I hadn’t been there in a while. Netflix and a young boy who wouldn’t leave my bed had kept me from using the space.
Until for 3 straight nights I was woken a little past 2am. Trying desperately to get rid of all the thoughts flooding my brain. 2am. Then 3am. Then, this gentle whisper: “You have that war room. Use it.”
My war “room” is more like a wall in my bedroom closet. It’s not extremely comfortable in there, but it has seen a number of tears. And plastered on its walls are a number of prayers I spoke over and over.
“Go. Go to your room.”
I knew what I would find there. I didn’t find the answers to all the burning questions rattling through my brain. I didn’t find some profound thing to say in conversations I was replaying and rehearsing.
But I did find prayers I had written almost 2 years prior. Tear-stained prayers. Plastered to a wall. Prayed over and over, with desperate pleas for Him to please answer.
And though I had not sat in that exact same spot, I hadn’t stopped choking out those prayers. Prayers for protection. Prayers truth would be revealed. Prayers that relationships would be restored. That trust would be rebuilt. That healing would take place.
Every single one answered.
And I knew in that moment why I was up at 2am in my war “room.”
I was called here from my wayward thoughts to look back on all He had done, and to thank Him for it.
To remind me to never give up.
To never stop praying.
To believe He will fulfill promises, and to thank Him when He does.
To never stop praising. Even if it just so happens to be 2am.
My life is an example to many, because you have been my strength and protection. That is why I can never stop praising you; I declare your glory all day long. Psalm 71:7-8