I had a
friend that I went to high school with.
That was over thirty years ago. His
mom attends the church that I attended most of my life. She is also friends with my mom. They aren’t the kind of friends that get
together very often, but the kind that have the same heart and faith and the
few times that they do get together they both leave blessed. They both belong to
a traditional Lutheran church over those years, but they knew the LORD in His
fullness of His Spirit. Both of them
lived with the gifts of His Spirit.
Rarely
spoken about in the church, these charismatic women would find each other and
have a prayer time in their private homes where they were free to pray in His
Spirit and worship in His fullness and power.
It was a little bit of an underground, but those prayers kept families,
often unknowing pastors, and one another going.
These women are remarkable and I am blessed to have grown up under their
prayers and love.
My mom has
been spending time in Florida during some cold Minnesota months. Apparently she wrote her friend a letter and
she shared some of the things happening in our lives. Good things.
God things.
I had just
finished writing another article and I sat in the quiet and wondered to myself,
“Now what?” The phone rang and broke through
the silence. It was my mom’s
friend. I may have had conversations
with her on the phone two times in the last thirty years. She was crying. She quickly told me she was crying and
praising.
She began
sharing that she got a letter from my mom and she was moved by what my mom had
shared in regards to the miracle of our new grandson. From there she proceeded to pray for my
family, my children, my husband, my brother and his family. She prayed blessings, she praised and she
prayed in the Spirit. She wept, prayed,
prophesied and praised some more.
As the ring
of the phone burst into the quiet, so did her prayers like a sudden gust of
wind. I can’t really describe it. I received her prayers. As quickly as it blew in, it was done and we
hung up.
This lovely
lady in her eighties has been widowed two times. She told me that she is alone in her home and
she sings and praises and sings towards that empty place where her husband used
to lay beside her. He has been gone for two years. She says she misses him, but she doesn’t
grieve any longer. She said it is
because she knows how happy her husband is with Jesus.
Instead of counting her loss, she
counts his gain. She sings and praises and prays for
others. She says she likes this quiet
time because she’s free to fill her house with singing to the LORD.
Her
exuberance in the call, her hope and joy were life to me. Her prayers for the people I love dearly were
a blanket of comfort and protection. It
was a shower of gifts; one gift after another, with every word of life, love,
hope, blessing and prayer. Her words that
were spoken in tongues that I did not understand were velvety and beautiful and
sounded like they belonged in a palace for a King. And they were. She did not hold anything back from the flow
of His Spirit.
I am still
in a bit of wonder from what feels like such a holy time that burst through my
quiet. I am inspired by one so sweet and courageous
to boldly speak this kind of blessing and celebration into my mind, heart and
soul. She prayed for and blessed going down
the generations of my family; my husband and me, our children and our
grandchild.
Her choice
to use her time and life by placing a phone call praying and blessing while
praising the LORD was a powerful choice and it gives much into our lives. She is an example of living life boldly and
that we can continue to do great things in life and in His Name even from a home
alone, but filled with His Presence.
If you come across older women with twinkles in their eyes and smiles on their faces, there may be a whole lot more going on than you thought and if they offer to pray for you, let them.
Psalm
145:18 The LORD is near to all who call on
him, to all who call on him in truth.
Ezekiel 34:26 I will
bless them and…there will be showers of blessing.
No comments:
Post a Comment