Spanish Prayers

I am only recently home from Basconcobe, Mexico where I spent a week with a team of ten individuals on a short ministry trip. Basconcobe is the seat of a much loved ministry of my heart known as RAVAH. This ministry serves pastors and their congregations in southernmost Sonora, Mexico.

The two weeks leading up to this trip found me on my knees before the LORD. Why? I was filled with doubt, insecurity, and fear. My prayer to God was simply, “Please, Daddy. Please give me some confirmation that I am doing what You called me to do, that I am indeed following the right path, that yes, I am to go to Nigeria and serve in the ministry I have been striving for.”
I went with the full expectation that God had something to tell me in that dusty agricultural village.

Full of the anticipation that God would speak, and speak in such a way that I would hear I waited for God’s voice. I did not wait for long. In fact, I heard from God on the subject of my heart the very first day.
Here is the story:
Our first evening there, in Basconcobe found our team working to serve 30 pastors and their families at a social gathering. The pastors and their families (200 people) were there to receive thanks from RAVAH for their faithful service to their congregations and communities. We supped together, laughed, and prayed together, two cultures and two languages living for and loving the one true God.

Rather abruptly I heard my name called to the center of the crowd. Intimated, as I had not a clue what was going on, I found myself the sudden attention of 200 people and surrounded by 30 pastors. As one pastor spoke to the group of 30 men surrounding me I caught two words: Missionary and Africa.

My first thought was that the pastors were seeking to hear my testimony. I’d give it, and gladly. But instead of being asked to speak I was touched by each pastor. Then as one, each pastor began to pray a different prayer in Spanish. Oh, how to describe the thrill that ran down my spine and the sudden clarity that their words were spoken as the breath of God…As they began to pray, with their hands on me, I was overcome with weeping by the gift from my Heavenly Daddy. Their prayers washed over me as a tide of God’s voice.

They finished, and still weeping I shook their hands and choked out my thanks, “Gracias. Dios te Bendiga” (Thank you. God bless you). I walked away to compose myself and to stand in awe of my LORD for a moment.
I spent the remainder of the short mission trip unpacking what God had said in that moment: In the midst of a sleepy village, surrounded by shepherd pastors and their families, I was commissioned by God, again. Now, it is a world movement of the body of Christ, the Church as one. I have been commissioned: “So, just go, Katherine. The details will work themselves out; they are not unknown to Me, my beloved. Go, I shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace, daughter.”