In some ways, I think this idea weighed in on my decision to pursue vocational ministry–to belong to an idea that I’m a part of a larger, unique, and beautiful story. A story of redemption, a story of triumph, a story of victory over all the ugly the world can throw at us.
A couple of nights ago, women I knew and women I’ve never met gathered together all over the world to pray. For a brief moment in history, hundreds of thousands of women in towns big and little, affluent and impoverished gathered together to pray–for our people, our nation, and our world.
We were all connected. We were a part of it all.
Women in Germany met us on “American time” and prayed for us while we prayed for them. A group of women in an undisclosed part of Southeast Asia huddled together and prayed that their people would know their God. I dreamed about it last night. In it, I was looking at the whole world and seeing little lights flickering on every continent and hearing all these voices rising up in different languages. I didn’t understand the words, but somehow they all fit together in perfect rhythm. Oh, loves, how I wish you could have heard it!
In our little town, in a shelter at a baseball field we lit some candles and prayed. We prayed for the women who are fleeing persecution and for the ones who are living in our town that are too weary and too downtrodden to even lift their eyes to the One who created them. We prayed for empty bellies to be filled, for protection for our sisters near and those who are far away, we prayed for a mighty swell of bravery to sweep over our county like a great wind, the kind of wind that takes your breath away but gives you energy all at the same time. We prayed for truth to be revealed and for lives to be changed.
We broke bread. We confessed. We told stories.
Then, as all the cars were driving away, we looked at each other and said, “that was perfect.”
And it was, sisters, it really was.