Day 220: 'Pray for my freedom'

He was walking slowly along the sidewalk, not in a hurry and not motivated. He looked upset. Not that I really noticed at first. I was just getting ready to head home, after walking around Old Town looking for someone to pray for. And here he was, right in front of me. So I stopped him.

"Sir," I said. He kept walking a few steps, still very slowly, and seemed reluctant to turn around. But he finally did. I told him, "Sir, I'm working on a project. I was wondering if I could pray for you." After the usual stunned moment of comprehension, his face brightened. He was a short guy, maybe 50 years old, with flecks of gray in his goatee. He was wearing a ball cap, and his clothes showed some wear. But what really caught my attention were his words.

"Now that's just amazing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just amazing that you would ask me that. God sent you to me at this very moment. You're here to pray for my freedom." He wasn't joking. The look on his face, and really everything about him, said that. Then he held out his hands to me, they were up about chin level, and I took them and prayed for him. I prayed that God would bless this man -- his name was Robert -- and grant him the freedom that only God could give. Our God is a God of freedom.

I prompted Robert into telling me his story. He'd been stopped just a few minutes earlier by the the police. I'd seen them when I had set out on my walk -- two cop cars -- but they were a good two blocks away, and I didn't bother to see what they were up to. Robert told me, though. Someone had called in saying he was a panhandler. But that wasn't true, he claimed. He didn't panhandle.

To make matters worse, he was on parole. "Now I have to go before my PO tomorrow to explain this #@&%!" he said. "And I didn't do nothing wrong!" As he told me this story, I was watching his eyes. They slowly welled with tears and one finally dropped down his cheek and onto his shirt.

I offered him a couple of words of comfort, telling him that God would be with him, that God always is with us. "I know that. He's been working on me," Robert replied, "I know he surely has." He kept shaking his head. He was angry, but he was shocked that I was standing in front of him. It was an interesting conflict to watch.

Finally, I told him I would pray for him again. "You already have," Robert said. "You already have." As I walked back to my car, I thought about a man who was on parole, wanting his freedom.