at my new friend,
and said, “You know, I haven’t even gotten your name. What is your name?”
She replied, “Hannah. My name is Hannah after the Old Testament
Hannah, you know, Samuel’s mother?”
I replied, “I love your name,
Hannah. It’s beautiful and the story of
Hannah and Samuel is one of my favorite.”
“Mine too,” she replied.
We again bowed our heads, and
I began once more…
Thank you for my lovely new friend Hannah. Thank you for helping her to find answers at
the doctor. Thank you that her health
issues are being cared for. I pray
health and wholeness to Hannah’s body for Your glory. I pray that You bless her with every
spiritual blessing, and give her peace and a greater understanding of You. Thank you that we were able to meet. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
She said, “That was a very
nice prayer. Now, for us, we pray...
Shalom. (I personally love that way of beginning to
pray.)
She obviously didn’t know where to go next with her prayer, and so she began speaking to me. In the midst of speaking to me, she would say something like, “Give Amanda and her family health.” Later it was “Give Amanda and her family safe travel today.” It was obvious that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of praying and the idea of a personal relationship with God was entirely unfathomable, which made sense considering that Christ would not have paved the way for that to be possible, since she was yet awaiting her Messiah.
Through her prayer, however,
I felt completely cared for by her. She
was offering me a piece of her heart, and I received it gladly.
Then her prayer began to get
very personal and revealing. She said…
And
I have very much anger in my life, because of what others did to my family,
because we were Jews. Anti-Semitism
(behavior discriminating against Jews) has destroyed so many of my family. My mother came from Romania and she and my
grandparents were very unjustly treated by Nazis. And many people hate Jews, and I have hate in
my life for people. But now that I’ve
met Amanda, I know from the love in her heart that this is not always true. Some people like Amanda love Jews and I now
wish to be more constructive with the anger in my life, because not everyone is
like what I thought.
At that point, I understood
what God’s purpose was for me in speaking to Hannah. He wanted Hannah to know Christ’s love, and
He used my faltering attempts to speak that love to Hannah. In Hannah’s mind, Christians were responsible
for the hurt to her family. Adolf
Hitler, among many others, did his destructive work in the name of Christ. Many others proclaim Christ and yet do not
love. And yet, she could not deny, that
here before her was a Christian who loved her, and not only her, but her Jewish
heritage.
God had been preparing me for
this assignment for many years. Probably
nearly a decade ago, God gave me a love for His chosen people. I received a card with a picture of Jerusalem
on it. I taped the verse “Pray for the
peace of Jerusalem: ‘May they prosper who love you.’” (Ps. 122:6). Many times I would glance at that card, and
whisper a prayer for God’s chosen people.
Through those prayers, my heart grew more and more in love with God’s
chosen people. When I spoke those words
to Hannah, I did not say them out of obligation. I truly love her and her people. And I know that God allowed her to feel that
love.
I do not worry that I have no
“fruit” to show for my encounter with Hannah.
She is, as of the point of our conversation, still lost. She does not know or believe that Christ has
set her free from sin and death. She has
rejected Christ; she believes that her Messiah is yet coming. However, I planted seeds within her
heart. She now cannot lump Christians into
one Jew-hating group. She now has
received Christ’s love. She is now
forced to rearrange her thinking, and process this new information. I believe that Hannah will know Christ as her
Messiah, in God’s timing. It was not my
assignment to rescue her, but rather to love her. I rest that He is her Messiah, not me. I am simply grateful that He used me to plant
a seed.