Little Prayer Warrior

If you know my youngest son, then you know he is a little guy with big personality.  I often refer to him as my "lover boy" because he is always near, touching, hugging, smooching his mama.

Floats. My. Boat.

He is now seven years old and in such a sweet phase of life  He loves to help, loves to be with me, and loves to pray.  And when I mean pray, I mean PRAY with a capital P.R.A.Y.

"Jesus, YOU are Lord.  Jesus, YOU are king.  Jesus, YOU can heal and help us and, Lord, we BELIEVE in YOU for YOU have the power and YOU love us.  Yes, you love us!"

I am not kidding.  This is how he prays.  Holy Spirit fire rainin' DOWN in this house!  

Yesterday we went to what my sweet hubby affectionately calls "Krogers" to get gas.  My boy was in the back watching "Thunderstruck" on the DVD player and trying to draw Kevin Durant in his notebook.  I absentmindedly put the nozzle in place and pressed "start" then leaned against the car to wait for my SUV to suck my wallet dry fill up.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman walking to her car from the kiosk in the center of the gas station.  She was using a walker and could barely lift her feet to walk.  She was bent with osteoporosis and leaning dangerously to one side.  It was horrifically obvious that she was in unbearable pain.  My first instinct was to go help her, but what if I offended her?  What should I do?

Then from the back seat I hear my little boy.  "Mama, that lady's legs hurt."

That was all I needed.  "Yes, you are right.  I'm going to help her."

I walked over to her, careful not to startle her, and asked if I could help her get into the car.  The look of relief brought tears to my eyes.

"Oh, yes.  Thank you.  I really shouldn't be out her like this."  Then she gestured to the two boxes of cigarettes she had just tossed into her front seat.  "And I really shouldn't be buying these either.  But they are my stress relief."

Who can blame her?

I helped lift her into the car, reassuring her that I wouldn't let her fall.  She talked and talked after that, telling me why she was so ill.  Y'all, no one should have to live in such a twisted body.  It is absolutely pitiful and so very sad.  I nodded and listened and realized my boy was right beside me, guarding her walker.  He helped me fold it, never taking his big brown eyes off of her, and I put it into her car.  I asked her if she had anyone to help her, any family.  She told me she had a couple of friends, one of whom I happen to know, who had called or checked in on her recently.

"So you have people looking out for you," I said.

A light passed over her expression, as if the realization had just dawned on her.  "Yes, I suppose I do."

She told me how her left leg, which has been broken twice, just will not heal.  "And if it doesn't I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Well, we are going to pray that it does, ok?  We are going to pray for you to heal and feel better."

She thanked us profusely and I fought down that darn lump in my throat as I turned to take hold of her car door.  As I closed it my boy spoke up for the first time, loud and clear.

"GOD BLESS YOU!"  

Excuse me while I melt into a puddle of tears.

We went home with burdened hearts.  We gathered to pray at bedtime and my boy wept, big hot tears for this woman and I realized we never even asked for her name.  (But Jesus knows.)  He wept because she hurts and his little heart is full of mercy and compassion.  Yes, I definitely have pinpointed one of his spiritual gifts...mercy, feeling the pain of another, taking on their burden.  My athletic, muscular, rough and tumble boy has a beautiful, soft heart for the broken.  Oh God, You never cease to amaze me.

So, Father, won't you heal her?  For her sake, for Your sake, and for the sake of my son?  Can we see her again and find out she is walking tall and strong because you heard the prayers of a seven year old who absolutely believes you can heal and help us and that YOU alone have the power?  
He does, Lord.  
So do I.