I Am Naaman

I emailed  my accountability partner, first thing Tuesday morning and told her that I was going to start the Tuesday prayer dates in earnest this time.  I asked her to specifically check on me that afternoon to make sure I’d followed through – correctly. 

The closer the clock crept to twelve, the more nervous I became.  I hoped someone would call or come in right when it was time for me to go to lunch – so I could delay – perhaps avoid – the hour altogether.  But twelve o’clock came and the phone did not ring.  No one stood in need of assistance at the front desk of our office.  I picked up my purse and walked hesitantly out of my office and past the secretary at the front desk.  “Be back in a while,” I said to her.  She waved and offered a cheery “Have a nice lunch!”

If she only knew.

I plodded down the stairs of my building very slowly, and even as I walked, I wondered why it was so hard.  All God had asked of me was that I walk to a building and pray.  The building wasn’t far away, it wasn’t raining, the campus wasn’t crowded…nothing logical stood in my way.  Just a nagging fear. 

And as I walked down the stairs and toward the door, the first of a string of God-ordained thoughts entered my mind.  Even as I pondered why this was so hard, God planted in my mind the story of Naaman.  How many years had it been since I read Naaman’s account in 2 Kings?  How many years had it been since I read anything in 2 Kings?

Naaman was a commander in the army of Aram.  He was a great leader and very well respected.  Unfortunately, he became a leper.  Leprosy was the cancer of that day – the dreaded disease.  Lepers were banished because the disease was so highly contagious, and Naaman’s family was devastated when he developed the telltale leprous signs.  A servant girl in Naaman’s household knew God – she had been raised in Israel and became a servant after she was taken captive.  She told Naaman that if he would go to Israel and find the great prophet, he would be healed.  Desperate to find a cure, Naaman went. 

The Bible says, “Elisha sent a messenger to say to him, ‘Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.’  But Naaman went away angry and said, ‘I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot, and cure me of my leprosy  Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than any waters of Israel?  Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?’  So he turned and went off in a rage.  Naaman’s servants went to him and said, ‘My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it?  How much more, then, when he tells you, Wash and be cleansed!’  So he went down and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had told him, and his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy” (2 Kings 5:10-14).

By this time I’d reached the sidewalk and could see the back of the prayer chapel just a few hundred yards away.  I shook my head.  I was Naaman.  These prayer dates were supposed to be about praying for my husband.  I would have done all sorts of crazy things to find this elusive man.  I would have climbed a mountain, run a marathon – neither of which my body would have appreciated – if I knew that at the summit, at the finish line, he would be waiting.  I probably would have tried my hand at scuba diving if I knew he’d be swimming the waters. 

And yet what was the one thing God had asked?  Go to the prayer chapel on Tuesdays and pray about your husband.  Such a simple request.  Yet because it wasn’t the grand display that I thought God should use, I snubbed my nose at it.  It was too easy.  Too simple.  Surely it didn’t matter. 

I thought of Naaman – after the seventh cleansing dip in the River Jordan.  He came up out of the water and found that his flesh had not only been restored from disease, but was as pure and smooth as a young boy’s.  He even got back better skin than his old, battle-scarred, weather-worn covering.  What if he had ultimately refused the healing?  He would have withered away slowly as the debilitating disease ate at his body, bit by bit. 

What if I had refused this heart-healing call?  I didn’t think I wanted to know.