As Christian missionaries they understood the risks of
living in a Muslim country, but their home was in a good part of the city, just
a few blocks from one of the royal palaces. Then the horror of seeing the chanting
mob marching toward them confirmed their worst fears.
The men had locked arms, and advanced almost like a military
squad. The father and mother, the little girl and her littler brother, stared
wordlessly from their windows. They all knew the horde were coming for them.
The first rank of men came to the stuccoed wall that
surrounded the missionary house. They climbed up and over like a trail of army
ants. Still chanting, they moved toward the wide porch and the front door.
They paused at the first step. Their angry faces, contorted
with chanted words, suddenly went blank. Instead of climbing the steps,
they turned, crossed the yard, and clambered over the wall and back to the
street. Each group of men repeated the same procedure. Pause, blank stare,
turn, cross the yard, over the wall to the street.
Of course the dad and mom and the little girl and her
littler brother were limp with relief, joyful to be spared. But what just
happened?
They continued their missionary life. A few weeks passed,
and a letter arrived from America. The little girl’s grandmother wrote to
describe a night when she was awakened from sleep with a sense of deep
foreboding, and a burden to pray for the family. She begged the Lord to protect and provide for them. She prayed and prayed, until the burden lifted. So
she asked, did anything happen at that particular day and time?
The little girl is my wife, and her Grandma Lindal was a
great prayer warrior.
God has chosen to use our prayers to channel His power, protection, guidance, and provision.
Grandma Lindal is in heaven now, but we're still here, here to pray.
The prayer of a
righteous person is powerful and effective. (James 5:16b, NIV)
