I was entering the learning center when the old man stopped me.
“Do I know you from the store?” he asked.
I knew he meant Grocery Depot, the Mennonite-owned store in town that mostly employs other Mennonites.
“I don’t work there anymore, but I used to,” I said. “I have friends that work there.”
“But do you guys pray?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said.
“My son Jeremiah lives in Arazona, and he just tried to commit suicide,” said the man. “Can you pray for him?”
Suicide. The horrible, horible thing that stole my cousin Lenny from my own family. “Yes, I’ll pray,” I promised. “Would you like me to pray for you right now?”
“Yes,” said the man.
So in the crowded hall at LBCC I prayed for this man, and his son Jeremiah, pleading with God to spare Jeremiah’s life, and help him find the help he needed to cure his depression.
When I was done, the man was crying.
“Thank you,” he said.
And then we went our separate ways.
Sometimes I get frustrated by the fact that I look very religious. I don’t like being defined by the fact that I am a Mennonite instead of the fact that I am a Christian.
But that day, since I looked religious, God used me to bless this man.