The Hope of my World and Prayer for the Saints

I woke up this morning to a night of disturbing dreams.

In my dream my family and I were confined in our home that wasn't our home. We huddled together quietly in a corner, hiding from something or someone. It was like a scene from The Pianist or Schindler’s List. It was quiet, and we weren't doing much of anything, but there was fear all around.

My husband made his way to the window to look out…I woke up.

It was about 4 o'clock in the morning. I could see the fan over our bed and hear the soft snoring of my husband next to me. I put my hand on his back and steadied my breathing.

It was a dream. It was just a nightmare.

My children were safe, upstairs in their beds. Our home was perfect and warm and nothing stirred outside, for in my world, all were still sleeping on this summer night.

I fell back to sleep, praying for rest and peace.

In another room I huddle my children close to me. Covering them in prayers and holding them tightly. I was overcome with fear, yet an unspeakable sense of peace.

I didn't know where my husband was.

I knew there was a foreboding and terror in our midst of this nightmare.

All of a sudden, my children were taken away and I was being held.

I was praying and I saw each of their faces flash before me.

I woke up.

It was morning.

My husband was in the shower getting ready for a regular Monday. My son was watching PBS on TV and the baby had toddled down and sat next to her brother with her thumb in her mouth and blanket over her little legs.

For a minute, in my dreams, the persecution was real in my life.

It was terrifying.

I still feel that terror in the pit of my stomach.

In my world, I have no idea what persecution looks like.

In my world, I am safe and don’t worry about terror or my children being stolen from me or my husband being murdered in front of me.

In my world, our life will likely continue in this way because I just happen to have been born in the land of the free.

There are so many right now who are living my nightmare.

I see their faces and their terror and I cry for them and hurt and am praying for them and I think, ‘Oh my God I don’t know what is happening to this world?’

In my world, I am safe, my children are safe, and my husband is safe.

In my world, we worry about dinner and chauffeuring the kids and being intentional with our lives and marriages.

In my world, I worry about curriculum choices and whether or not my kids are too spoiled.

In my world, I don’t worry about persecution or going to church or praying 

or reading my bible.

In my world, I don’t think about others not having bibles or being able to go to church.

In my world, I have a bible for every room and access to more translations on every ipad and smartphone and computer in the house.

In my world, I can break bread with friends and encourage other believers without fear of being jailed or caught.

Outside of my world there is that world.

That world of fear.

That world of persecution.

That world of terror.

That world of not having enough or anything.

That world of the unsafe.

It’s all around my world.

In the south mothers are sacrificing their children to terrorizing trains in hope of this American dream that is depicted over screens across the world.

In the east, mothers are carrying their dead children as they run away from their homes through deserts in search for hope and salvation.

When I was a girl I didn’t ever do anything un-safe. My brother would try anything and he would come home with bumps and bruise and scrapes and scars.

Not me.

I have one scar on my leg…from shaving. That’s it.

I did not put myself in harms way ever.

I like safe.

I like my world.

I’m scared of that world.

I wish I could pretend that world didn't exist.

I wish I could ignore that world.

And I have tried my best to do so.

I don’t watch the news and I have no news feeds on my Facebook or twitter.

But I can’t get away from that world.

That world is real and it cries out to me.

That world haunts my dreams.

It cries out for prayer. Deep, meaningful, gut wrenching prayer.

It cries out for Jesus. Our savior. Our hope. Our deliverer.

In my dreams I see the faces of children scared and hungry and dying in the desert.

In my dreams I see the bodies of families being laid down one by one, lifeless and gone.

So today I’m praying.

I’m praying for my world. The Whole world.

I’m praying for those cries of the saints that are perfuming the altar of God right now.

I’m praying for the tears of the saints that are pouring over their dead and dying children knowing that God will wipe away all their tears 

and there will be no more death or sorrow or pain.

I’m praying for the fear.

I’m praying for the innocent.

I’m praying for those of us watching and praying and wondering what can that world possibly be like and would we be brave enough to stand in the face of persecution.

I’m praying for those of us watching and praying for courage no matter where we find ourselves today.

I’m praying for deliverance.

I am reminded of Rich Mullins song of long ago…

"My Deliver is coming – My Deliver is standing by

He will never break his promise- He has written it upon the sky.

My Deliverer is coming- my Deliver is standing by…

I will never doubt His promise though I doubt my heart, I doubt my eyes

My Deliverer is coming – My Deliver is standing by

He will never break His promise

Though the stars should break faith with the sky.

My Deliverer is coming- my Deliver is standing by…

And I will remain in the hope that one day ‘Every knee shall bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is LORD (Romans 14:11)."

Pray with me today for the world.

Pray with me for the mothers and the cries in the desert.

Pray with me.  

You are His Beloved, 

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