“… I tell you the truth, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matthew 17:20)
In Zimbabwe, the Lord led me to fast for lost souls. I mounted a horse and headed for the highest kopje (hill). For hours I bowed on my face in an abandoned foundation. As God’s holiness moved onto the kopje, I was reduced to recounting my own failures.
“How can you use the prayers of a wayward sinner against the stranglehold of evil on this land?”
The greatness of our God and the smallness of my faith held me to the ground. Linear time ceased as I watched specks dancing over the cement. I stared sideways trying to fathom what I beheld. Hundreds of gray flecks waltzed within the one meter tall brick wall.
In the vista below, Native Africans had set the grasslands on fire to clear the fields. A dozen smoke plumes reached into the sky from three hundred sixty degrees around the kopje. Ashes rained into my temporary sanctuary where the breeze swept them in circles.
Here is how my little faith interpreted the spectacle. The blazes began while I prayed, and just so, God's Spirit put a match to the nonphysical landscape to burn away ancestor worship. With a partnership I didn’t deserve, the Lord used the dancing ashes to demonstrate angelic rejoicing over repentant hearts to come. He heard my small prayers.
A wondrous time of God’s healing followed in the district. Leaders prayed in unity, denominations worshiped together, and witchcraft dried up.
When the prayer of faith strikes the steel of desperation a spark ignites the blast of God’s power.
Prayer: Listening God, hear my small prayers.