In the wee of the night, a tapping came. A need for prayer was in the air. Wild thoughts and distant cries, heard without ears, ripped through my body a humming within. A loop was in my mind, a phrase that would not leave. Over and over and over again this same senseless pattern of words plagued my head. A question unanswered tossed and churned, and each attempt to resolve circled back yet again, the question, the question, so loud I could scream. Lord help me, please help me; this shadow consumes.

Not evil, not filthy, not even important but this question continues one quarter moment by moment, mounting and swelling, till insanity looms. My arms twitch, my groans increase. I long to scream “take it out and away, let me be free” but my wife will awaken and then what will I say.

Verses. Quote the word, this thought I squeeze in, but Jesus withholds and my memory is dim. The pain becomes physical, my arms quivering with tension. Verses. Quote verses. Yet the question blocks all. Thought and knowledge and spiritual strength seem gone in the darkness and I’m blind from within. The scream in my throat swells near to the world, but I clamp down my lips and refuse to let go.

Not verses, not quotes, not comfort for me: I realize at last where this battle resides. Is prayer, is prayer, someone has a great need. The Lord wants my voice to strengthen their cry. But who, but who, and what is the why?

No matter, no difference, just pray hard as you can. I call them by name, both family and friends. I cry for their needs, Oh God, Oh God, help us to win.

I don’t know who it is, not even the need. But the more names I call, the further to hell tormenting question recedes. Then comes one name, and this one remains. I focus my prayer; I plea for their pain. On this night this person has a great need.

In time the groaning within stills and grows quiet. The crisis, the burden, the battle moves on. To another, a brother, a sister in faith; somewhere a warrior is called to the throne. The question, the hindrance, the satanic effort to prevent is dead, it is gone, it has drowned beneath the flood of petitions that flow through my lips. The late night call for prayer made its way through.

I may never know the why of this call, but one thing is certain: Jesus calls on us all.

About the author:

rmharrington is a Christian writer and te Webmaster at Job’s Hope Solutions, www.jobshopesolutions.com