Today I am sharing a story that came to mind last night.
In 1973 Joel and I and our two young children were living in Duluth Minnesota where Joel was forecasting weather for the Air Force. At that time as a young adult, I was struggling in many areas of my life, including my faith. I just did not "feel" God near and my prayers seemed to go unanswered amidst the turmoils swirling around inside of me. I did not "feel" my faith was enough.
On Sunday mornings we attended our Lutheran church where Joel sometimes was a guest speaker, and on Sunday nights we went with friends to a Pentecostal church. One Sunday night I felt led to go to the altar for prayer. Members of the congregation were praying with people in need, and as I knelt at the altar I folded my hands and closed my eyes. Soon I felt someone take my hands, unfold them, and lift them up in praise. As this was happening, I remember smiling and opening my eyes to see whose hands were holding mine. I was stunned to realize I was all alone. There was no one near me. The warm hands still holding my hands were invisible to my naked eye, but yet I felt their touch.
Was it God himself? Jesus? Maybe the Holy Spirit? Could it have been an angel? I do not know for sure. What I do know is that God blessed me with an invisible touch that changed my life.
This experience grounded my faith at a time of great need. I knew that God was with me, that He loved me, and that my faith was real. I could rely on God and the assurance I had in Jesus as my Savior, no matter what I was feeling inside. I have never experienced anything like that since, although many other experiences have blessed me over the years. For that one night ~at an altar, I will be forever thankful.
I think I will need to add a pair of praying hands to my Memorial Box as a reminder of God's love and affection for one of His struggling children.