inside and wrapped himself around my legs. I put the kettle on to boil for tea and placed cups and saucers on the table.
A short while later, after Hezekiah adjusted the fire and carried more logs into the room, the conversation finally turned to Hezekiah's prayer needs.
“Griselda told me you were in need of prayer,” said Agnes.
Hezekiah looked down and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, yes I am. Some powerful prayers.”
“Tell me why,” Agnes said. “What exactly do you need me to pray for?”
Hezekiah took a breath. And when he did his strong chest expanded like a bellows. He brushed the top of his head. “Lice. Stinking lice.”
“Lice?” said Agnes. “You askin’ me to pray for lice?”
“No. no. I had them, that's all. Miserable vermin crawled and laid eggs all over my head. I had to shave my hair off to get rid of them. That's why it's so short. Before the infestation I had grown my hair down to here.” He pointed to a place on his shoulder. “Had me a nice ponytail.”
Agnes and I locked eyes, both of us grateful, I’m sure, that God waited until after the lice plague to bring him to her.
“Well, if it ain’t lice then—” said Agnes.
“A person doesn’t have to say the words out loud, do they? Can’t you just pray some mumbo jumbo about God being able to read minds and stuff?” He folded his arms across his chest.
Agnes took a minute to adjust herself. I asked Hezekiah to push up on her knee while I straightened her pillows.
“First of all, Hezekiah, it isn’t mumbo jumbo, and if that's what you believe then maybe now's not the best time to pray,” Agnes said.
Hezekiah's eyes grew wide like a startled deer's. “Oh, no, ma’am, I didn’t mean that; I didn’t mean it was mumbo jumbo, like it was silly. I just don’t know much about proper prayer talk.”
Agnes and I exchanged looks and then smiles.
“I guess it will be all right,” Agnes said. “God knows what you mean.”
“Just tell the good Lord that I need him to help me to … to … “He pushed his fists into the sides of his head like aterrible headache had taken hold all of a sudden. “Please, I’m begging you, Agnes, pray for me.”
Agnes prayed for a full three minutes, asking God to grant Hezekiah all manner of mercies from his health to his financial situation to helping him find a job. But Hezekiah didn’t react to any of the requests in a way that would have clued us in to his real need—the one thing, if it were one thing—that he had locked inside himself. Sometimes it happened that way. Sometimes folks came to Agnes asking for prayer about a particular matter when all the time there was something else, something darker, something more serious that needed God's attention.
That's how it happened for Studebaker. He came to Agnes asking for prayer about his aching back and a nagging cough when all the time he knew he had lung cancer and was dying.
“Amen.” Agnes finished her prayer, but Hezekiah remained with his head bent for a several more seconds, so we all sat in silence until he finally spoke.
“Thank you, Agnes. But I didn’t feel nothing. I mean, ain’t I supposed to feel a tingling or something? Ain’t that God's way of letting you know you got a miracle?”
Agnes reached out, and Hezekiah took her hand. He laid his head on her arm. “Maybe I just don’t deserve a miracle. Maybe I’m a hopeless case.”
“Now you stop that talk, this instant,” said Agnes in such a way that Hezekiah's head snapped to attention. “There is no such thing as hopeless cases where God is concerned. Some miracles take a little longer than others. This might be the kind that takes repeating.”
Agnes grabbed her well-worn King James and thumbed through the pages. “See here, this is a story about Samuel's mother. She prayed for years before she got her miracle.”
“Years?” said Hezekiah. “I don’t have years. I need it now. I needed it a long time ago.”
Agnes closed her Bible and
A short while later, after Hezekiah adjusted the fire and carried more logs into the room, the conversation finally turned to Hezekiah's prayer needs.
“Griselda told me you were in need of prayer,” said Agnes.
Hezekiah looked down and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, yes I am. Some powerful prayers.”
“Tell me why,” Agnes said. “What exactly do you need me to pray for?”
Hezekiah took a breath. And when he did his strong chest expanded like a bellows. He brushed the top of his head. “Lice. Stinking lice.”
“Lice?” said Agnes. “You askin’ me to pray for lice?”
“No. no. I had them, that's all. Miserable vermin crawled and laid eggs all over my head. I had to shave my hair off to get rid of them. That's why it's so short. Before the infestation I had grown my hair down to here.” He pointed to a place on his shoulder. “Had me a nice ponytail.”
Agnes and I locked eyes, both of us grateful, I’m sure, that God waited until after the lice plague to bring him to her.
“Well, if it ain’t lice then—” said Agnes.
“A person doesn’t have to say the words out loud, do they? Can’t you just pray some mumbo jumbo about God being able to read minds and stuff?” He folded his arms across his chest.
Agnes took a minute to adjust herself. I asked Hezekiah to push up on her knee while I straightened her pillows.
“First of all, Hezekiah, it isn’t mumbo jumbo, and if that's what you believe then maybe now's not the best time to pray,” Agnes said.
Hezekiah's eyes grew wide like a startled deer's. “Oh, no, ma’am, I didn’t mean that; I didn’t mean it was mumbo jumbo, like it was silly. I just don’t know much about proper prayer talk.”
Agnes and I exchanged looks and then smiles.
“I guess it will be all right,” Agnes said. “God knows what you mean.”
“Just tell the good Lord that I need him to help me to … to … “He pushed his fists into the sides of his head like aterrible headache had taken hold all of a sudden. “Please, I’m begging you, Agnes, pray for me.”
Agnes prayed for a full three minutes, asking God to grant Hezekiah all manner of mercies from his health to his financial situation to helping him find a job. But Hezekiah didn’t react to any of the requests in a way that would have clued us in to his real need—the one thing, if it were one thing—that he had locked inside himself. Sometimes it happened that way. Sometimes folks came to Agnes asking for prayer about a particular matter when all the time there was something else, something darker, something more serious that needed God's attention.
That's how it happened for Studebaker. He came to Agnes asking for prayer about his aching back and a nagging cough when all the time he knew he had lung cancer and was dying.
“Amen.” Agnes finished her prayer, but Hezekiah remained with his head bent for a several more seconds, so we all sat in silence until he finally spoke.
“Thank you, Agnes. But I didn’t feel nothing. I mean, ain’t I supposed to feel a tingling or something? Ain’t that God's way of letting you know you got a miracle?”
Agnes reached out, and Hezekiah took her hand. He laid his head on her arm. “Maybe I just don’t deserve a miracle. Maybe I’m a hopeless case.”
“Now you stop that talk, this instant,” said Agnes in such a way that Hezekiah's head snapped to attention. “There is no such thing as hopeless cases where God is concerned. Some miracles take a little longer than others. This might be the kind that takes repeating.”
Agnes grabbed her well-worn King James and thumbed through the pages. “See here, this is a story about Samuel's mother. She prayed for years before she got her miracle.”
“Years?” said Hezekiah. “I don’t have years. I need it now. I needed it a long time ago.”
Agnes closed her Bible and
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