I didn't fully understand the power of prayer until a few days ago.
I mean I understood that prayer was powerful but i didn't understand the POWER it can have.
How it can be the very voice of God. How you can feel God's presence pulsing through you. How it can knock people to the ground.
It can. I have seen it.
Granada, Nicaragua is a beautiful old colonial town that looks like it might be invaded by pirates at any moment. E squad was there for four days of much needed rest and debrief before we embark on the next few months of ministry. However, ministry is never really over. Not for any of us. There are opportunities around every corner where God is waiting to change someone's life.
Through YOU! You just need to listen.
On our last night in Granada, a small group of us were heading back to our hostel after eating as much chocolate as we could hold. we stopped and talked to some of the street venders as the music and the night life began to come alive around us.
Suddenly a man came up to us, speaking nearly perfect English. He was as high as a kite and had been drinking but he seemed determined to talk to us. He told us his name was Moses. After a while the conversation turned to why we were in Nicaragua. When we told him we were missionaries he became vary quite. Someone asked him is he ever went to church. He slowly nodded.
"I went three weeks ago," He said, "But I have a big problem."
"What's your problem?"
"Drugs…I am addicted to crack."
I saw such pain and longing in his eyes. He explained that he had been to rehab many times but he could never stay clean for more than a few weeks. He said he wanted to break free so badly, but he couldn't.
"Do you want to ask Jesus for help?"
He nodded. Six pairs of hands went to his shoulders begging Jesus to set this man free of his addictions and to be filled with life and hope. Then God's power came in the middle of our prayer. I could feel it. Moses was knocked to the ground. In the main street of Granada. People began to gather around, everyone was looking at us. It was a little weird, I have to admit. I was a bit freaked out. Until Moses opened his eyes, completely sober. He got up, eyes shining. All he could say was "Wow!" for the next five minutes. He pointed at my squad mate, Denise, who was praying in Spanish and said,
"When this girl speaks, I know it is not her. It is Jesus talking to me. I Can hear him"
He said he needed to tell us something. He lead us to a bench in the middle of the town square and began to tell us about his life and how he was abandoned by his family and had lived on the streets for many years, and had slept many times on the very bench we sat on. He said he had never told anyone this story before and he had no idea what had happened in the street just now, but he knew that Jesus loved him and he knew that Jesus could heal him.
We talked late into the night. The street venders had gone home, the bars had closed and even the street kids had come and kissed us good night.
Moses' life was changes that night because of the power of prayer. Because of the power of Jesus.
It is there. It is real.
It is real when you want to break free so badly but you can't, or when your life is so broken only Jesus can pull you out.
There is something real when we speak to Jesus.
He hears us, He speaks though us, He heals us, He loves us.
The Power is Real.
