I want very much to describe something here that cannot be explained. Usually I get an idea for a post and run with it. Tonight, I am sitting in silence trying to come up with a way to document one of the most powerful marker-moments of my life. Something significant happened to me in the prayer room at my church on Thursday morning with a group of ladies I barely even know, and who know even less about me, or the journey I am on. Perhaps I should just start at the beginning and see how the story unfolds.
I had a conversation with my pastor on Wednesday, in which he asked me if I had considered, or would consider attending the Thursday morning ladies intercessory prayer group. He was suggesting it because he felt that it would be helpful for me to surround myself with mature, godly women who could come alongside me with both prayer and relationship. I didn’t even know that there was such a group, and quite honestly was not that interested because it met in the morning. I didn’t commit to going, but told the Lord before I went to bed that if He wanted me to go, then He could wake me up, because I was not setting an alarm.
At 8:23 a.m., God woke me up, so I went. I had no idea what I was getting into, but as has happened so many times before, I found myself almost supernaturally drawn to this meeting.
I entered the prayer room a few minutes after 9 a.m. for an experience I will not forget. The room was dimly lit, instrumental worship music was playing softly, and ladies were arriving and sitting in silence soaking in the presence of the Lord preparing for what was to follow.
God was in that room. I could feel Him. I could smell Him. I could almost see Him. And out of nowhere, tears welled up and I could not stop them. Just being in the room itself was powerful.
We began by praying for my pastor who came in before heading with some of the healing ministry team to conduct a weekend of inner healing ministry at a church in Mobile, AL. The anointing was so strong that when he told them, the entire team came in to receive prayer. I stayed on the peripheral, yet was completely engaged with what was happening before my eyes.
That initial prayer time was pretty powerful in it’s own right, but what followed will be a “stone of remembrance” for me set as a reminder of a work of God in my life from here forward.
One of the ladies had brought in a Civil War sword that hangs over her fireplace. She had used it in praying over her son, and then her daughter, while they were sleeping. In a physical sense, she waved it over them as they lay in their beds, praying that things in the spiritual realm that held them captive would be broken. The waving of the sword was symbolic in the natural of the battle being fought in the spiritual. As a result, significant change occurred in her children’s lives. She brought the sword in because she wanted to be prayed over with it as well.
The leader then addressed the group saying that we all have
things that tie us down, or that hold us captive. Often it is the little things that keep us from fully living the way God designed us to. She likened it to the story of Gulliver in “Gulliver’s Travels”, who was held captive by people who were only 6” tall. On this morning, here in this prayer room, each of us would be prayed over with that sword, asking God to sever anything that was not of Him, to break any chains that held us down and to free us to realize our destiny.
I knew why I had come. This was for me. We began by praying over the owner of the sword. She lay flat on her back in a position of vulnerability and surrender as the leader of the group dragged the sword completely around her body, then waved it over her. I knew that what I was witnessing was far bigger than my eyes were seeing.
After she was prayed over, each of us in that room laid down on the prayer room floor while she went one by one praying with that sword. I was the third person she came to, and as I began to hear that sword drag around my body, all of the emotion and pain I held deep within me came gushing out. I was a mess. I held my hands over my face as uncontrollable sobs became more and more obvious. The leader of the group came and knelt by my head and while quoting from the 23rd Psalm, anointed my head with oil and just kept her hand on my head like a mother soothing her child. I then heard her say to the rest of the group that as they were finished receiving prayer, to come and just circle around me. No one really said anything, at least not that I could hear, for I was lost in the emotion of what I was experiencing in that moment. I do remember that there was a lot of praying in tongues and soft prophetic singing, and I felt hands on my arms and legs, and for a brief moment, on my stomach that was heaving as I cried.
After a few moments, someone was asked to serve me communion. The sobs had subsided and I sat up as I was presented with the elements representing the body and blood of Christ. The ladies surrounding me began to disperse, but one or two kept by me, loving on me, encouraging me to lift my head, that I did not need to hide my face before the Lord. None of these women even knew me, yet they had compassion on me. They represented Jesus to me that day in the prayer room.
I’ve been told that this weekly group is never the same. It’s always something different, and sometimes, maybe even often, a little outside of the box. But I’m hooked. There was no mistake in the timing of my pastor’s suggestion to go, nor in the divine alarm that woke me up and said, “Go now”.
Something happened in the spiritual realm as that sword circled around my body. I’m not sure I can explain it, nor am I fully able to understand it. But something is different. Something in me feels lighter. Something has been broken off of me. And I am shouting hallelujah – it’s about time!
