I had malaria last week...again. Similar kinds of symptoms – high fever, extreme bodily weakness, loss of appetite. But the medicine didn't kick in as fast this time, so I was immobile and couldn't eat food for 2 days. The kids came and prayed for me, the staff brought me juice. The sickness took a lot out of me and I was weak and exhausted after 4 days. When I finally was able to get out of bed, the kids would remark, “Oh Rina, you are so thin...” I was pretty emaciated.
Day 2 of this, as I'm lying motionless, I began to utter a prayer. It was spontaneous, and I knew it was the Lord. I prayed for our children and asked Holy Spirit to fall on them, to break every barrier, every religious wall that stands in the way of encounter. It was a short and lifeless prayer, I barely whispered it.
Day 4 I felt well enough to move about and keep a dinner appointment with a British missionary couple in town. I returned to the compound when evening worship had already ended. One of the girls, Onzima, visited me that night to check on me and reported how amazing worship that night was. The Holy Spirit fell, the whole compound was up singing and dancing. Even one of our watchmen (night security guards) was dancing in the circle, which has never happened before. I immediately thought back to my weak prayer. It was a token of God's response, a confirmation that in my absolute weakest moments (I have never been as physically weak as I was during this malaria bout), He moves through me.
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