I love watching people come alive.
In particular, I love praying with people and watching God turn the lights on. Like the time when I prayed with a Metis kid whos’ mom was, in the vernacular, a witch doctor. He wanted to become a Christian but couldn’t pray. So I prayed for him, that the enemy would be held back and would let go of him while he and Jesus did their thing. The moment I said “Amen,” he sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he cried like a baby. After wiping his face a minute later, he prayed to receive Christ.
Or the time I prayed with a girl at a camp who had given away her virginity to her boyfriend. She’d been wracked with guilt and shame for two years. She confessed her sin and I asked Jesus to lift the guilt and shame. She burst into tears. Then I asked him what he’d like to say to her. She gasped so loud that I nearly jumped in my seat, then bawled like a baby for a few minutes. When I asked her what was going on, she looked up and her eyes were sparkling. No, glowing almost. “He spoke to me!” she said. “He spoke to me. He said he loved me and forgave me and that everything was going to be okay now.”
I love helping people tune into the voice of Jesus, helping them connect with their true purpose. Being there to watch Jesus do his thing. Watching people come alive.