When I saw Peter.

We lived in the part of the country where religious hostility was at it's hottest and most dangerous. The streets were usually pitch black and quiet in the night, except for the occasional chirping of crickets. Mary's house was located far away from the others and stood in isolation on top of a hill. It was not that she did not have enough money to own a house in the city. But we were outcasts. Everyone knew that we were staunch followers of Jesus Christ and they hated us for it. Some Islamic terrorists hunted us down day and night, to throw us into prisons or kill us off for praying to Jesus. We were the Church in the North.

On this fateful day, we were gathered in the middle of the room. Our hearts were heavy and sorrow hung heavily in the air. Just last month, the terrorists caught one of our beloved and prominent teacher, because he went out on the streets telling people about Jesus. They threw him into prison and killed him off after some time. Now, to convince us that they would literally stop at nothing to silence us, they arrested Peter two weeks ago when he went to Church to preach. We were inconsolable. We cried day and night and never stopped to ask God for Peter's freedom. This was the sixteenth day we would be gathered to intercede for Peter's deliverance from the Islamic terrorists.

The house was dark so Mary asked me to light the candles and watch the children. John Mark was leading the prayers today and there was no missing the passion around the group as we prayed. Gradually, our voices began to grow so loud that I became worried that someone would hear us and raid our house.

We were four hours into the prayers when I heard a light tapping on the door. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me or a stray animal that would soon go away. But the more we prayed, the more convinced I was that someone was knocking at the door. I opened one eye and glanced at Mary, the owner of the house. She was the one who usually gave the orders. I was just her servant girl. Should I ask her if I could check the door? What if she thought it was the terrorists and didn't let me check?

I got up slowly from my seat and tip-toed to the door to see who was knocking. On getting there, I parted the curtains by the window and peered outside.

I could not believe my eyes. There, standing right on the front porch, was the man we were praying for. Peter knocked again, more violently this time. Then his eyes caught the movement by the curtain. He saw me as I stood there, wide-eyed and too stunned to make a move.

"Rhoda!" He whisper-shouted. "It's me. Open up."

His words filtered into my ears and I jumped back to reality. I couldn't contain my joy. I bolted from the door and into the room where the others were still praying, to share the good news.

"Peter is alive! Peter is here! He is at the door!" I screamed.

They stopped praying and looked at me as if I had just lost my mind.

"Don't distract us, young lady. We're praying a serious prayer and you're playing pranks. You must be mad."

"I'm not pla-"

"Mary!" An elderly man said to Mary with anger flashing in his eyes. "Caution your servant girl."

"I'm not playing pranks." I persisted. "It's really Peter. He's at the door."

One of the women sat down with a loud sigh and shook her head in pity. "The poor girl. She has grieved so much and now she is seeing ghosts."

"I saw Peter." I repeated, still too joyful to get angry. "It was Peter in the flesh, not his ghost. He is at the door."

"She must have seen his angel." Some others murmured to themselves. 

The knocking on the door grew louder and this time, the others heard it. They crept quietly to the door, the women hiding behind the men out of fear.

When they opened the door, they were astonished to see Peter standing before them. As he entered the house, he held up a finger to his lips and motioned for us to be quiet. 

I sat on my bench as we all listened spell bound to Peter as he told how an angel of God helped him escaped from prison.

Well, I was glad that Peter was back, but I couldn't stop smiling because I was the first amongst the group to see Peter after his release.

I, a small servant girl who no one reckoned with, heard Peter's knock and managed to convince the people that God had already answered the prayer we had been so passionately praying.

My foot prints remain forever imprinted in the sands of time to remind servants of God who come after me of this simple truth; Sometimes, people who think themselves to be religious keep knocking on Heaven's doors for the provisions God has already released. It takes the faith of a child to see God's miracle even when others don't see it yet and to receive it with open arms, even when others try to discourage you from believing what you've seen.

The year's coming to an end folks, hold on to the promises God gave you from the start of 2020. Keep hope alive while you pray them into reality.

Until next week! Au revoir, mon cheris😍😘