Early on a Saturday morning once each month, we load the car up with our portable red chairs, a small table, a yellow “Need Healing?” banner, and some tall, bright yellow flags; one flag displays the word “Healing,” and the other one says “Love Boscombe.” We set up our stall inside a small gazebo in the local market, offering healing prayer to anyone who has a need. 

Love Boscombe is an initiative by christians from a group of local churches, working together in unity to reach and serve the people of our town. The monthly healing prayer tent is just one part of a larger vision to love our community and share the Good News of Jesus.

Our amazing team turn up in all kinds of weather – we have seen sunshine, torrential rain, high winds and freezing conditions – but we always show up. And when we show up, God shows up, and we have the incredible joy and privilege of seeing people’s lives touched and changed by the love and power of Jesus. It changes us too.

I am in awe because of all that God has done; I’m grateful for our team, and grateful for every person who steps into our little tent and trusts us to lay hands on them and pray for them. 

One young woman has been coming along to see us every month since we started. After a few months of regularly receiving prayer, she decided to invite Jesus into her life.

She must have started to wonder if she had outstayed her welcome, because one day she asked us if she was being a burden. Nothing could be further from the truth; she is a blessing to us! When I returned home that day, I was inspired to write the poem below. Hope you enjoy reading it…

– Jane 


“I’m not being a burden am I?”

“You’re a blessing, not a burden” we said

She threw back her head, the joy filled the tent

Laughter like raindrops on rose petals

We talked of the birds of the air 

Who do not sow or reap

Yet Father cares for them

The lilies of the field 

So beautiful in their splendour

Clothed with glory

Gratitude is contagious

Trust is a wondrous thing

Simple pleasures 

Sweeten our days

We thought we were servants

Pouring ourselves out

Yet here is this Daughter

Washing our feet

With her raindrops of mirth 

And holy innocence

Cleansing the dust from our feet

Who serves who? 

The roles are reversed

We receive her blessing

Perhaps, unknowingly, 

We met an angel


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