I believe in the power of prayer. I have seen the effects of prayer, I’ve witnessed the power of that relationship. I’ve seen God answer the prayers of my parents, my family prayers—every morning as my brothers endlessly pray for seemingly ‘random’ safety for our family– I’ve seen Him answer my prayers, our prayers. I know He listens when we pray.
When I got an email this morning telling me that my World Race route had changed from “Serbia, Albania, Macedonia, and Bulgaria” to “Serbia, Romania, Macedonia, and Greece,” I sort of had a mini excitement-induced heart attack.
Because I’d prayed about that. I didn’t even realize it until I looked back on my prayer journal, until I thought back over all the thoughts I’d had over the last six months, but… I’d prayed about Romania and Greece.
Was it in a casual way? Yes, it was.
Romania was one of the countries on a route that launched a year and a half ago, the first World Race route I ever looked at. It was the one country I regretted not being able to go to, that was changed on my route.
Greece was a country I’ve visited before, not as a servant or a helper, but as someone only interested in seeing the things I’d read so much about. A week or so after returning, I remember seeing a news report on a drowned child that washed up on a beach there, one who’d fallen over the side of a raft carrying refugees from Syria to Greece. I hadn’t seen that side of Greece. I’d left before the refugee crisis had gotten to where it is now, and I’ve wanted to go back, to help, to serve, to do something.
Were they just thoughts in the back of my mind that I vaguely prayed for? Words on a page that I’d written without even realizing it?
So I’m going to start asking more. He hears us no matter how quietly we call.
