Yesterday morning at church, the intercessor invited us to stand in the gap for those who might be hurting—physically, emotionally, spiritually. And something in me said, “Get up, girl.”
So I walked to the altar, carrying my family with me. My immediate kin, my far-off kin, the aunties, the baby cousins, the elders, the ones holding on, the ones barely holding it together. Life has carved distance between us—funerals, heartbreak, babies gone too soon, parents transitioned home. Grief has a way of scattering folks like leaves in the wind.
But yesterday, I felt the pull to gather them in prayer.
I stood there as a daughter, a sister, an auntie, a cousin—asking God to cover them all.
And then God nudged me deeper.
I prayed for my children’s biological siblings, their birth family, their roots. They are a sacred part of my babies’ story, a branch of our tree I need to water more often in prayer. That was a necessary reminder.
What didn’t surprise me—but still humbled me—was the call I got later that day. My older sister let me know the family had been memorializing my great-grandniece, the little one who passed at just four months old. She would have been six months this past weekend.
And right there, the dots connected.
Two times in less than a week, the Holy Spirit confirmed that what I’m learning on Sundays isn’t theory—it’s truth in motion. It’s guidance. It’s protection. It’s alignment.
There were moments this past week when that still, small voice whispered, and because I chose to listen, I was able to bless people I love. I was able to show up in ways that mattered.
God has a way of speaking before the breaking, whispering before the weeping, comforting before the question even forms.
So as for me?
I’m keeping my ear tuned.
I’m keeping my spirit open.
And I’m standing in the gap—because somebody prayed me through, and now it’s my turn.
© 2025, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
