My companion picked up a Polish gospel tract as he came out this morning. Sure enough, we met a man walking his dog – he was Polish. His right hand was bandaged, damaged two days ago in an accident. We offered to pray for his hand, so while I did that my companion played with the guy’s dog. When I lapsed into praying in tongues, the Polish man said “I recognise that language” I said “what is it?” He replied “it’s Italian” I knew it wasn’t so I said: “no, it’s a heavenly language, not Italian”. After we prayed for him, we gave him the Polish tract and invited him to read it.
We carried on round the city, shedding a few tears as we prayed for those in power and authority over us, that justice and righteousness might prevail.