“Her sickness isn’t physical; it’s spiritual. Pray over her.”
My mama heart aches as I look over at Kherington. She’s snuggled up in a blanket with her hand on her head, pain etched across her face.
“Do you want to stop watching the sermon and go to bed?” I ask her. She looks miserable, and I think it’s best if she sleeps.
“No, I want to finish this,” Kher replies.
Pressing the resume button on the remote, I turn my attention back to the sermon. It was a Monday evening, and we were catching up on the previous weekend’s sermon that we had missed because Kherington had been battling on-and-off fevers. The fevers had started three days prior, right after Brett’s family left from visiting us for Thanksgiving. A nephew came down with strep at the end of the trip, so I was cautious about what her illness could be.
However, she had no other symptoms—no sore throat, cough, chills, etc.—only fevers with headaches. Right before we were snuggled up on the couch watching the sermon, I had taken her to urgent care to be tested for strep. My mama instinct wasn’t convinced it was strep, but we ruled it out just to be sure. The nurse confirmed she was negative and sent us home, encouraging us that fever viruses eventually run their course over a few days.
So here we were, back home watching the sermon. The twins were in bed, Damon was playing upstairs because he had been able to attend church, and Brett was a state away for a film project. Our pastor had started his Christmas sermon series, and this first weekend of December focused on the worship of the magi.
Shortly after I asked Kherington if she wanted to turn it off and go to bed, our pastor passionately spoke through our TV screen:
“Worship of Jesus should move us to look like we are actually worshiping. [The magi] fell on their faces, not caring who they were, because they cared who He was.”
He went on to share an example from a recent men’s ministry event:
“We talked about how worthy God is of our worship and how our worship should actually move us—move our voices, our hands, and even our posture.
“There is this oft-shared story of the Old Testament that it was the worshipers who walked first into battle…marching into the face of a bloodthirsty enemy, shouting the praises of Yahweh. I kind of put a challenge forward to step into that as men.
“We ended the night with an extended time of worship. Absolutely true—it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. This room was literally roaring with the sound of men in full-throated worship of their God. Worship moved those in the room.”
Immediately, I hear the Spirit’s voice almost as loudly as my pastor speaking into the room:
“Her sickness isn’t physical; it’s spiritual. Pray over her.”
I glance over at Kherington and knew the Spirit had given me spiritual eyes to see in that moment. She had joined the student ministries’ worship team and had been stepping into using the talent God had given her to sing and lead others into worship of Him. And that coming Friday, she was scheduled to help lead for the women’s event, very similar to the men’s event that had taken place a few weeks prior.
Photograph by Erica Bauling Photography
My thoughts continued to connect: This is spiritual because the enemy does not want the women to worship God the way the men had! God has given her this gift to lead the way in worship for the women, and if she is sick and not there, she will miss out on the opportunity.
Now, my mama heart had turned into a mama bear. You ain’t messing with my daughter and the purposes the Lord has for her! A profound sense came over me that this wasn’t a mother’s pride of “Look at my daughter and how amazing she is.” No, it was a conviction that the Lord has called her to this right now, and she must do it! I let the rest of the sermon play, while I could feel the Spirit infuse me with urgency, faith, and discernment.
Once the sermon ended, I turned it off and spoke to Kherington. “The Spirit told me to pray over you because this is spiritual and not physical. I think Satan was not too happy about how the men of our church had a powerful worship experience, and he doesn’t want that to happen on Friday with the women. But I know that you are supposed to be there to lead the women.”
Tears are now streaming down her face as she nods a “yes” in confirmation. I reach out my hand, place it on her, and begin to pray. I didn’t have any magical words. I stumble through it, rambling a bit here and there, but trusting that the Lord is hearing my prayer. I pray for healing. I reiterate what the Spirit had just spoken to me. I rebuke any evil spirit of sickness in the name of Jesus to leave. I declare that she’s a daughter of the King, washed in His blood, and none of his enemies can touch her. I finish with praising Him for who He is and what He will do.
Seconds after my lips finish the word “Amen,” Kherington is exclaiming, “It’s gone!!!! Mom, my headache is gone!!!! I feel completely normal!!!”
Her tears fall even faster and turn into weeping. Then weeping turns into worship. She’s amazed by the power of God. She can’t stop praising and thanking Him for His grace and mercy on her. Her soul is further pricked as she humbly repents of her anger and doubt toward God. She can’t stop crying and smiling and praising.
