I am not sure WHAT it is I saw last night.
I had read something about it in the morning, and then it had vanished from my mind in the heat of the day.
A healing. At the soccer field in the evening. All welcome.
It piqued my interest but not enough to make a note of it, nor a commitment. Especially in the midst of navigating a house move, someone’s car “situation,” and a scary wall cracking sound in yet another part of town.
As I walked to my daughter’s home in the evening, it came back to my attention.
First, the sound. Someone speaking in a microphone in a booming, commanding voice. There were two voices actually, and it took me a moment to recognize that the main, male voice was using the American language, while the other, a female voice was translating in Spanish.
As I passed the soccer field, I saw that it was brightly lit, with several rows of folding chairs ready to welcome people, several of them already occupied.
The healing. I had forgotten.
What the heck was going on?
I was kinda curious but I had to go to my daughter’s and it wasn’t until I was walking back that I decided that Lila and I were going to give this a closer look.
Would they let us in? Was there a fee to enter?
Within a minute I was sitting on one of the chairs in the back, Lila happy in the grass. No one had even looked at us, let alone asked us for pesos.
Let’s see this thing, I thought.
A small stage area. Someone playing guitar softly. A heavy-set American man in a chair, holding a microphone. At his side and also with a mic, a Mexican lady. Another gentleman nearby. And then, the person asking for healing.
I had seen this sort of thing in movies but never in person, let alone in a soccer field.
Time after time, invited by the American gentleman whose words were translated by the Mexican lady, people (mostly women) left their chairs to step forward and answer the question: “What do you need me to pray for you about?” Or “Tell me what you need.”
Painful intestines, depression, aching bodies, feet that hurt terribly, diabetes, a back that had been in pain for over 5 years. And more.
The format remained about the same: come over, state what you want healed, have it repeated for all of us to hear, then a prayer to Jesus, occasionally a lay of hands. At the end the question: “How do you feel, now?”
To which the answer was, every time: “I feel good.”
“Are you still hurting?” The man would ask, instantly translated to “Todavia the duele?”
“No, I feel good.” “No, it’s gone,” came the answers. No big whoop, just ... gone.
One woman who had been carefully helped to the stage walked away by herself with a spring in her step.
Another one, having had the translator’s hands hold the side of her face, fell backward and stayed laying in the grass through the next person’s turn. No one seemed to be concerned but me. I couldn’t stop myself from checking on her. Was she sleeping? Breathing?
Once in a while, the American man would take a break and tell an impressive story about someone he’d healed. Once he spoke about how doctors were confused by him - but called him to help anyway.
At one point he invited people to bring pieces of paper or cloth and have him bless them, then suggested they bring them to people they knew who needed healing. I had no paper nor cloth or I might have walked up.
It was fascinating, as was watching my mind have all kinds of conversations with itself, getting tangled up and tired, until with one breath I allowed myself to just BE.
Eventually, Lila and I left quietly and walked home. I could still hear them a little bit from my open window.
What the heck did I see, last night?
I may never understand and like many things here, I guess I don’t have to.
In Happiness School, I share with you ALL the tools from my very own toolbox. in 90 days, you will learn to adapt with less pain, more excitement - and more magic.
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