The Power of Prayer and the Miracle the followed.
More than two years ago God presented me with a miracle. Whenever God performs a miracle for one of his children you must show him praise by sharing it with your brothers and sisters. I did not. At least not on the scale that it deserved. It is not like I did not have the opportunity. In fact, I attended a large bible-based church that welcomed the testimony of its parishioners. But I took the cowards way out. I was much more like Moses than his brother Aaron. I do not do well in front of large crowds. When I went to Sunday service the week after the miracle occurred, I elected not to share it with the hundreds who were there. Nor when I went to mid-week service did, I elect to share it with the hundreds again who were in attendance. Instead, I waited until weekday morning prayer service and shared it with the fifty who were there. This failure to do right by God has laid heavy on my heart. I am doing now what God has wanted me to do, share this miracle with you. It is a true story and hopefully it will inspire you.
A couple of years ago our daughter called to say she was being laid off, that was the bad news; the good news was a friend of hers who worked at another company submitted her resume to the hiring manager and they were interested in speaking with her. Like they say, GOD does not close a door without opening a window.
I knew our daughter not only wanted but needed this job, so I decided to look to God in prayer. Not only did I decide to pray for our daughter but to fast as well. When it comes to prayer, fasting is like putting high octane fuel in your prayer tank. I then sought the privacy of my bedroom, aka, the War Room to conduct my praying. I sat on the side of the bed and emptied my mind to allow it to be filled with the spirit of the Lord. This was my way of clothing myself in metaphorical armor because to be a prayer warrior, I had to spiritually look the part. And even though I was praying to God, Satan would be listening, waiting and watching for the chance to test my faith.
I began praying, Dear Heavenly Father, as a descendant of the King of Kings, I pray today to you for your help. I pray not for myself but for my daughter. I ask that the power of the Holy Trinity, The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit, be behind my prayer request. I ask, as a Christian with faith merely the size of a mustard seed, that my prayer will be heard. I am praying that whoever is in possession of my daughter’s resume keep it on top of the pile of all other candidates. I am praying her name remains in the minds of those who are to interview her. I am praying the hiring manager encourages whoever has the final word to choose my daughter for the position. In the name of my Lord God, along with Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, I pray to thee not for myself but for my daughter.
I pray those with the power to hire her realize she is the best candidate for the job.
I pray those with the power to hire her see her as an asset to this company.
I pray those with the power to hire see her potential.
As a descendent of the king of kings, I pray.
For seven days in my War Room, I prayed. I prayed this same prayer, never deviating in any way. And each day while I was in prayer, I felt a presence there. I hoped it was God, or Jesus, or the Holy Ghost or the Holy Trinity itself but something was there.
During that week, our daughter would call with updates, all of it was positive, zoom interviews, phone calls, talk of in-person interviews. Everything looked promising. My prayer vigil and fasting had begun on Monday and it was now Friday. It was also on Friday that our daughter received word that they were skipping in-person interviews and were going to decide by Monday on the position. The waiting had begun for our daughter, but I still had two days of prayer and fasting remaining. I did not pray any harder because that was not necessary. I simply completed what I started.
On Sunday, after I said the last pray of my vigil, my husband came into the room and sat next to me on the bed. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me that if our daughter gets the job, it is because of my prayers. Then he suggested we go out to eat, since my fasting was officially over. I agreed but asked for a couple of minutes to say an ending prayer, so he left the room to give my privacy. But it was not another prayer that I needed to say, what I needed to do was deal with the doubt my husband’s encouraging words had placed on my heart. As innocent as my husband words were, for some reason I began to wonder, if our daughter gets the job how will I know if it was my prayers that accomplished it or was it just coincidence.
And there it was ladies and gentlemen, Satan. He waited for the perfect moment to turn faith into doubt. That is why we call it a War Room. That is why you must be a prayer warrior. And that is why we wear metaphorical armor. But as heavily equipped as I was as a Christian; it did not take a lot for Satan to have me doubting God. With one innocent comment, Satan had turned me from a prayer warrior to a prayer worrier. I had allowed Satan to put a question mark where God already put a period.
I put on a brave face that evening when my husband took me out to eat. I did not want him to know how miserable I really felt. I did not want him to know that his simple words of encouragement had me questioning the power of prayer. I felt bad because I should not have felt the way I was feeling, but I did. So, instead I smile, talked, and ate my meal as if everything were okay.
Halfway through the meal, my husband received a call from a friend of ours named Ed. Our daughter worked for him when she first graduated from college up until he retired. She had listed him as a professional reference on her resume. We asked him to call us if anyone reached out to him. But it was eight o’clock on a Sunday evening, so I could not imagine that he was calling about our daughter. Because the restaurant was noisy, my husband left me at the table while he went to take the call.
About five minutes later my husband returned to our table.
“She got the job, honey. You did it.”
“What do you mean she got the job,” I asked stunned, “Did Ed tell you she got the job? How would he know?”
Having been a department manager as well as a business owner, I have given dozens of job references and never once has the caller confirmed or denied the status of the applicant they were inquiring about, never once, even when I asked. So, I am sure you can understand my confusion.
“Listen honey,” my husband went on to explain, “Ed said, after giving the reference he thought that was it. But this lady just blurted out without him asking that they were going to offer her the job. And then she went on to say,”
That she thought our daughter was the best candidate for the job.
That she was sure she would be a great asset to the company.
And that everyone who interviewed her thought she showed enormous potential.
I sat there with my mouth open, speechless.
“What’s wrong honey,” he asked, “she got the job.”
When I found my words again, I blurted out, “That was my prayer. That was my prayer. Almost word for word. That was my prayer.”
My husband was confused. He had no idea what my prayers had contained. And he did not know the doubt Satan had placed in my heart. Nor did he understand the tears that streamed from my eyes. Tears when I realized that God had not only answered my prayers, but he put back the period that Satan had tried to replace with a question mark. And God let me know on that Sunday evening that when it comes to prayer, there is no such thing as coincidence. And he did so by using my own words. How awesome is that? How awesome is God? How great a miracle was that?
We got to call our daughter that evening and congratulate her on her new job. She did not really believe us until the company called her the next day and offered it to her.