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My Uncle Willie walks, then skips, and finally runs back and forth in front of the altar. The preacher, chest heaving and head sweating, tells the congregation that my uncle is healed. They roar and clap and some speak in tongues unknown.
Pointing to my uncle while kicking the wheelchair, he says, “Them legs that ain’t walked in years – they’s walking now.” The wheelchair tumbles, clattering to the floor. The preacher shouts with one hand on his hip, “He don’t need no wheelchair!
Step aside Satan! Miracle in progress!”
The congregation, a delirious rainbow of colors cries out its Amens. Big women in big hats dance and several faint. Babies cry and the choir cranks its song up a few decibels.
My uncle’s arms flail about like flapping wings. His legs are in full throttle now.
“A miracle!” someone yells.
And it dawns on me. Uncle Willie has never had any problems walking. Anywhere. Anytime.
