Purple ribbons glued onto our name tags, plastic bracelets encircling our arms, bluejeans worn in the workplace on weekends...all evidence of donations made to the American Cancer Society in support of a coworker's wife who is battling the disease. More fundraisers are planned, ideas that flowed out of a think tank of sorts as fellow employees look for concrete ways to help a friend in a time of great need.
It's the donations that are important of course, money to fund the search for a cure. But the emblems that indicate our participation serve a purpose, as well. A lot of us don't have much contact with the coworker in question. As the store manager, he is a man we see from a distance mostly, walking the aisles with his cell phone frequently to his ear, his eyes scanning the store he passes through while his mind concentrates on the voice he hears. But he sees us, and we want him to wade through a sea of purple support everywhere he goes, these images of hope a reminder that he has a team of believers by his side. Trouble is easier to bear when shared.
I look at the bracelet on my arm and turn it around so the white lettering is facing me and read the reminder: Kathy's Believers. If the purple color of the plastic is to catch the manager's eye, this lettering is surely supposed to catch mine and remind me of the third and most important layer of support I can offer...my prayers.
There are many, I suppose, who are acquainted with Kathy personally and believe in her personal strength, courage, and ability to beat this disease. I know nothing about the woman aside from her name. But I know God. And I believe in a God who can heal...a God who can help...a God who can hold us when our hearts are breaking...a God who let His own heart be broken that He might offer us the hope of Heaven when we die. And because I believe, I have the privilege of lifting her name up in prayer, inviting God to intervene in her situation, trusting that whatever the outcome He will work all things out to the good. I look at the bracelet and am reminded that as one of Kathy's believers I can speak to God on her behalf.
Yet there is more expected of us than mere speech. Our actions profess our beliefs more than any words we confess. And we want God to be encouraged as He moves among us, that He might see His Spirit at work within those who call themselves by His Name and witness the love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness and self control that define Him. Prayer is so much more than mere words spoken to God. It is a hug to a coworker in tears, a nod of understanding and a listening ear to the most difficult customer, a smile at all times. It is showing up on time and obeying direction and giving one's all, all day long.
Make no mistake: God answers prayer because He is good, not because we are. But as His believers we have the privilege of moving His Hand and His heart by laying our requests before Him. Love is simply the language spoken in the Kingdom, and we have a responsibility to the “Kathys” around us to become fluent in it, however foreign and difficult it sometimes seems to be.
Now each time that rubber circle slips over my hand I remember that Jesus took a nail through His so that we might have the right to speak to God on others' behalf. May it be our actions rather than our armbands that attract His attention, and the love we walk in rather than words on a wristband that determine the true believers among us.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails...”
(1 Corinthians 13:4-8 NIV)