My own heart is about to burst with joy. Experiencing the voice of the Spirit and then the power of the Spirit always leaves me awestruck. Yet witnessing how He revealed Himself to my daughter, one who has grown more in her faith and love for Jesus this past year than ever before, yet still struggles with fear and doubt…there’s no words to express it, except I am blessed as if it happened to me.
The rest of the evening, you would have never guessed Kherington was ever sick. She never had another fever or headache that week. Friday came, and she was up on that stage, passionately worshiping Jesus and encouraging the women in the room to do the same. The night was even more meaningful because it was the first time I had witnessed her leading worship. Flashbacks filled my mind of her standing on our ottoman at five years old, singing her little heart out.
Nine years later, she’s using her God-given voice (that clearly did not come from her father or mother!), to declare how worthy God is of our worship. It was a night that the enemy was forced behind us and didn’t win. In fact, our pastor’s wife also experienced a sickness that week that was possibly spiritual warfare. Yet it didn’t stop her from teaching the women about being anointed with the Spirit and then pouring the oil back out to Him.
By the end of the night, I was overcome with the truth of her message—how one of the Spirit’s purposes is to empower us to witness and work, to use for His service. She challenged us, like the woman in Luke 7 and Mary in John 12, to pour back the oil on the feet of Jesus. The gift is already His, so we are giving it back to Him. Nothing is wasted on Jesus. We are to pour out until the harvest.
Kherington wasn’t the only one that needed to be there that night; I needed to be moved by worship to fall on my knees and weep. It felt like the last several years of suffering, the last year of taking a leap of faith and following the Spirit like never before to this new place and church, the last week of spiritual warfare with Kherington…so much I can’t even write down…was leading me to be poured out.
Photograph by Erica Bauling Photography
Since we moved, I’ve been asking Him to keep guiding us to where Brett and I should be serving. “What now?” has been our prayer, so I continued that cry of my heart. I sat on my knees and didn’t have many more words to pray—rather, asking the Spirit to pray for me. I couldn’t stop crying but inclined my ear to hear from the Spirit.
He revealed that while I want to pour out to witness and to work and be used in any capacity for His service as He desires, one thing had been crippling me. The word that kept coming back to me as the music played on, Kherington continued singing in front of me, and two of my new friends were now praying over me…was fear. The Lord has been stripping me of my fear of man, fear of rejection, fear of getting hurt again, fear of what people will think if I say what I really want to say, fear that I’m wrong, fear of sharing my past failures, on and on.
He has been graciously revealing the fear that is fighting to hold me back from pouring all of me out, not only the places that I feel are safe to give. He wants all of me—my sufferings, my failures, and even the areas where I am most embarrassed—because He doesn’t waste a single drop, using it to redeem, restore, and overflow to others for His glory.
Photograph by Erica Bauling Photography
The Spirit still has work to do in me, but I finally was able to get up off the floor, confident that I can trust Him with all that I have to give. I had peace that He will show me when, where, and how to be obedient when He is ready to use my oil.
Kherington and I made our way to the car, both of us a bit speechless and overwhelmed by the entire night. Well, I was speechless; Kherington couldn’t stop talking the entire way home, emphatically declaring...
“I LOVE this church. I’m never leaving this church. I don’t care. I will always go to this church. Mom, seeing all those women worshiping Jesus? I couldn’t stop crying!!! It gave me so much joy and happiness! I saw a girl my age come up to the front crying and praying, and I just fell down on my knees in worship.”
I listened and smiled as I wound my way home through the turns and hills of the backroads to our house. Then she spoke out words that have been an answer to Brett’s and my prayers. Prayers that we have prayed since before we told her we would be possibly moving to a different state. Praying that God would comfort her grieving heart, that He would grow her faith, and that she would feel His presence when she’s lonely and missing her friends.
“Mom. I know now why we had to move here.”
Overflowing joy coursed through me as I choked back more tears. The Spirit was smiling in the van with us. He showed Kherington His grace, mercy, and power earlier that week when He answered my prayer of healing. And days later, He answered the prayer she had prayed almost five years ago when she didn’t even know why she needed to pray it:
"Dear Jesus, please help me that when I move someday that I won't be sad. In Jesus name, Amen."
The grace and power of Jesus healed Kherington’s sickness, and then her worship of Jesus turned her sadness into joy. To the cries of all our prayers, she found that He is worthy of her worship...
because He is the answer.
