It was late. Mary and I had gone out on a date, to dinner and a movie, and we were heading to pick up the kids. But we had to buy -- I had to buy -- kleenexes to get through the rest of the weekend. I've got an awful head cold. So I ran into Target and grabbed three boxes of them and headed for the check-out line. The store was only going to be open a few more minutes. They'd already made the announcement over the intercom.
The clerk's name was Ronnie, a tall, skinny guy wearing a bright red shirt. I swiped my credit card and asked him my question. "Huh?" he said, puzzled. So I asked again: "Can I pray for you?" He said I could in a very hesitating way, and he handed me my receipt. So I prayed for him. He thanked me then with a little smile.
I have no idea what Ronnie thought about that. Maybe he just thought I was a weird religious guy. But as I walked back out to the parking lot, I thought about how I was one of his last customers for the night. So maybe he would think about the prayer, and about God, when he went home that night. And maybe the Holy Spirit would do its work.
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