I worked part-time as a housekeeper my freshman year of college, and I was in the middle of cleaning bathrooms when God said: I want you to pray for the rain.
He wasn't talking about a physical rain, but a spiritual one--the renewing rain of the Holy Spirit. The rain of His love and power and Presence. He was talking about revival.
In case I didn't get the message, He gave me confirmation one evening at a church service in Atlanta. The only thing I remember about that night were the words of a man who prayed, saying that we need to do whatever God has called us to do, "even if God has just called you to pray for the rain." Those words, exactly. Pray for the rain. And I said, Okay, God. I understand. I'll pray for the rain.
Have you ever made a promise that you didn't keep? I have. Time, and time again.
Fast-forward to summertime, 2009. I started listening to podcast sermons from Bethel Church in Atlanta. And suddenly, the speaker was talking about how God had been imprinting something on his heart over and over--and that something was rain. He said that God wanted to bring a spiritual rain to His people.
In other words: Everything that was coming out of that man's mouth was exactly what God had impressed on my own heart months before.
The speaker also told a story in that sermon about going to a Jesus Culture conference in Texas during a drought. As they were driving under sunny, clear skies, a raindrop hit the windshield. He knew it was prophetic, and told the man next to him that there would be a literal downpour before the weekend was over. And sure enough, the last day of the conference, there was a downpour.
I went to a Jesus Culture conference myself that summer, in Atlanta. As we were driving there, under sunny, clear skies, my friend said he saw a raindrop hit his windshield. I didn't say anything, but the tempo of my heartbeat suddenly increased. Because I knew: Something was coming.
During one of the times of worship at Jesus Culture, someone came on stage and said we needed to pray--for our cities, the nation, the world--for revival. So I got down on my knees and began to pray. The words just kept coming, louder and louder, until I was yelling my prayer out to God. I had never prayed like that before. The Holy Spirit had taken complete control, and given me a glimpse of the heart of God, of his longing to rain down life and love on a blind and broken people. As I poured out my words and my heart in prayer, God whispered to me, This is how I want you to pray for rain.
The last night of the conference, we stepped outside. Right into a downpour.
A month later, relating the experience in my journal, I wrote: I knew my calling, and I knew my prayers would never be the same.
Have you ever made a second promise, after you failed to keep the first one, and you swore with your whole being that you would keep it this time...only you didn't? I have. Time, and time again.
Three years passed. My prayers grew more sporadic, more unfocused. A half-hearted, semi-remembered offering. Any hint of revival in my college, in my church, in me--flickered and died.
But thankfully, my God is even more stubborn than I am. And He's in the habit of bringing the dead back to life. Though I may have forgotten His promises, though I may have given up, He hadn't. These past few months, He's been pestering me about prayer. Not the Oh-hey-God-as-I-lie-on-my-bed-at-night-and-then-fall-asleep-in-the-middle-of-our-"conversation" prayers, but the get-on-my-knees-on-the-floor-and-call-down-heaven prayers, the prayers of expectation and power and boldness that can only be accomplished through the Holy Spirit.
Have you ever been afraid to make a third promise, certain you'll fail again, and the rooster will crow, leaving you to weep in the dark alone because you've denied your Jesus again? I have.
But I'm making that promise anyway.
The rain is coming. And I commit before you now, brothers and sisters, by the grace and power of the Holy Spirit in me, to keep praying until it does. Like Elijah's servant, I will scan the horizon, searching for a sign. Though day after day, the sky may seem empty, still I will pray. Until a cloud appears, even if it's only the smallest of clouds, the size of a hand. I won't stop praying.
Sons and daughters of the King, these prayers are for us. The Holy Spirit has saturated us with His love and power, that we in turn can pour it on those around us. Dear children: We are the rainclouds.
I beg you, mighty warriors. When the Spirit calls: Answer.
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