Brother Word (7 page)

KNOWING THAT STAYING
in her town house was no longer a viable option, Lynn remained quiet as her father turned east on Highway 76.

Sumter was an idyllic town of around twenty thousand residents, a rural community where people flew kites on breezy Saturday afternoons in their front yards, where neighborhood barbecues were frequent occurrences, and where the pace of life remained unhurried and laid-back. Lynn had countless memories of her parents’ old, two-story home on Millwood Avenue, including the time she’d almost burned down the kitchen while frying a skillet of catfish, and the time she’d climbed the large pine tree in the backyard as a child, only to get her left leg wedged between two tree limbs. She’d remained stuck in that tree for almost two hours before her mother had come home from work. Twenty-five years she’d lived here, and she knew every twist, turn, crook, and crevice in this house, both downstairs and upstairs.

But her first blind steps inside the front foyer were the teetering, unsteady movements of a toddler learning to walk. She hadn’t truly known how important sight was to balance and equilibrium; Dr. Winthrop had assured her that it might take a while to master the transition, but somehow he hadn’t mentioned how frustrating it would be, running into walls and bumping her knees on table ends.

“We’ve got your room ready,” her mother said, gently leading her by the elbow. “It’s just as it was before, except the large dresser is all the way against the wall now.”

Lynn knew this relocation of the dresser was so she wouldn’t stub her toe against its claw-footed legs while stumbling about in the darkness. Her parents had probably rearranged most of the furniture downstairs to accommodate her, for which she was both thankful and a little ashamed. She didn’t want to become a burden on the two people she loved most.

“Pastor Gentry and a few members from the church are going to be by in the morning,” her mother continued to say as Lynn sat down on the bed. “We’re all still believing that God will turn this all around.”

Lynn sighed and flopped back onto the pillow. The pillowcases smelled laundry-fresh, like they’d just been taken out of the dryer. “Mom, this is all so . . . hard. I know I’m supposed to have faith, and I do, but . . . but every day when I wake up, it’s still the same. Why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong?”

“Oh, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. None of us can ever know why some things happen. But we just have to trust that God has a reason for it all. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened to you, remember?”

“I recall only what you told me. I was too young, remember?”

The winter before Lynn’s second birthday, she had contracted pneumonia. After a week of intensive care at the hospital, the doctors were giving up hope for any chance of recovery. Her immune system was not strong enough to fight the disease, they said. During this same time, there had been a request from one of the nurses, who’d been a devout Christian, to ask the prominent healing evangelist Floyd Waters to stop by the hospital. Waters had been conducting a healing crusade in nearby Greenville, and was known to oblige such requests. He had arrived late in the evening on that seventh night of Lynn’s stay and had gone alone inside Lynn’s room to pray for her.

“I’ll never forget him walking out of your room,” Jeannette now recalled. “That man of God’s face was glowing as he declared your body to be healed by the power of Jesus’s name. He said you would grow up to be a mighty champion for souls, and that the devil was trying to thwart the plan of God for your life. The next morning, the doctors informed us your temperature was going down and your vitals were returning to normal. Glory to God!”

“I’ve always accepted God’s call over my life, Mom. What better way to walk in that call than as outreach director for Faith Community Church? But . . . if I’m . . . blind . . .”

“We’re
never
going to stop believing for your healing, baby. This is simply another test—the Bible tells us that many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers us from them all.”

Chapter Eleven

T
HE LIGHT RAIN
rhythmically splashing against the bedroom window stirred Lynn from her light slumber. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked for several seconds before it horribly dawned on her that she still was unable to see. She’d imagined this whole tragic affair to be a nightmare—that truck plowing into her car, the subsequent weeks in the hospital, the doctor’s diagnosis that she would never see again. A terrifying nightmare, to be sure, but one that she would eventually awaken from.

But as she lay in bed, listening to the rain, an enormous weight of despair slowly settled over her, threatening to crush all remaining hope from her spirit.

Why me, God? Why . . . me?

