The lame walk again (Sign No. 5)

As readers of this blog know, my friends and I distribute bread every month to the residents in a rental block.   We know the residents reasonably well by now, as we have doing this for several years.  About two years ago, I visited one of the residents and found a stranger sitting in his house.  It turned out to be his sister, and she told me that he had suffered a stroke and was in hospital.  

As I chatted with her, it dawned upon me that I knew so much about this uncle.  That he loved to eat pork knuckles.  That his cure for everything was garlic boiled in rice.  That he loved visitors and had, just recently, generously opened his tiny home to host a dozen relatives who had come from Indonesia to Singapore on holiday.  That he had one son in Singapore and another in Melbourne.  I even knew about this sister, on whom he had spent his little savings to visit in Sydney, when her husband passed away.  In short, Uncle and I had become friends.

A few days later, I went to the hospital to try to find Uncle.  I couldn't find him at the ward where he was supposed to be, but after some enquiries, I found that he had been transferred to a community hospital.  I had heard from his sister that his stroke was so severe that he could neither recognise anyone nor speak.  But when I got there, I found that he was awake.  He was frail, in bed and couldn't walk or speak, and was frustrated by this, but I could see that he recognised me and was happy to see me.

I prayed for Uncle and told him how, if he was in pain or discomfort, he could call on Jesus' name to help him.  I told him how I had followed Jesus for all these years, and how Jesus had never ever let me down, or left me alone, especially in the sad and tough times.  We clasped hands, and in prayer, I declared to Uncle that the next time I saw him, he would be out of the hospital.  

Several days later, I contacted Uncle's son, and received the awesome news that Uncle had indeed been discharged!  I was delighted, and arranged to visit Uncle at his son's home. When I got there, Uncle was still confined to bed and a wheelchair, and still couldn't speak, but he did look better.  I stayed with him for about an hour, chatting to him and his daughter-in-law.  Before I left, I prayed with Uncle again. I thought to myself that since God had answered my prayer to have him discharged from hospital, I should be brave enough to invite God to take the next step!  So I declared to Uncle that the next time I saw him, he would be walking again.

A few weeks later, my wife came home and told me that she had seen Uncle in the neighbourhood - he was walking unaided!  God answers prayer!  The lame walk again!  Sign No. 5!

You know what's the interesting thing?  Each time I prayed for Uncle, he shook his head in disbelief.  So, not much faith there.  I myself had little faith.  Each time I prayed, I thought to myself, what if I pray and it doesn't work?

But the Bible teaches us that the size of our faith is not the determining factor.  Faith the size of a mustard seed is enough to throw an entire mountain into the sea!  Why?  Because it's not the size of the faith that matters, but the object of that faith.  

You can believe with all your heart that a chair will hold your weight and plump down on it.  Or you could, with little faith, hesitatingly lower yourself onto it.  But whether the chair will hold you or not, depends on the chair, and not whether you have big or small faith.  Therefore the only other thing that matters is that you decide to put our weight down.

It is the same with God.  He is the creator of heaven and earth, and our maker.  The evidence is all around, in every sunrise, rainbow, mountain and lake.  Best of all, this awesome God is our loving Father.  He cares for us - our health, our families, our careers, our whole lives, and not just here on earth, but in eternity.  If we have faith the size of a mustard seed, our Father will move on our behalf.  Thank you Jesus!