when you see it. You feed off of it. You want it. As I imagine
the kind of praying you’ve been doing while we’ve shared this
brief journey together, as well as the prayers you’ll continue to
be reading and rereading from your walls and corkboards and
tablets, the beauty of your praying wafts through my mind like
the incense it truly is before the Lord. I love the thought of it. I
love what we’ve shared and what we’re sharing. I love
knowing that a sister like you is uniting with me and with
thousands of others in devoting ourselves to prayer.
But the second reason is one I couldn’t have known at the
time those many years ago, yet can see so clearly now as I
write this final chapter and look back on that unique
experience. You see, at the end of that first meeting (which, by
the way, I attended faithfully for the next seven years), the
person who was teaching from the Bible that day—a man I’d
never met beforehand, a man who didn’t know me or anything
about me—looked my direction and spoke directly to me. From
my vantage point he was framed between a couple of pairs of
shoulders positioned between us, but he was obviously
addressing me. (“Yes. You.”) I held my breath while he told me
in vivid terms that, among other things, he sensed I would
have the privilege of calling many people to prayer during my