Friday

to listen to punk rock and get prayer

We sat in back of truck filled with
angst-ridden punk rock teenagers,
she with her multi-colored mohawk and
I, bleach blond hair and torn clothes,
arms wrapped tight around knees and
locked deep inside my weary self.
She was beautiful and I,
I was wretched.
Gentleness poured forth from her mouth
while I,
I spouted self hatred.
Loneliness consumed the young girl that
I was,
depression filled teenager running from all
to I knew not what but
desperate to get there.
And she,
she came close with a holy calm and
pulled me in,
this girl younger yet so. much. wiser
than I,
asked the non-christian, God ignorer that I was
with a whisper that rang like sweet song,
"can I pray for you Amy?"


 With profanity spewing all around us,
punk rock music blaring in our ears,
she invited the Holy Spirit to visit us,
and visit us He did.
I don't remember the specifics of her prayer,
but I do remember the awe I felt in that
broken yet holy moment and
I will admit I forgot all about her prayer in
the turmoil of the next few days but
finally,
I remembered.
I remembered after my heart had been torn open,
when I had nothing left of myself and reached out to
He who had been calling for oh. so. long.
I remembered when His peace entered me,
yes me,
who had been gasping for breath and barely able
to stand.
I remembered when I had long been reading my own Bible and
found in a box of my old things a small Bible with
an inscription from her and a note,
a note telling me how she loved me and
her and her mama had been praying fervently for me,
for.
me.



I remembered when  I already knew how
that story ended and
I couldn't breathe just for a moment
when I remembered.
Because I knew.
That prayer.
It brought me to Him.
After she prayed began a whirlwind of teenage
trauma;
running away,
hospitalizations,
oceans of tears...
all leading to a breakdown of self and
Christ lifting me up.

It began with a prayer.
A prayer of simple faith,
prayer in the back of a truck with
punk rock music and obscenities,
safety pins and leather jackets,
mohawks,
piercings,
and...
love.
Wherever you are,
don't forget to pray for someone.



7 comments:

  1. Prayer is such an incredible gift. We just can't know how the hand of God moves when we take the time. Thank you for the reminder.

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  2. Amazing story of healing and hearts that open to the Lord. I was a teen when I found Jesus too, and it was from a place of broken ness and pain that he reached in and found a fragile heart that had a hardness sealed around it. Only through the Holy Spirit can we find hope and healing deep within those broken places. HE has the ability to restore what was once 'broken and fragile' and restore it to a whole and healthy place ... your story is real and wonderful.

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  3. What a wonderful story, Amy. Thank you so much for this lovely piece. And you are right - you never now how our prayers will be answered, how the Spirit of God will work in the hearts of others if we are faithful to pray. (And I love the family picture!!!)

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  4. That. Was. Beautiful! I hardly pray anymore because sometimes I don't know if anyone can hear my prayers.

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  5. So much hope here, Amy. Great peace is ours when faith catches the joyful sound of a longing fulfilled. Sweet to the soul and life to the body.
    (what a gorgeous family you have, too!)

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  6. Hi Amy! Found you through Prodigal. Love your story. Some of it mirrors mine, the punk rock, piercings, group homes, psych wards. Other people praying me to Jesus. Can't wait to read more!

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  7. I just loved this Amy! My story is so similar. I know the power of prayer is so profound. I've seen it in my life and the lives of others I know.
    And you make such a happy family :)

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