Come, Lord Jesus

Usually for the first hour in the Prayer Truck I’m on my own. I take the opportunity for quiet meditative prayer. My favourite breathing prayer these days is “Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus”. I sit quietly on the trucks edge, focus on my breathing, invite His Presence, invoke His name, and prepare myself for His coming.

Soon He comes. “Is it okay if I sit here?” It’s Zach*. Early for the free breakfast run by the youth centre next door. He hopes its eggs, because he’s trying to control his type 1 diabetes. “Do you mind if I take my insulin shot here? Some folks can’t handle the needles.” Later he lets me pray for his feet, badly affected by the disease.

Later on He’s back. This time disguised as Jose from Guatemala. Chatty and gregarious, Jose shares about his Abuela, 100 year old grandmother, and how beautiful his home country is. We drink bottled water together and pass the time.

Even later, He returns as Marcos, with gold teeth and dreadlocks. He pops by and shares about how he “reclaimed” some land that is owned by the city and awaiting development. He’s grown a massive garden on it. “I don’t have to buy food in summer anymore!” Marcos exclaims proudly.

I feel like Abraham near the trees of Mamre, sitting at the entrance of my truck in the heat of the day, extending hospitality to passers by. In the Genesis story, the writer seems confused. Are they guests? Are they The Lord? The lines blur for me as well. I’m supposed to be there ‘ministering’, but instead each new friend leaves a bit of themselves, a precious gift, as did Abraham’s mysterious guests with their promise of a son.

I am grateful for His presence, His visits, and His generosity towards me.

Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus.

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*names changed

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