These words are of grace.
Yesterday I told God I did not want to lean on my own understanding.
So he took my mind and scrambled it.
He took my words.
Today I was coming to peace with having no words.
Then this happened. We were invited to take part in a Hangi feast, a traditional Maori way of preparing food. It is literally an earth oven. Details are needless words right now. After preparation in heaps of rain, the Hangi, as custom goes, is prayed over, before waiting out the next four hours it takes to cook.
The one who prays over the Hangi is held responsible for the success, or failure of the Hangi.
Everyone had said it would be a miracle if a Hangi prepared in a downpour came out cooked.
I was nominated.
The one who had no words.
Nothing came out uncooked, in fact, many declared it the best Hangi they had ever tasted.
Justin, our host, said it may just be a defining moment in his life.
Many told me my prayer had brought about a practical miracle.
But I could not tell you what it was I prayed. Words are not important. A heart that is set free by grace is.
Father, I thank you for speaking when I have no words.