What on earth had she done to deserve such an unthinkable fate? Hadn’t she been taught all her life that if she lived right, if she loved and served God, and if she treated others as she would have them treat her, then God would certainly bless her? Had all those feel-good Sunday school lessons been nothing more than lies?

C’mon, Lynn . . . you know better than to think like that . . .

Sighing, she rolled to her right side, carefully letting her legs first dangle, then drop to the floor. She took a few tentative steps in the direction of the door, thinking of how difficult it would now be to perform the simplest tasks she’d always found pleasure in—taking a bath, washing her face, brushing her teeth, combing her hair. The degree of difficulty for those tasks had now been ratcheted up several frustrating notches.

Oh, God . . . I could look like a total mess and if nobody says anything, I wouldn’t even know it . . .

Around nine o’clock, Lynn heard several church members come to her parents’ door while she sat outside on the backyard patio. Growing up, she had always read her devotional Bible outside on the patio with a cup of coffee, enjoying the sun as it rose in the sky. There was something glorious, almost majestic, about communing with the Lord while surrounded by nature. Out of habit, she had come outside on the patio today for her devotional, but it hadn’t felt the same since she could neither read her Bible nor behold the morning sun.

“Good morning, Lynn,” she heard her pastor say behind her. She turned around in her seat to his voice.

“I’m here with Sister Arlene, Sister Margie, and Brother Charles,” he began. “We wanted you to know how much we care about you, and that we’re believing God is with you.”

Lynn heard the intercessory team leaders begin praying in the Spirit as Pastor Gentry laid his right hand on her shoulder.

“Lord Jesus, we boldly come before the throne of grace to ask for help in this time of need,” he began.

As he prayed the Word of God over her, with the chorus of intercessors praying behind him, Lynn’s faith became strengthened as she focused her heart on an awesome God—a God who had created all things with the power of His Word and for whom nothing was impossible. She recalled every prophetic word that had been spoken over her, every time she’d asked God for a miracle on behalf of someone else and He’d provided, and every revelation she’d gleaned from countless hours studying the Word. Every time, God had proven Himself to be true in her life, and He had always been in her corner. Who was she to doubt Him now?

“. . . and we thank You for hearing and answering our prayers. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

A full minute passed before anyone spoke, such was the heaviness of the Spirit all around them.

“I . . . I needed that,” Lynn finally acknowledged, wiping her tears away with a handkerchief. “I . . . I didn’t realize how
much
I needed that.”

“Prayer is the lifeline to God, Lynn,” Pastor Gentry began. “And in a time like this you need the saints collectively interceding on your behalf.”

“Amen,” Arlene concurred. “Lynn, you know how much we care about you and are praying for you.”

“In addition to prayer,” Pastor Gentry continued, “I’d like for you to come with us to Hope Springs Church. A pastor I’ve known for years, T. R. Smallwood, has a marvelous testimony of divine healing, and he’s conducting special healing services beginning this Sunday night.”

Lynn looked up at her pastor, unable to see his face but clearly sensing the conviction in his words. He was not only her pastor but also a spiritual father whose faith in Christ had always been a shining example for her to follow. If he believed that attending this healing service would help her, then there was only one correct response to his request.

“I’ll be there.”

“CAN I GET YOU SOME MORE
iced tea?” Florence asked the man, who had stopped by the diner for the second time that week.

He hesitated slightly before handing her his glass.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

He agreed that it was.

“Made it myself. The secret is to keep a pitcher out in the sun— Wait a minute, I’m not supposed to tell you that!” She started laughing.

The man smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I can believe that—you don’t strike me as much of a talker. You like the pancakes?”

He nodded. “You make them, too?”

“No, I just stick to the tea. It’s what I do best.” She put a hand on her hip and leaned against the table. “You know, I couldn’t help but remember that big ol’ tip you left for me last time. Things like that’ll brighten my day like gettin’ roses on Valentine’s Day. You, uh . . . you going to be around town for a while? I wouldn’t mind showing you around.”

