She sat next to me with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Clutching her rosary beads with quivering lips, she smiled at me. It was time for the flight attendants to make sure everyone was secure in their seatbelts. We were ready for takeoff.

I couldn’t stop glancing over at her. She was praying, and I could feel the passion in every quiet word she lifted to the heavens. I’ve never been drawn to tell a perfect stranger my life story before, but I was anxious to pour out everything to her.

I needed someone like her to pray for me.

I introduced myself, and she was more than happy to share a heart-to-heart. She had been visiting her children and was heading home. The years have erased some of our conversation from my memory, but I won’t ever forget her sincerity. She was eighty-six years old. I was twenty-three.

The year was 1996. Only months before, I buried a daughter and with her my dreams. The sweet woman promised to pray for me. I prayed she wouldn’t forget.

She believed in prayer, and I was desperate for it.

I’ve heard sermons on prayer, searched scripture about prayer, prayed millions of prayers myself, but on that airplane more than eighteen years ago, I learned what it is to pray with power.

To be able to feel someone’s love for Jesus, as they murmur their heart and soul to Him, is beauty that knows no bounds. And the power that lies inside those whispered words, as they burst through heaven’s door, is sincere love.

Right at that moment, I decided I wanted to be that kind of warrior. The one who fights battles on her knees with love.

I never saw her again. That encounter happened long before smart phones and selfies, but her image is burned on my brain. Given the number of years gone by, I’m sure she now resides with our Savior. I believe the power of her prayers will echo for all eternity.

The words we give to Jesus won’t ever die. They are an offering from the soul. (Tweet that)

Four years ago, we were vacationing in a little beach town in the southern outer banks of North Carolina. One evening after dinner, we strolled a sidewalk with several small boutiques. We slowly window shopped one store after another. I had my twins with me and as we made our way past one of the shops, a woman came running outside to speak to me. She was the owner of the store we had just passed, and in her hands she held a small stuffed animal as a gift for the kids.

I couldn’t believe how kind she was. I thanked her, and then she began to pour out her heart to me. She had recently lost her husband and within six weeks following the funeral, her forty year old son died suddenly of a heart attack. I promised to pray for her. To this day, I keep that stuffed toy as a reminder.

You see, those moments connect. They weren’t accidental. From the sweet eighty-six year old catholic woman on an airplane to the sixty-something year old lady in North Carolina, prayer has threaded us together.

I’m a believer in divine appointments. Every moment has the opportunity to be teachable. I’ve learned the power of being a recipient of sincere prayer from one stranger, and I’ve learned what an honor it is to have the ability to give my prayers to Jesus for another.

We don’t need to know each other well. We don’t ever have to have shared a meal or a phone line. We don’t even have to know each other’s names. We only need to give our words to a God who holds the universe, and everyone in it.

Someone is praying for you. You never know who God has placed in your path.

May you have a divine appointment today, and may it change your life forever and ever.

Love,

Jennifer