Touched by the hand

So, walking back from class today, I wasn't even out of the building when I get stopped by a shy little Asian guy who asks how I am and what happened to my arm, pointing to my sling. I said I'm ok, I just tore a muscle on my collarbone playing rugby. He then mumbled something about being asked to do a project for ministry or something about people who are injured... and asked if he could pray for me. Just before this I was hoping that he wasn't going to come out with something out of a bad movie like, "I've watched you walk down this hall every Wednesday... will you go out with me?"

"Ummmm okay, sure..." I said, not much relieved. He asked if he could put his hand on my shoulder -- "That'd be a little weird." So he didn't, and instead held his left hand out like he was halfway through a high-five and started asking god to heal me and my terrible injury on my collarbone. I stood there looking bewildered while lots of people walked by, looking similarly bewildered. When he finished he asked if I had felt anything (other than awkward and uncomfortable, I assumed). I said no, sorry, wished him a nice day left the building as fast as I could.

I should've told him to pray for the people of Darfur. They could use it a hell of a lot more than I do - I've got vicodin.

Stupid American religiousism-nesstastica. And hooray for painkillers.