The house is dark, outlined only by the light of the moon shining brightly overhead. The sounds within the confines of the wood walls are only of silence mingled with deep-sleep breathing and the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the dining room. Natalie stirs in the warmth of her bed and feels a surge in her soul. Her eyes flash open as she lays still and listens—what has awaken her? Her pulse begins to race—did she hear something in her sleep? She waits….nothing. Moments click by and she feels a pressure within her chest as a flash of her younger brother smolders in her mind. Derrik? Fear overwhelms her as she ponders if she has glimpsed things to come, if Derrik is in danger, if Derrik is dead. But, the pressure continues to press against her chest and she realizes the time has come—not to worry or fret, but to pray. Natalie begins to pray a feverish prayer for Derrik’s life and protection on him—wherever he is.
Derrik’s lifestyle is no secret to their family—he is an alcoholic, a drug abuser, a drug dealer—who knows where that life leads him every day. He is in and out of their lives in bursts of family gatherings—always reeking of alcohol, always needing money. His eyes wild, his sweet personality hiding beneath the high he is on—the high he feels he needs to be in their presence.
Natalie pushes those thoughts from her mind as she continues to talk to God, to plead for Derrik’s life, to intercede on his behalf. Even as she prays, she feels her eyes closing, her lids becoming as heavy as iron fetters, pushing her into a deep sleep. She feels the pressure again and hears the whisper of God’s word stirring up from her soul—reminding her of Jesus’ rebuke to his disciples when he asked them to pray in the garden to only find them sleeping when he returned. I must pray—Derrik’s life is at stake, she whispers to herself forcing her eyes to open and her mind to focus on Derrik—her baby brother.
Later, she wouldn’t recall how long she prayed, how long she thrashed in her bed begging God to spare his life, reminding God that He had planned a purpose in Derrik’s life—Derrik could be saved. She would only remember that at last her tormented soul rested and she felt spent and satisfied. Then she slept only to wake the next morning with the vivid memory of her desire to pray. She called Derrik’s cell phone. It rang and went to voice mail. She left him a message telling him that she was worried about him, that she had prayed for him during the night. “I just wanted you to know that. I love you, Derrik,” she blurted into the phone wondering what he would think when he got the message--if he got the message.
She couldn’t know that in that moment she had interceded for her brother’s life—that the pressure she felt to pray was the voice of God whispering hope in her life. Years later while she sat across from her brother talking about the addictions he still had, he would ask her if she remembered the time she called him and told him she had prayed. She would said she did—she remembered both times. Her baby brother would then look straight into her eyes and tell her he remembered both times well also. He remembered both times because he knew exactly where he was during those nights when she prayed—he remembered why his life was in danger—a drug deal going bad and a car driven with the hands of a driver high on cocaine. His life was spared both times—he knew it and because of Natalie’s obedience he also knew that a greater being existed, able to connect the breath of God in his life—even when he was running as quickly as he could from the breath of God whispering hope in his soul.
Whispering Hope
Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word.
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.
Whispering hope,
O how welcome Thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.
When we look into the life of an addict—we see no hope. When we see a homeless woman on the street—we see no hope. When we look at the ruins of our own dreams—we see no hope. God sees hope, God sees restoration, God sees his plan from start to finish. God sees the fig tree bearing fruit, not withered and wasted in a desert land.
In Romans chapter 5 we are reminded that our sufferings build perseverance, perseverance builds character, and character—well it builds hope. We all want to be of strong character. We want to be able to weather any storm without fear, with the full faith that we will persevere through the trial and come out the other side victorious. God wants that for us also, but he knows that in order for us to become that person, we have to make it through those trials. We have to be tested in the fire. We have to battle our demons, relying on God to help us forgive those who have hurt us, to leave our despair and doubt behind us, to look forward to the prize and claim it for our own. When we fill our lives with our weaknesses, we hinder God’s plan for our lives.
But OUR God is a God of impossibles. He is the God of the hopeless. He is the God of the drug dealer, the homeless, the dreamer, the broken-hearted, the sinner. He is the God who allows you and me to intercede on His behalf while we walk this weary wasteland.
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