Battle tactics

My fast was a washout.

I have been reading a book about fasting. I want to supercharge my prayer time with fasting. (And ask for healing from autoimmune issues and GI stuff.)

I just said

My first try at fasting was a washout.


I have decided to reframe that thought and learn some things:

  1. I need to start slow. Not try to show off.
    6 hours…8 hours…12 hours…24 hours…not hearing anything about after that: I think the Holy Spirit is preparing for a big battle with a 21 day fast. #Goliath
  2. I need to avoid computer games and social media during my time of seeking God for stuff.
  3. Accountability. I won’t fast alone next time.
  4. Holy Spirit directed. I will make sure to check ✔️ with God about what I’m doing. (I did that last time, but not the other three things.)
  5. Agree upon and write down when my fast ends and what were praying for with my team #focused
Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

💰 where your 👄 is

I was freaked out about two of my adult children today. You see, I heard them fighting.

I was hurrying out to protect my adult disabled daughter (the way no one had me when I was her age)…

****not to assume that she needed protecting (as I once had at her age.) ****(hmmm.note to self– talk to my therapist about that later.)

I heard God tell me (however that works, I got an impression or saw a picture of things happening)

to stop.

Not to get in the middle of their argument

  • not to rush to the rescue, just be quiet for a minute
  • not to assume that she needs protecting (as I once had at her age)
  • not to rush in to right the wrongs of the 🌎 just yet

So I listened. (Ummm…hard-won lesson)

  • I prayed the blood of Jesus over our home
  • I prayed specifically for each kid (I mean loved one–they’re not kids anymore, at 19 and 21)
  • I prayed that any plans of the enemy for this fight would boomerang on them and cut off his head.

Before long the emotionally charged verbage stopped, and I heard my husband’s voice, and shortly thereafter, the sound of relieved and hilarious laughter.

WWWHHHEEEEWWWW!!! That could have gone very badly.

I heard an earlier conversation with my best friend replaying in my head:

…About my job being to pray and counsel my children and listen to them during this stressful time in history and in our family.

…About that being my assignment during this season of being flat on my back–and an underrated assignment at that.

…about what I actually believe about prayer

  • That the God of the universe is actually listening?
  • That my prayers do actual damage to the enemy of our souls?
  • That what I’m doing when I pray actually changes the course of human events?
  • in short, that prayer matters?

Yes. I actually do.

Then

I must put my money where mouth is.

Iron Lungs and Multiple Sclerosis🌻🙏🌻

I had a dream about my grandson just now.  It’s 5:48 am.  My husband is already gone to work.  Bless him.

My grandson was born during the worst of the pandemic.  I didn’t see him or hold him for four months.  I’ve only seen him five times since then.  The prognosis for the future is not much better.

So that’s my row to hoe.  My lemons from life.  My sitch. (Short for situation, Auntie. From the show Kimpossible.)

I keep thinking of iron lungs.  as in polio.

The crumpled (tearstrained, I bet) baby picture of Charles Stanley that was found wedged into the casing of his dad’s iron lung in the polio ward where he lived out his last years.

away from his family

visited only by his tired wife ( between jobs and caring for their small child).

 

The photo of their son was found wedged so as to be seen by the polio patient during his long, silent immobile hours.

un-kissed and un-played with but not un-loved or un-seen.🌻

I believe that the annointing on Charles Stanley’s preaching, living and helping is largely due to the prayers his father prayed for him as he lay there, imprisoned in a big iron cage that was breathing for him.

( I am just one such person Pastor Stanley has helped.  Through his YouTube sermons. Saved my life once from death my own hand. Grateful.)

God was talking to me (However that works?) About my grandson who I’ve only seen a handful of hours in his little life.

Born during the pandemic.

un-kissed and un-played with but not un-loved or un-seen.🌻,
God was offering me a deal.  A promise.

If I will pray over him from my MS bed.

If I will ask Him.

Trust Him with my little guy.

Then He takes that seriously.  He will give my sweet grandbaby’s life

favor and blessings and love and usefulness.

Meaning.

Hope.

Because

Even though I can’t be there, He CAN.  He’s all over it.

He answers the prayers of lonely grandmas

and rejected servants

and beleaguered single parents

And just anyone who asks

Because He’s the God who sees me.