Twelve Stones

One Sunday, I visited a prophet. I was skeptical. He did not seem like he was anything great. I was in my early twenties and my father was pastoring a church in Tucson, Arizona. We were invited by this prophet to his home. He said he had a word from the Lord for our family. I was not impressed by the small living room that had rows of chairs lined up. I was not impressed with the complete lack of music. I was not impressed by the location or the people who met in this bad side of town. I was not impressed that there was no children’s ministry, no Sunday School and I was equally unimpressed by this man who called himself a prophet. It is my instinctive response to scoff with disbelief when people make such proclamations. I was just completely annoyed to be in attendance at all. As the service wore on, and “The prophet” took the microphone, I was wishing I was anywhere but here. I’ve met enough self proclaimed prophets and had heard so many prophesies that I just impatiently shifted in my seat trying to “will” this whole thing over with. Little did I know, that this man’s words would set my destiny in motion in spite of my disbelief. That day, he took my hands and began to prophesy that I would use these hands to grasp the Sword of Truth to decipher the Word for those who would hear. He prophesied that my husband and I would minister together. At the time, I was married to my first husband and I scoffed at the very idea of him doing any kind of ministering at all. I did go home and write this event in my diary. I did not know that before the decade was out, my first husband would leave me and the church. I would eventually remarry and this man and I would pray together, serve together, speak together, start businesses and churches together. It was meant to be, We WOULD minister together. Continue reading