A Stake In The Ground

Orignal blog by Gina Gallagher’s Blog, Whispers of His Movement: http://www.whispersofhismovement.com/2019/01/14/a-stake-in-the-ground/

The invitation came to my Facebook page.
It was an invitation to be part of a prayer time.
I was invited to pray with others for the sanctity of life.
The prayer time was to be held at the three locations of our crisis pregnancy center.

My daughter, who is the mother of my granddaughter, is on the board of the pregnancy center.
We decided to go together to a location that was close to us.
This is near and dear to my heart.
Both prayer and the sanctity of life matter greatly to me.

We drove together.
We talked all the way.
When we got inside, I saw quite a few pastors that I knew well.
I saw staff members who work tirelessly for life each day.

There is something so welcoming about this place.
The freshly painted walls, the smiles on every face, the soft music playing in the background.
A stake has been put in the ground here.
This place belongs to the Lord Jesus.

Whenever there is a call to prayer, there is an order that has to happen so things go smoothly.
We were broken up into three groups.
A pastor was stationed in one of three rooms.
Each group rotated from room to room throughout the morning.

There was the counseling room, where young mothers are listened to and encouraged.
There was the parenting room, where classes are held for the young mothers and fathers.
There was the medical room, where pregnancy tests are done and ultrasounds are performed.
The stake in the ground goes deep; this is holy ground.

As I stood next to the exam table in the medical room, I thought of the frightened young women.
I thought of the staff who come alongside these young mothers and encourage them.
I thought of decisions that are made in that room as the woman sees her baby for the first time.
I thought of the tears of joy when she realizes how much God loves her and her baby.

Encouragement is given throughout the woman’s pregnancy and after the baby is born.
As the young mother comes to classes, she earns points that she can redeem.
She can redeem points for diapers, wipes, formula, clothes, and other items she may need.
Helping them find a place to live and work is another way these young women are loved.

We prayed over each room.
We prayed for the young mothers and their babies.
We prayed for the fathers.
We prayed first and foremost that relationships with Jesus would begin.

The director of the pregnancy center is bilingual.
She speaks Spanish with ease, which is so helpful when a young mother needs to communicate.
Her father, who is a pastor, came to the prayer time as well.
He father can only speak Spanish; he never learned English.

I smiled at him.
I watched him with his Bible in his hand as he waited patiently.
I realized we were all talking around him.
He looked down at the ground as we all talked.

The director, her father, my daughter, and myself were part of a group.
As the pastor led us in prayer, the director translated his words into Spanish for her father.
She spoke softly in small chunks as she told her father what was being said.
She did not translate our prayers.

We each took turns to pray.
With my eyes closed, I heard him.
His prayer sounded like music.
I did not understand anything he was saying but his prayer was so beautiful.

Now and then I would hear, Jesus.
Now and then I would pick up words that I thought I understood.
I thought of God, the Father, to whom we pray.
God understood every word of his prayer; no translation was needed.

Do our prayers sound like music to God?
To think that God is able to hear every prayer, in every language, at the same time astounds me.
To think that God answers all those prayers as if each person was the only one praying to Him.
To think that we are fully known to God no matter where we live or what language we speak.

I felt tears come to my eyes as I heard this older pastor pray.
It did not matter that I did not understand him.
It only matters that God understands.
I saw the tender love of a father and daughter, as she whispered the translation in his ears.

I sat in church and heard a couple pray.
They are on the mission field now, but were part of our church when it first began.
My eyes were closed.
We speak the same language, so I understood every word.

I heard something that spoke to my heart.
Our prayers are to be more like a battleship rather than a cruise ship.
Prayer is battle.
It is a weapon the enemy hates us to use.

God calls us to pray to Him.
No matter what language we speak, God hears.
God understands.
God answers.

We battled for life.
We battled for the mothers and their babies that they come to know Jesus.
We battled for the families that surround each young woman who walks through the door.
We battled for the fathers that they would be actively involved in their child’s life.

We battled as we prayed for government leaders as they make decisions for life.
We battled as we prayed for our churches that they would not be afraid to take a stand for life.
We battled as we prayed that the board members and staff would not grow weary.
We battled as we prayed for the resources and equipment at each facility.

There were no cruise ships present on that day.
There were only battleships.
The stake was planted deeper and deeper into the ground.
This place belongs to the Lord; it is His and His alone.

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
(1 Corinthians 15:57)

Gina Gallagher, Whispers of His Movement, whispersofhismovement.com