My favorite sessions at Training Camp were about walking in the power of the Holy Spirit. For much of my life I pretty much thought of Him as my conscience, but within the past year I have seen so many things that made it clear He is still so much more. Training camp was no exception.
One night in particular, Deon was sharing story after story of people being healed and miracles happening, all because someone prayed and asked the Lord to move and He did. After about 20 minutes, I was HYPED to say the least. Then he seemed to go off track and told a silly story about the moose from Brother Bear. They yell into the mountain, it echoes back, and they yell at the echo. Then Deon said maybe my favorite thing from all of training camp.
“If your life is just telling other people’s stories, you are living as an echo when you were called to be a voice.”
So we put it to action that night, and prayed for healing over people on our own squad. Some pretty amazing things happened. But the biggest thing, was that there was a shift in my heart. I wanted to be a voice. I had doubted if I could be, but how could I deny the healing that took place that night literally under my fingertips?
I wanted a lot more of that.
It’s hard. This is so new for me. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how to start. And I don’t always trust my discernment, but I want it. So when our leadership team challenged us this month to go out and pray over our communities, I was about it. I wanted a story to tell.
As a team we decided to pray before hand to focus ourselves and just connect with God. We asked for vision and guidance; anything to give us some insight on where He would want us to go or who He would want us to speak to.
Cassie said she had a picture of the outline of a house with two smaller houses butting up to it on either side. I got a picture of a horse, which wasn’t too odd since we had seen some carriages walking down the street now and then. But, then I saw something weird. You know the symbol for communism? The intersecting sickle and moon thing? Yeah. I saw that. So weird, because I typically associate that with Russia, not South America, and to be honest I wasn’t even sure what the thing besides the sickle was. It felt so weird to me I didn’t even say it out loud.
Then off we went!
We started in a plaza a few blocks from our house in La Pintana. There was a Catholic church there similar in shape to what Cassie saw. Her, Bry and I sort of just gravitated towards it and sat down to pray and wait while the rest of our team walked off in pairs. We sat in front of the church and waited for some time. This is new to all of us, so we started thinking, “where is the line?” When do you sit and wait and for the Lord to bring you someone and when do you go and seek someone out. We honestly had no clue, but we started to all get restless and took it as a sign to go. We walked and wandered up and down streets. Somewhere in this time I mentioned to Bry and Cassie the sickle.
We talked to some people on the street, but it was all just small talk. Then we turned a new corner and I almost stopped in my tracks.
“Guys, is that the symbol?” – I had to ask because I have honestly seen it so few times.
“Uh yep. And the building it’s on is the shape I described.” – Cassie.
“Okay. Sooo what now?” – me.
We sat on a bench directly across the street and just stared. (I do not suggest staring at people you may want to pray with. It’s weird.)
There were two men sitting outside the building working on ovens.
As I sat wondering if this was just the place to wait or if we were to talk to the men, a sweet old lady walked up and kissed us right on the face. We prayed with her and she just seemed to sweep peace over me, but I still had the feeling more was coming. She left quickly and I looked back up to the men, still working.
“If we go over there, what do we say? I know some Spanish, but maybe not the kind of words to explain what we are doing.” About that time, one of the men looked up at us and waved. We took that as our invitation and crossed the street.
They introduced themselves, both were named Luis. [Fun fact: there is actually a third Luis and they all play in a band together.] We introduced ourselves and said we were missionaries which is still super weird to say. They asked us how long we would be in Chile because everyone asks us that. We explained as much as we could about the World Race. At this point I’m either really impressed with my Spanish or convinced that the Lord has given me the ability to speak in tongues because I am having no problem communicating. Praise.
As we are chatting I was just praying trying to figure out where to go with this and then I look down to the Luis that was sitting. My eyes darted back up, probably alarmingly to Bry and Cassie. “Guys. There is a horse on his shirt.”
At this point I’m zeroed in. Luis #1, what do you need? I asked him if he had anything we could pray for, especially any pain? He said yes. He had been in an accident in his 40s and his knee had hurt him ever since. (I would say that’s about 30 years or so) I asked him if we could pray over it and he said yes.
I knelt down next to him, placed my hand on knee, and just prayed healing into his body. I prayed that the removal of pain would be something tangible for him to know that God was still working in him and loved him personally.
As we finished the prayer I asked him if it was better and he said yes. He started moving it around and from the chair kicked it much higher than I would expect a perfect healthy many of his age to do.
And honestly, that was it. We thanked them and blessed them and walked away. It was that simple. I think maybe it is supposed to be.
But as we left, I began to wrestle with some questions.
What is my comfort zone? Most people would probably say that this kind of activity is definitely pushing them out of their comfort zones; that it is testing them, challenging them, and just plain uncomfortable. And on the surface, I may say the same. But really thinking about what happened that day, I feel like maybe that is my comfort zone. Not because it’s easy. Not because I know what I’m doing. Not even because I am always sure what He is saying. It is my comfort zone because it is the time I feel the most connect with God. It is the most obvious proof that He is speaking to me and through me. I have no doubt that He is in the moment because nothing I am seeing or saying makes sense to me, but it is real and comes to pass with power. I can’t doubt His love or His presence when something like that happens, and that’s more comfort than I could ask for.
My comfort zone is a place where He is. Where I see Him and feel directed by Him. Where I feel used by Him. I cannot be insecure there. I cannot doubt myself there. I never want to leave there.
It’s a weird place to be; praying over strangers and expecting miracles. But if it’s where He is, what greater comfort could we find?
This is Luis! And there he sits, in the center of the house, right under the sickle, right in my comfort zone.
