By ANNIE WESCHE
I had reached a breaking point. I felt spent, desperate even. Both my body and soul were at a point of exhaustion. How much longer, Lord?, I cried within.
My friend Gerda and I had moved to Haiti to provide care for two precious babies while we waited for their adoption process to complete. For both of us and their waiting parents, the entire adoption process had been fraught with obstacles, dangers, disappointments, and delays. What we all thought would likely be about a nine-month journey was now creeping painfully near the two-year mark. The fresh passion and faith I had at the beginning of our adventure had been worn down to weary discouragement.
That particular night, after the children had been put to bed and I was going through my evening routine, I reached a breaking point — I was either going to scream or burst into tears. Needing to find somewhere to be alone, I tiptoed through the quiet orphanage where we were living to a room I knew was likely empty at this time of night. To my relief, it was.
Going into the room I flipped the light on, only to quickly turn it back off. The moonlight was pouring in through a solitary window, lending just enough light to see about the room but keeping things dim enough that I felt hidden away in secret.
In the secret place. My soul seemed to cry from every fiber of my being to find a secret and safe place with God. Shutting the door, I fell to the tiled floor and knelt against the bottom of a metal bunkbed frame. I began to release tears that had been held in for many weeks. My frustrations, exhaustion, discouragement, and fears were poured out before the throne of grace and the ears of the One who knew. He knew every battle and obstacle we had endured for nearly two years. He knew every moment we had gathered courage and fought for joy amid the difficulty of life in a third-world country. He knew my love for these two children and my longing for them to reach their wonderful, waiting family. He knew every roadblock in our way — from corruption and fraudulent papers, to actual gang roadblocks and slow government systems.
As the releasing of tears lightened my heart’s heaviness, I rose from where I’d been kneeling and walked over to the window. Standing there, I looked up and gazed at the bright moon radiantly shining out over a country of darkness and remembered what my father once asked me when I was young.
“Annie, do you know what God calls the moon? His faithful witness.” (See Psalm 89:37.)
As sure as the full moon shone above me, I was certain of God’s loving sight of me there. And I knew that He was not only able to bring the breakthrough we all needed to get these children home, but also sustain me for as long as it would take.
There, under the glow of His faithful witness and in fresh reflection upon His power and love, I was stirred to continue praying with new fervor and faith. I began pacing around the small room declaring aloud who God was for our situation.
“You are Mighty God, Good Father, Lord over all, God of Breakthroughs, Burden-Bearer, God of all Comfort, Prince of Peace, Protector, and Provider! Thank You, Lord, that though my strength is spent, Your storehouse of enabling grace and joy is endless! Thank You that You are the lifter of my head, You are with us, You are mighty to save, and You can open doors that no man — or government — can close!”
Still pacing the room, prayers began to flow out from a heart that was being filled up through worship, and a new strength rose up in my weary body and soul. I began to cry different tears — tears of joy with humbled awe at His matchless love, comfort, and given strength. It was as if God had wrapped His reassuring arms about me.
Pausing, I stood still in the center of the room, dressed in moonlight with tears flowing down my face, and I whispered in the quiet, “O, Lord, I love You. I love You! Thank You. Thank You for meeting me here in this secret place. Thank You for using my desperation to bring me to my knees where I could find shelter, rest for my soul, and hope in Your presence.”
What I experienced that night was so very precious — I had entered that room with desperate weariness, but left it with a renewal that was indescribable! My circumstances hadn’t changed, but I had been changed. I don’t remember how long I prayed that night, but my exhaustion had melted away and I was upheld by a new strength of both body and soul, regardless of the late hour. Eventually I tiptoed back to my bed beside the little ones fast asleep and laid my head upon the pillow with a greater soul-rest than I had experienced in months.
I returned to that same room night after night, quietly slipping away after others had gone to bed, to meet with my Prince of Peace in that moonlit room. My new nightly prayer routine became what I looked forward to more than anything — after the needs of each long day had been tended to, I could go to the secret place for as long as I desired. I no longer craved sleep, but the presence of my God. With Him was my refuge, my rest, my strength, my hope, and my heart’s song.
So sweet were these times of prayer — unlike anything I’d ever known before — that I even found myself asking God to wait to bring us home! I simply didn’t want this beautiful season of intimacy with Him to end.
Some weeks later, we learned that we would need to move to another building on the property, and my first thought was one of panic. No, Lord, I don’t want to leave this house where I have my place of refuge with You at the end of each day!
But within my heart came a gentle assurance and challenge: I’d simply need to find a new place to steal away with the Lord. And the very first night, I did — learning that it was not the place, but the presence of God that was my refuge. And He was with me wherever I would go.
We moved several more times after that, and each time, I would quickly find a special place to resume my nightly getaways with the Lord — sometimes an open common room after everyone else had gone to bed, another time a quiet hallway, and even for a short season a cluttered storage closet. But I found that any place could be transformed to one of cherished intimacy with Jesus.
· · ·
In the years since God brought us all home from Haiti, I haven’t consistently kept these long evenings of prayer like I did in that unique season, but whenever I have returned to a similar pattern of evening prayer, (often pressed from a place of desperate need) God has done precious things within my soul and circumstances! And as I recount this story for you now, my heart is freshly longing to cultivate such rich times of prayer once again.
Our God waits with readied ear to incline Himself to the prayers of His people. What an utterly humbling and awe-inspiring image! God inclines — do you know what that means? He leans in lovingly … towards us. He is not spread thin among His children like we would be or divided among the unfathomable number of cries lifted to Him all throughout the world. His ears are attentive to each cry whether it is lifted while we wash dishes, on our drive home from work, as we comfort a crying baby in the middle of the night, in a moment of crisis, or in a special set-aside time of evening prayer. May we not miss what He has for us in the secret place of prayer.
I waited patiently for the Lord;
and He inclined to me and heard my cry.
Psalm 40:1
Because He has inclined His ear to me,
therefore I will call upon Him as long as I live.
Psalm 116:2
This article was originally published in Issue 43.
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