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By Lailani Mendoza
“LORD, please let us have seats,” I prayed aloud while waiting for the subway. It was late Saturday morning, a
busy time when the trains, like tin cans full of sardines, would usually be
crammed with passengers.
Waiting patiently in line with me was my co-worker Cicy. We worked at a language
institute an hour outside of Seoul, where she taught Chinese and I taught
English to a group of Korean students. As two outsiders trying to survive in a
foreign country, we bonded over pizza, late night chats and Korean dramas.
Coming from Asian families, we discovered that we had a lot in common, except
for one thing: she’s a Buddhist and I’m a Christian. I didn’t see this as a problem.
Having served in a Christian organization that welcomed international students
in Canada, I have had many Chinese and Japanese friends who worship Buddha. But, I thought: “It’s about time she met Jesus.” It prompted me to invite her to my church.
The bell rang announcing the arrival of the train. We stood there as the doors
opened, like the gates of heaven. The train divested itself of new arrivals, as
a sea of people poured in to replenish the supply.
We managed to squeeze ourselves in. Once the commotion subsided, there they
were: two empty seats, side by side – the most concrete answer to a prayer one can get.
When Cicy agreed to come to church the following Sunday, I was ecstatic.
On Sunday, the sky looked gray and dreary when we left home to attend the
morning service. While most North Americans can’t leave the house without their car keys, most Asians can’t leave the house without umbrellas.
As Murphy’s Law would have it, we forgot our umbrellas. I prayed that it wouldn’t rain. By the time we arrived at our destination, the gray clouds had been
replaced with blue skies. “Thank you, Lord,” I whispered as we stepped off the bus and into the sunshine.
“You must have prayed this morning. Earlier, I thought it was going to rain,” Cicy commented.
“Yeah, I did. Answered prayer!” I replied, happy that she had witnessed God
However, my hopes of taking her with me to church every Sunday were crushed as
quickly as they had come to life. Five minutes into the sermon, she had both
eyes closed. Oh no – she fell asleep! Later, I learned that she did this to concentrate on the pastor’s words.
“He speaks too fast,” she said. The language barrier made it difficult for her to keep going to
church. Although I was disappointed, I hoped God would give me another
opportunity to share my faith with Cicy.
at work.
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Late one night, we found ourselves waiting for the subway yet again. We were
exhausted from walking and carrying heavy shopping bags the whole day. The
prospect of standing in a crowded train for two hours all the way home was not
very appealing.
“Why don’t you pray for seats?” Cicy urged me.
I was shocked. God had used the little, everyday things to make the lasting impression on her that I was striving to create on my own. Too
drained to even think, I was a bit embarrassed that my Buddhist friend
remembered God first.
But more than that, Cicy’s statement confirmed to me that she believes in the power of prayer simply
because she saw God grant my simple mundane requests.
This gave me the opportunity to say that prayer works – not because of me, but because of the God that I serve. He is a God who plans
the ‘big picture,’ and sets the cosmos in motion. Yet, he is also the one who has the power to grant even the small miracles, like meeting our needs with an empty subway
seat.
I wish I could say Cicy has decided to go to church since I left Korea. But
truth be told, she has a long way to go in becoming a Christian. God taught me
that converting people to Christianity is the Holy Spirit’s work. I’m just glad to have been a part of her journey, on her way to knowing God.
I knew the seed had been planted in her heart when, one day, I overheard her
saying to a friend: “There was this time at the subway station, and we thought we wouldn’t have any seats . . .”
Lailani Mendoza is an Okanagan freelancer.
September 2009
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