This is just a short passage from Chapter 5 of a novel I titled The Fixer.
Lamb dragged herself to the car and started it up. She returned indoors to apply her makeup while it warmed up. Instead of rain frost covered the ground. She’d only slept a couple of hours but was determined to go to church. The service today would begin a week of invited speakers, an evangelist, guest musicians, and extended prayer days and times—she figured she couldn’t afford to miss the meetings. She ached for more of the Lord, to be consumed by His presence, to receive anything new He might have to offer her. I didn’t mean to find myself in this desert, Lord. I guess when things happen with my sisters, I’m reminded of that day at the creek—you know, what it felt like before I knew you. It’s a horrible feeling, God. But you know that. Please, have something special for me at these meetings, Lord. Something that will help me be a better person, a more worthy representative of your love and power. I ask it in the name of your Son Jesus Christ, Amen. After arriving at church, her fatigue contributed to a desire for some solitude. She entered the side doors to the building and slid down the hallway toward the sanctuary in the midst of familiar faces greeting each other, laughing, sipping coffees, and expounding on the previous week’s events. She smiled a greeting to several people but was able to glide through them without stopping for conversation. Opening the sanctuary doors, she entered the room filled with unfamiliar faces praying earnestly. Some of them knelt at the altar while others paced back and forth along the side aisles. There was no mistaking she’d walked into a room of serious prayer warriors, and the Holy Spirit’s presence rushed over her. She slipped up to the altar on the far right side of the platform and knelt on one knee. The tears charged out of her eyes, and she briefly shuddered at the mess her mascara and eyeliner were sure to leave. As she wept before the Lord, she felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder and a distinctive male voice she didn’t recognize fervently pray for her. Although she heard him, she couldn’t decipher what he was praying. To her surprise and embarrassment, she wept even harder, the pain surfacing at greater levels. With each surge of tears a thousand aches of old pain and past scars washed away in the emotional flood. The one hand lifted and she felt the addition of both hands on her shoulders. Although she sensed the man pray for her even more intensely, it came in a whisper. As he did so, her tears rescinded. Hope seemed to rise up and wave some kind of banner declaring she would not be defeated by the things of this earth. She didn’t intend to do what she did, but she reached up with one hand and placed it over one of the male hands on her shoulder. To her surprise his thumb affectionately caressed her hand, a touch she didn’t expect but transmitted the Lord’s love to her. She dropped her hand and felt the person behind her slowly remove his. Tempted to turn around, she chose not to do so and finally stood to go find a seat. She had no idea who’d prayed for her. No one had ever prayed for her like he had, and no one had ever accomplished with his prayers what he did.
Father, thank you is never enough, but I won’t quit saying it. You’ve given me every inspiration and I will continue to say, “Apart from you, I can do nothing.” Thank you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.