It was Friday, and I was frustrated. I had hoped for a relaxing day of getting house chores done, but it wasn’t turning out that way. With Laurie in the States to assist our daughter, Karin, with wedding preparations, it was up to me to take care of things around the house. Starting a load of wash early, I hoped to cross many things off my to-do list. Between laundry loads, I glanced out the window and noticed a canoe parked beside our dinghy at the waterfront. People frequently come here to buy things like mosquito nets, metal files or grass knives. This trade helps build relationships, but it takes up time. I went out to investigate. Under our house on a stack of lumber sat Peter with some crutches beside him. “Peter, are you all right?” I asked.
Peter, usually a faithful church member, had not been at church for the past three weeks, and I had been praying for him. A couple of times during that period he had visited our construction site to see the progress. “I missed you at church on Sabbath,” I said to him on one such occasion. He nodded in response. “Were you gone somewhere?” I pressed a little further.
“No, I was at home.” He didn’t offer any more information, so I let the matter rest. I wondered if he was getting disenchanted with our church, or with me or, worst of all, with God. So I prayed for him more earnestly. Now, a week and a half later, he was sitting in front of me in a great deal of pain.
“I’m not doing well,” he confessed. “I have a boil on my side.”
“Let me see,” I said. He unwrapped a canvas bandage around his waist to reveal a three-inch-wide pus-filled sore on his hip. “Peter, how long have you had this?”
“It started last week.”
“Let me dress it for you,” I said, sending up a silent prayer of thanks to God for bringing Peter to me. God gave me a chance to minister to him to strengthen his faith and mine.