A Miracle in McDonald’s

She shuffled out of the McDonald's bathroom stall, her wrinkled chocolate-colored hand stretching to remove the black hair net that holds her midnight hair. As she approaches the sink next to me I catch her eye and smile at what I see— a beautiful face with two deep brown eyes cased in the creased-lined road maps of a life long lived and lots of life in the living. She is a bright spark burning through age and circumstance.

“Dr. told me I need to gain some weight,” she says as she tightens the belt on her pants.

“I wish the Dr. would tell me that.” I respond.

We both smile and laugh.

“Well, I have to go to the Dr. every few weeks. I have a birth defect in my right foot and when it gives me too much pain I can’t eat… I’ve lost eight pounds.”

My eyebrows furrow and my smile droops as her reality sinks deep. “I’m so sorry.”

I glance down at the culprit. Her right foot appears the same as the left. Both of them wrapped in sturdy shoes I know are prescription; ones with thick soles and sturdy sides. 

“I have the next four days off. I’m so ready for my break.”

I notice her McDonald's name tag— “Gwynn”, before finding her face, and I picture her standing on her right foot for the long hours of her shift. As we head to the door, preparing to head our ways and never meet again, my heart feels a tug.

“Gwynn, if you ever want prayer you just let me know.” I mean it, really I do. Though it comes out as a half hesitant offer because part of me is unsure of her response.

She pauses two steps into the restaurant space and releases a hesitant yet hopeful…. “Ok”.

Pivoting on my feet I begin turning to leave and realize she is standing still with the door to the restroom propped open.

“Oh…I mean… we can pray now if you want?”  Back into the restroom we go.

Gwynn bows her head as I bend to touch her pain.

I believe God heals. I believe and know He did and does. I also know He loves Gwynn. Remnant of His zeal for her is supernaturally bubbling up within me, motivating my prayer with a deep and real compassion.

I’d like to say her foot burned with Holy fire, evidence of a supernatural healing happening within her prescription shoe. Or that as I prayed in Jesus’ name her deformity was fixed and all pain left. A “Miracle in McDonalds” they’d say, (whoever they are).

I want a miracle, this miracle, for Gwynn.

“Thank you so much.” she says as I stand up from the anticlimactic prayer. “You know, I read my Bible every day.”

“You do?” I ask.

“Yes. I read the whole Bible last year and I’m reading it again this year. I’m in 1 Kings….there is a lot of violence in there.”

“Ya there is. I read my Bible too.” I reply as we exit the bathroom.

The grease from my fries has marked my brown bag and a large cup is waiting for me to fill it with the temporary energy that will keep me awake for the rest of my drive. Coke in hand I head to the exit, and pass Gwynn as she gently unwraps her burger.

“Are you a preacher?” she asks.

I involuntarily chuckle “No, Gwynn. I just love Jesus.”

“You can sit with me,” she glances at the empty seat across from her.

Though I have three hours left to drive, I take a seat. Neither of us mention the “failed” prayer but she does share more of her story.

“My son died six years ago. His father left when he was young..”

She bites her Big Mac as I eat a wilted fry.

“He was just never the same after his dad left. I was never the same. He got into the wrong crowd, drugs and drinking…”

She grins as she tells me about her loss, all the while maintaining a smile of genuine kindness and gentle demeanor. I am left in awe at how she has emerged from the flames with this light intact.

“You come visit me again. I work Monday - Thursday,” she says.

I say goodbye and resume my drive. I’m leaving this small town Mcdonald's marked by a bathroom stall encounter.

I pray Gwynn’s foot is healed, and though I will never know for sure, I do know this encounter was a different miracle. A McDonald’s miracle that perhaps was not a healed club foot, but one of intimate connection found in the most unlikely of places.

In a fast food setting; Jesus.

Over fries, a Big Mac and a Coke. Sweet communion of two souls connected by the One who loves perfectly, redeems the seemingly unredeemable, and longs to enter into our stories in the most unlikely of ways.

P.S. You can tell “them” if you want.

- Michelle

 

Connection can often come in the smallest of ways. I love how Michelle's story tells of how we can have conversations about Jesus within the ordinary of our day. If you have every experienced this type of ordained community with a complete stranger let us know in the comments below. I love sharing stories of how we share Jesus.

About Michelle:

Michelle Coppini is a Jesus loving, military spouse from a loud Italian family. She considers herself a hunter of beauty and a deep lover of people. When she’s not smothering her two Maine Coons or her hunk of a husband with affection, she loves reading, traveling and taking care of her potted plants. Writing and photography are her passions and you can find her latest work online at www.abeautifulremnant.com or on social media @MichelleCoppini

 

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