September 6th,
You can tell the temperature of a place without checking the weather. The atmosphere says it all. And on this campus… the fire is low, the smoke is faint, and the altars — they're cracked. But my God still speaks. And He's not done yet.
The next morning, Tony and I decided to attend a second fellowship meeting — this time, not to observe, but to pray. Not out loud, not on stage. Just quietly. Internally. Watch and war. That's what we agreed.
But I won't lie — walking back into that hall felt like stepping into a church-shaped graveyard.
They were hosting what they called a "Prayer Burst." Thirty minutes. Fast-paced tongues. Loud. Dramatic. But again… hollow. A lot of movement, very little presence.
I opened my Bible mid-way through and whispered, "Lord, open our eyes. Show us what's really going on here."
And right there in the middle of the noise, I heard Him whisper back:
"The altars are broken. But the wood is still dry. One spark is all I need."
After the meeting, Tony and I stayed behind. He looked like he was bursting with words.
"I feel like we're standing in the middle of Ezekiel 37," he said. "Dry bones. All of them. But I know they can live. I know it."
"We're not here by mistake," I added. "But we can't rush anything. We pray. We prepare. And we wait for the spark."
He nodded slowly. "And we start small. Maybe a prayer walk. Quiet. Consistent. Just us."
"Yes," I smiled. "And we write. I'll write. You'll cover. The fire will come."
Later that night, back in our room, Anita was seated at her desk scrolling through her phone. She had removed her wig, her makeup was off, and for once… she looked real. Tired. But real.
"I saw you two at that church thing again," she said suddenly, eyes still on her screen.
"It's a fellowship, not a church," I replied, softly. "But yeah."
"What's the point?" she asked. "All that noise. People screaming like they're auditioning for a Christian drama."
I closed my notebook and looked at her. "I agree. Most of it was noise."
She looked up at me then, surprised.
"But not all of us are there for the noise," I continued. "Some of us are looking for fire. Real fire."
Her expression didn't change, but I noticed the slightest flicker of emotion behind her eyes. Like something was trying to rise but had been buried too long.
She looked back at her phone. "Fire's dangerous."
"Only if you're trying to hide in the dark," I whispered.
She didn't reply.
But for the first time since I arrived, Anita didn't feel like a locked door.
***
Tony said something tonight that struck me. "Don't wait for the crowd. Start with the cloud." Maybe all we need is a tiny space — a crack — for the Spirit to break through. So that's what we'll do. Start small. Start low. Watch God rise.