I had a conversation with my pastor on Wednesday, in which he asked me if I had considered, or would consider attending the Thursday morning ladies intercessory prayer group. He was suggesting it because he felt that it would be helpful for me to surround myself with mature, godly women who could come alongside me with both prayer and relationship. I didn’t even know that there was such a group, and quite honestly was not that interested because it met in the morning. I didn’t commit to going, but told the Lord before I went to bed that if He wanted me to go, then He could wake me up, because I was not setting an alarm.
At 8:23 a.m., God woke me up, so I went. I had no idea what I was getting into, but as has happened so many times before, I found myself almost supernaturally drawn to this meeting.
I entered the prayer room a few minutes after 9 a.m. for an experience I will not forget. The room was dimly lit, instrumental worship music was playing softly, and ladies were arriving and sitting in silence soaking in the presence of the Lord preparing for what was to follow.
God was in that room. I could feel Him. I could smell Him. I could almost see Him. And out of nowhere, tears welled up and I could not stop them. Just being in the room itself was powerful.
We began by praying for my pastor who came in before heading with some of the healing ministry team to conduct a weekend of inner healing ministry at a church in Mobile, AL. The anointing was so strong that when he told them, the entire team came in to receive prayer. I stayed on the peripheral, yet was completely engaged with what was happening before my eyes.
That initial prayer time was pretty powerful in it’s own right, but what followed will be a “stone of remembrance” for me set as a reminder of a work of God in my life from here forward.
One of the ladies had brought in a Civil War sword that hangs over her fireplace. She had used it in praying over her son, and then her daughter, while they were sleeping. In a physical sense, she waved it over them as they lay in their beds, praying that things in the spiritual realm that held them captive would be broken. The waving of the sword was symbolic in the natural of the battle being fought in the spiritual. As a result, significant change occurred in her children’s lives. She brought the sword in because she wanted to be prayed over with it as well.
The leader then addressed the group saying that we all have
things that tie us down, or that hold us captive. Often it is the little things that keep us from fully living the way God designed us to. She likened it to the story of Gulliver in “Gulliver’s Travels”, who was held captive by people who were only 6” tall. On this morning, here in this prayer room, each of us would be prayed over with that sword, asking God to sever anything that was not of Him, to break any chains that held us down and to free us to realize our destiny.I knew why I had come. This was for me. We began by praying over the owner of the sword. She lay flat on her back in a position of vulnerability and surrender as the leader of the group dragged the sword completely around her body, then waved it over her. I knew that what I was witnessing was far bigger than my eyes were seeing.
After she was prayed over, each of us in that room laid down on the prayer room floor while she went one by one praying with that sword. I was the third person she came to, and as I began to hear that sword drag around my body, all of the emotion and pain I held deep within me came gushing out. I was a mess. I held my hands over my face as uncontrollable sobs became more and more obvious. The leader of the group came and knelt by my head and while quoting from the 23rd Psalm, anointed my head with oil and just kept her hand on my head like a mother soothing her child. I then heard her say to the rest of the group that as they were finished receiving prayer, to come and just circle around me. No one really said anything, at least not that I could hear, for I was lost in the emotion of what I was experiencing in that moment. I do remember that there was a lot of praying in tongues and soft prophetic singing, and I felt hands on my arms and legs, and for a brief moment, on my stomach that was heaving as I cried.
After a few moments, someone was asked to serve me communion. The sobs had subsided and I sat up as I was presented with the elements representing the body and blood of Christ. The ladies surrounding me began to disperse, but one or two kept by me, loving on me, encouraging me to lift my head, that I did not need to hide my face before the Lord. None of these women even knew me, yet they had compassion on me. They represented Jesus to me that day in the prayer room.
I’ve been told that this weekly group is never the same. It’s always something different, and sometimes, maybe even often, a little outside of the box. But I’m hooked. There was no mistake in the timing of my pastor’s suggestion to go, nor in the divine alarm that woke me up and said, “Go now”.
Something happened in the spiritual realm as that sword circled around my body. I’m not sure I can explain it, nor am I fully able to understand it. But something is different. Something in me feels lighter. Something has been broken off of me. And I am shouting hallelujah – it’s about time!
I have a tribal butterfly tattoo on my right shoulder as a “stone of remembrance” of a major healing work that God did in my life a few years ago. It’s simple, and only appears there because of its spiritual significance to me. I know that the road I am walking now is another deep layer of the same process God has already started. I have thought that I wanted to add to the tattoo something that would represent this next layer of healing. I’m pretty certain that my butterfly will someday be sitting on a sword.
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