Dim lights cradled the group at the twenty-plus event, and song and prayer swathed all of us there that Sunday night. An hour had already floated away, but no one made a move to go.
Like pillars, we prayer team members stood along the wall of the great room, waiting for anyone to come. I looked across the sea of young people, and my heart squeezed like it does when I gaze over my own.
The band played, and lyrics wafted through the warmth of the space, a holy weight crushing us:
Before I spoke a word, You were singing over me
You have been so, so good to me
Before I took a breath, You breathed Your life in me
You have been so, so kind to me
A girl wove through the crowd and made her way over. Most of us who serve as intercessors aren’t counselors—we don’t pretend to be—but we can see fear coming, and I saw it too as it stopped in front of me, trembling the girl’s hands.
In a quavering voice, she said her name, Marnie, and that her friend Chance was missing. He wasn’t answering his phone. No one had heard from him. Law enforcement was searching too, but so far, no news. And it had been three weeks.
Dread pricked me, and my thoughts tumbled in terrible directions. I tamped down evidence of my worry, though; Marnie didn’t need more.
“May I place a hand on you to pray?” I asked. She nodded and stepped in.
I walked us into the sacred place where humility meets expectation, knowing if God’s will and mine intersected, my request would be granted. Marnie’s sobs shook her, so I asked for God’s peace to blanket her. Even as the words came out, she stilled. More words came to me too, and so did a sense about Chance. And I knew—absolutely knew—he was alive.
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending reckless love of God
Oh, it chases me down, fights till I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine
I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it, still You give Yourself away
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending reckless love of God.
When I returned home that night, I shared the story of Marnie with my girls. It moved them, and we prayed together for Chance.
The next evening, Flicka and Ricka went to their life group, a group from church that met once a week. They returned hours later, breathless.
“Mom,” Ricka said. “You won’t believe this.”
I stopped my everything and listened.
“Remember Marnie, the girl you told us about last night?” Flicka said.
A breath caught. “Well, yeah.”
“She came to our life group tonight. She told everyone her friend Chance had been missing and that she got prayer from a lady last night. She said she was so sure he'd come back last night too, but he didn't. She was really disappointed,” Flicka said. “But he came back today.”
“Okay.” I pressed my hands to my face, nodding, my eyes filling. “Wow. Okay.”
“She said she wished she could tell the lady who prayed for her that he had come home,” Ricka said. “We told her that lady was our mom. I gave her your number.”
Hope surged. Praise shattered my heart. And my phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number, I saw through the blur. And I already knew who it was.
Oh, it chases me down, fights till I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending reckless love of God.
(Note: As usual, I've changed the names in the story to protect the people in it.)