Part of our ministry in South Africa was intercessory prayer in Walmer Township. Accompanied by one or two of our hosts, and guided by neighbors and residents of the community, we entered people’s homes when we were welcome and simply prayed for them, in whatever they needed.
To some reading this, that may sound easy, a waste of time, ineffectual. All I can say is, I used to think that, too.
South Africa was a really eye-opening month for me in my prayer life. In contrast to some ministry assignments, we weren’t told to gather and pray several times a day, or for a certain amount of time. It wasn’t a matter of organized prayer, but rather, I was surrounded by people who exemplified Spirit-led life. And I witnessed the power of prayer and prophecy like never before.
The last house I went to for intercessory prayer had the most beautiful, wooden-carved door; and behind it, a woman who had suffered a stroke several years before. She couldn’t move her left arm well, and if you followed her sorrowful gaze, it would take you across her shoulder, down her arm, to a fist that three years of physical therapy couldn’t help her unclench.
She was gripping tight, but not because she wanted to. This wasn’t some grabby child who couldn’t let go of a toy. It was a full grown woman, who was trying to hold on to her former life, and no matter how hard she involuntarily clenched, she was watching it all slip away.
Time had run up on her free physical therapy. She was no longer able to hold a job. A picture frame fell as we shuffled around her living room, and she had to decide if it was worth struggling to prop up with guests still in her home.
I asked God for a word for her, if He could give me something to say. I realized I wanted to tell her it would all get better, she’d be back to normal, just give it some time. But I looked down at my own hand and heard Him tell me that her hand wasn’t the only thing that needed healing.
She needed to let go of so much more than the air trapped between her knuckles. Spiritually, she needed to unclench her fist, like so many others. I got to pray over her and ask the Lord to help her let go of whatever it was.
Afterward, I walked up to her and gently held her arm, and tryingly, she uncurled her fingers to lay her palm against mine. And when I slid away, her fingers curled right up again. But that moment of letting go, of unclenching fists in a glimpse of freedom, it was power. And it was something we could all use a little more of.
