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Into the Heart of Nigeria - 10

Every night in Lagos is like a block party.  As soon as the sun goes down, the street kiosks light their candles, the food vendors fire up their grills, and the place takes on the feel of a Hollywood setting for some exotic film.  People roam all over the streets until midnight, shopping, sampling the food, and hanging out with their friends.  Itís like this every night.

I had to try one of the fried meats.  Itís called Sofu, a thin slice of beef on a stick, grilled over a fire and coated with spicy seasoning. It is so hot that it could peel paint off the walls.  I warned this vendor, who had assured me that I would like it, that if this stuff kills me, Iím going to come back to haunt him.  It just about did.

The time seems to be dragging on forever.  The two weeks I have spent here feels like a month.  I donít know if it is the frustration of traffic, air pollution and interminable delays, or just the press of too many people crammed into the streets, but I am ready to get out of here.  Lagos was never supposed to be my main focus anyway, and I am anxious to get up north where the Lord has called me to go.

There are some people that I will miss, though.  Pastor Edwards and his wife have opened their home to me and have made me feel like part of the family.  I love their kids, especially the two eldest girls, and I feel like I have a permanent home in Lagos anytime I come.  I will miss them, and I am not a guy that usually misses anybody.

But I wonít miss Lagos.  When I got off the airplane to Abuja, I felt a complete change come over me.  The sun is strong and the air is clean and dry, and for some reason, it just seems brighter.  It feels like Texas.

Before we head up north from Abuja, I am asked to come visit a man in the hospital.  His leg is swollen and he is in serious pain, and the doctors cannot figure out what is wrong with him.  He is barely conscious as we come in the room and I can tell that this guy is in serious condition.

Now, I figured they brought along as the white man to put on display to do a token prayer over the guy, and while I would like to do everything I can to help, I donít do miracles, so Iím not expecting anything special here.  As I approach him to lay hands on his leg, however, an unusually strong confidence of faith comes over me.  It feels as if I am stepping into another room as I start to lay hands on him.  This guy is going to get healed!  I just know it!

As soon as I start praying, I can feel this rush of the Spirit go through me from my head down through my arms and into the manís leg.  It happened three times. I am not making this up -- this guy was healed!  I know it, the guy (who is now sitting straight up in bed and grinning from ear to ear) knows it, the pastor who was with me and felt it come down knows it, and some lady who has been praying with him by his bedside knows it.  This is a done deal! 

What a cool way to start the next chapter of my mission here!  Iím used to hearing from the Lord what to tell people about what He is going to bring to pass, but healing is something that has only come my way once in a great while.  Needless to say, this has made my day.

This is the place where miracles happen, and I am right here in the middle of it.  There is a depth to the hearts of these people that is rarely found in other places.  They have an ability to believe God that comes easily to them.  Faith finds fertile ground in such places and is watered by hope.  It swells in their hearts so that they expect miracles from God.  It is in places like this that God can move freely without the constraints of modern sophistication.

I also am expecting a miracle here that will rock the entire world.  I am expecting revival, and believe I will see something greater than I can ask or think.