Prayer at the Potato Patch

While vacationing in Orlando recently Larry and I took my 91 year old father out to breakfast. Across the street from the Alliance Retirement Center in DeLand is the Potato Patch. There are bright curtains, red-checkered tablecloths, and fresh flowers in tiny vases to welcome you.

We were reminiscing about the Dani Tribe. Mom and Dad had been stationed in the Ilaga Valley in New Guinea (now Papua, Indonesia) since I was nine years old. Some years after they retired Dad had returned each summer to assist in the Old Testament translation—the Dani New Testament was already published. Dad had recently returned to the island with some family members for a 60th anniversary of the gospel coming to the Danis. Exuberant worship, fervent speeches, and a large pig feast had welcomed him.

“I’m so happy for what you accomplished, Dad. You and Mom were so fruitful those many years—all those tin-roofed churches scattered through the valley! Dani believers will be lining up in Heaven to thank you! It’s wonderful. But somehow I feel like Larry and my ministry has been so diffused, so scattered. I wonder if we’ve hit the mark that God had for us. So often I don’t feel effective.

Dad’s eyes gleamed beneath silver hair and bushy eyebrows. “But you and Larry have ministered all over the world, to all sorts of people.

“I know, but it’s been so short-term, so spread out.”

“Well, when you visited us back in 1992 you prayed for some individuals…I remember this one Dani lady. You prayed fervently for her healing, and she left rejoicing.”

“That’s true,” I said slowly. “But at times it seems so small. I have to keep believing that our tribe is all over, in different places. But these small plantings don’t seem as productive as the mighty oak tree that you and Mom grew.”

Dad swallowed another spoonful of soup thoughtfully. Then he began exhorting me using scripture and heaven’s perspective.

Meanwhile the customer sitting in the booth behind us walked over to our table. He was a large black man with a thick gold chain and cross hanging around his neck.

“I couldn’t help hearing your talk about prayer. I’m Bob, and my Uncle Adrian is in the hospital. He’s had a stroke. Would you pray for him?”

I was shocked.

“Adrian?” Larry queried.

“Yeah. He needs prayer. He’s only 40 years old, and he’s had a stroke.”

Larry shifted in his seat.

“Sure, let’s pray,” I offered.

So Larry took Bob’s hand and we both beseeched God for uncle’s healing. Fervently. “Lord, let Adrian fulfill your call on his life,” I cried out. “He can’t die, he can’t be limited till his work is done! We bind the enemy in Jesus’ name from stopping this.”

“Yes,” Larry agreed. “He’ll gain strength, he’ll rise up whole, completely whole.”

Dad agreed…Bob agreed…we all agreed…and closed with loud amens.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Bob said . This means a lot to me. This is my way of thanking you. And he picked our check off the table and strode to the cashier around the corner.

I was amazed. “I can hardly believe this.”

Larry laughed. “Well, I guess the Lord is showing you your calling, Marti. He’s using you wherever you go.”

“Your tribe is all over,” Dad chuckled.