Page break.

I look at the next prompt and decide that can wait for another day.  Monday.  5:00pm.  What would I normally be doing on a Monday afternoon?  Exactly three weeks ago I had just arrived in Houston for a few days of debrief.  In Nica, Monday evenings, from 5:30 – 6:30 were reserved for Vida Joven prayer with planning at 7.  I’ve talked to Yener, the VJ leader and he assured me that the prayer is still going strong, although they have moved from the prayer house in the back of El Puente to a different leader’s house each week.  That’s cool though.

As God powerfully showed me two weeks ago as I knelt about this time, location really doesn’t matter.  He hears our prayers, whether they’re written out in a notebook (like the last 3 of my 7 journals I finished on the trip), whispered in a back closet of the mind, or said loudly so others can join in.  English, Spanish, or whatever language He just taught me it doesn’t really matter for He can understand us even when we don’t.

When was the first time you were afraid? I don’t know, but I’m glad I wasn’t alone.

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