Right on Target

On an ordinary Tuesday in March…

I was trying to wedge my toddler’s dimpled thighs into a cart at Target. 

As I finally settled Henry, I realized that we’d attracted the attention of an elderly man. Henry beamed his best Gerber Baby smile, and the man approached us to say hello. He was enamored in the way that only a proud grandparent could be. As I discerned this, I also felt my heart racing with the caffeinated force of a productivity machine. 

Would I pause my errands to linger with this stranger? Or would I rush past an opportunity? I could practically hear the clock ticking. Three hours and thirty-nine minutes until school pickup. So much to do, so little margin. But I felt my spirit yield as the Lord nudged me toward the more lifegiving response. 

“Do you have grandchildren?” I asked the man. His face lit up as he told me about the new granddaughter in his family – just a few weeks old. Then, with his thick Long Islander accent, he confided, “But I don’t see her much because I’ve got bad sciatica. My kids pick me up and want to stay for these long visits, but I can’t sit like that.” 

As he said this, I felt another prompt from the Lord. Pray for him.

Pray for a stranger in the Target dollar spot? With the security guy eyeing us and random shoppers eavesdropping? No thanks, God.

Instead, I asked for the man’s name. I figured I could always pray for him later (alone).

“Raymond,” he replied cheerfully. 

I nearly laughed. Because Raymond is one of those old-school names that rarely pops up these days. In fact, I’d never heard of a Raymond until I met my husband: Matthew Raymond. Well played, Lord, well-played.

I summoned all of my heavenly chutzpah and said, “Raymond, I’m a praying woman. Can I pray right now for your sciatica?”

“Sure, sure!” Raymond exclaimed and scootched a little closer. So, I asked God to heal him of the sciatic nerve pain. I asked God to help Raymond walk in uprightness and freedom and the fullness of joy.

Raymond thanked me profusely and then offered another confession: “I’ve kind of been at a standstill with God, but I was the first person in my family to get baptized before I went to Vietnam.” Something else clicked in my spirit. Tell him the meaning of his name.

Just over a year earlier, Matt and I had sat in the hospital deciding on a name for Henry. We strongly considered calling him Henry Raymond because Raymond means wise protector. In the end, we chose something else, but I could see from the Target Raymond’s countenance that he was, indeed, a wise protector. He was surprised to learn this.

I added, “I think God wants you to know that He really loves you.” To which he replied, “I think you’re right. I think He brought me to you.”

He asked for information about my church and said he might look it up. I told him to come along anytime.

We said our goodbyes, and I walked slowly through the store, keeping an ear out just in case an elderly man was freed from sciatica and came running down the aisles. I wanted to witness the miracle so deeply. But the morning continued in relative quiet.

I was touched by this encounter for several reasons but especially because of the Lord’s patience with my initial resistance.

There are moments in life – seasons, even – when I’m acutely aware of God’s capacity to surprise me. I welcome and delight in it. Divine interruptions remind me that He is sovereign; He is the author of every good and perfect story unfolding around me.

Then there are times when I write God out of my plans entirely. It’s often unintentional – a slight toppling of the power balance as I reach for my to-do lists and get to work. He’s busy presiding over His kingdom, and I’m busy presiding over mine. We’ll check in later.

I’m so grateful that Jesus isn’t thwarted by my delusions of control. He constantly realigns my heart and prompts me to be available for His plans instead.

Which is why, on an ordinary Tuesday in April, I considered a Target pit stop.

It was out of my way, but the Lord urged me to go. 

There, by the butter and Lean Cuisines, I stumbled upon Raymond.

“Henry!!” He shouted, shuffling over to us. I registered that his back was still hunched.

Raymond explained that his daughter helped him google MCC. He wanted to visit and tell everyone about his prayer experience. “But,” he sighed, “It’s far. And I can’t drive far because I’m in pain. And I don’t got no long pants!”

I looked at him quizzically. He told me his pant size, then gestured to his waist. “I’m embarrassed, I can’t wear shorts to church.”

I assured Raymond that MCC would love to have him, shorts and all. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold. “Here, I wanted to come by the church and give them this and tell them about you.” He placed a $20 bill in my hand.

Henry, enchanted by this interaction, grinned. Raymond reached for the billfold again. “Henry! I gotta give you something! You get cookies or ice cream or snacks. Whatever your mommy doesn’t want you to have! Get you something nice!” I accepted a $10 bill on behalf of my enterprising toddler.

Raymond sighed again. “After you prayed for me, I said God, ‘Why have I not been healed?’ And you know what he said to me? ‘In my time.’ I even asked him today when I got to the store. God, help me walk upright.’” I encouraged Raymond to keep praying and promised to bring his offering to church. 

He seemed disappointed. Truthfully, I was, too. He hugged me and said, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m hurting. Sciatica just don’t quit.’”

As he turned to leave, I whispered to myself,

“Sciatica does quit, in Jesus’ name.”

It would have been miraculous to come across Raymond healthy and whole. But I also have to acknowledge the subtler miracle. God synchronized my steps with Raymond’s so that we would meet each other not once, but twice. God opened Raymond’s eyes to a bigger narrative. God interrupted Raymond’s stand still.

This is the gospel in full effect. For God so loved his children that he made a Way to reach them. And the embodiment of that Way is Jesus living and breathing in us. All we have to do is surrender to the process. A limitless, creative, adoring God wants to get His hands on our agendas so we can witness heaven on earth. To that I say: amen, let it be, Lord. I’ll pencil you in.

Amy Chapman

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Amy is an freelance writer, engaged
at Mission Community Church