“Thanks, but I’m just passing through.”

Before walking away, Florence scribbled her phone number on his copy of the bill, just in case, and flashed him a big grin.

The man took another bite of the buttermilk pancakes and wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. He leaned his head slightly to the right, listening to the conversation at the adjacent table. The whole time he’d been at the diner, he’d been overhearing the family of three discussing the health of their seven-year-old son, Eddie.

Eddie was seated at the table in a wheelchair. His legs were deformed below the knee, unnaturally twisting inward so that his ankles almost laid flat on the wheelchair footrests. As far as the man could perceive without frequently turning around, Eddie was also deaf in addition to his physical handicap. He gleaned this from the conversation between his parents, Andrea and James.

“I don’t know what more we can do,” the husband said to his wife. “We’ve gone to every specialist and doctor in the region. We’ve been praying every night. I just want our son to have a normal childhood.”

“I know, James. But we have to keep believing . . . we have to keep trusting in God’s will for Eddie’s life.”

“I want him to walk, Andrea. I want him . . . to know what it is to catch a baseball with his father. I . . . want him to be able to hear me say . . . I love him.”

“He knows you love him, James . . .”

The man took another bite of his pancake, chewing slowly. More than most people, he empathized with Eddie’s parents. For he, too, had been put in a position where a loved one’s physical ailments were beyond a doctor’s care. He knew what it felt like to see a loved one’s life slip away and be powerless to do anything about it.

However, he’d also been given a gift of healing that he could not deny little Eddie or his parents, if they had the faith and if it was the will of the Lord.

Lord, is it Your will?
he asked silently.
Here? In this restaurant?

The man turned around as Eddie pounded his fork and spoon against his plate, looking at his parents with the lovable smile only a seven-year-old can make.

The man stood up from his seat, left another nice tip for Florence, and approached the table where James, Andrea, and Eddie sat.

“Excuse me,” he gently interrupted. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation about your son. I understand that you’re praying for him.”

James looked at the man somewhat warily before nodding. “Yes. We pray every day for God to heal Eddie. Are you a doctor?”

The man shook his head. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’m a believer in Jesus, like yourself. I believe God not only can heal your son’s legs, but also He can open Eddie’s ears.”

“Well, we know God can certainly do that,” Andrea commented, eyeing the stranger with a mixture of interest and a little concern. “God can do all things.”

“Yes, He can,” the man replied. “Do you mind if I pray for Eddie?”

Andrea leaned over and whispered in James’s ear.

“We believe in prayer,” James said. “We pray for him every day, but—”

“I understand your concern,” the man cut in, “since I’m a total stranger to you, and you don’t know what I might speak over your son. Here’s what I believe, though, and what I will speak over your son. I believe in the healing power of Jesus. I believe that His act of love on the cross not only atoned for our sins, but also took away the curse of infirmity and disease. I believe in the laying on of hands, as Jesus commanded His disciples, that the sick might be healed.”

“Well, we certainly believe all of that,” James said, looking a little more relieved. “Uh, no . . . no, I don’t think we mind if you were to pray for Eddie. Eddie?” James leaned over and, using sign language, communicated with his son. Eddie looked up at the stranger, smiled, and nodded his head.

The man walked over to the little boy and knelt down. Florence, leaning against the bar counter, observed the scene with great interest.

“Hello, Eddie,” he signed, the extent of his knowledge of the language for the hearing impaired. Reaching over, he placed his hands over the boy’s ankles.

“Lord, be glorified today. I come to You in the name of Jesus. Your Word declares that these signs shall follow those who believe: they will lay hands on the sick and the sick shall recover. I stand in agreement with James and Andrea, who have been praying for the health of their son. Lord, You said the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous avails much. As I lay hands on Eddie, I speak life and health to these ankle bones. I command his ears to be opened in the name of Jesus. I speak health over his body, and command his entire physical body to line up with the Word of God that says we are healed by the wounds of Jesus.”