Whispers In The Quiet

  Alive in Christ 

A Story of Tender Intercession

There are sacred moments in life when compassion rises before understanding,
when love acts faster than logic,
and the soul quietly steps into a place only heaven truly sees.

This is a story of one of those moments—
when pain was spoken in a whisper,
and I became a shelter for someone who had none.
Not because I had the answers,
but because something holy stirred within me that said,
“You can’t let her walk this alone.”

It is a story of courage wrapped in silence,
of faith lived out not in words,
but in blankets, and kindness, and presence.
It is a story of tender intercession—
and what it truly means to be alive in Christ.

There are moments in life when heaven bends low, and a person—often unnoticed, often young—is given the opportunity to stand in the gap. I didn’t know that language then. I didn’t understand the weight of what I was carrying. But I knew one thing: I could not let her suffer alone.

She was my friend. A foster child, already weathered by life’s storms by the time we met. There was a look in her eyes—a quiet caution, a knowing—that didn’t belong to someone her age. When she confided in me that she was being sexually abused in her foster home, I didn’t have to think. I simply responded. With the kind of fierce compassion only a child who’s seen too much can offer, I told her i could hide her in the play house where i lived. That she could come home with me.

And so she did.

Behind my house on Sweet Street was a small playhouse—meant for a storage shed, which became a childhood retreat. I transformed it into a shelter. I brought her pillows, blankets, water, and snacks. My uncle Bruce, now passed on, was the only adult who knew. He helped me keep her hidden, quietly guiding me on when it was safe to visit. We lived behind a gas station, so she had access to restrooms and supplies during the day.

For ten days, I did what I could to give her comfort.
I hung laundry out back just so I’d have a reason to be near her without raising suspicion. I brought her clean clothes. I became her lookout, her provider, her only safe person.

We were just teenagers, trying to navigate a world far too complicated for our years. In those days, abuse wasn’t spoken of the way it is now. Foster youth didn’t always have advocates. And children weren’t taught where to turn when trust was broken.

Eventually, both our hearts knew—we had to tell someone.

We agreed to go to school together and speak with the one adult we believed we could trust: our dean, Mrs. Pasquini. But when we arrived, the police were already there. My friend had been reported as a runaway.

She panicked and ran.
Without hesitation, I ran too.
Not because I knew what to do, or why we were running. Not because I thought we’d get away.
But because I couldn’t let her face it alone.

We were caught in a nearby field within minutes. The officer looked at me and asked gently,
“You weren’t in trouble. Why did you run?”

And all I could say was,
“I don’t know. I just didn’t want her to go through it alone.”

That moment changed the trajectory of my life. I was expelled. My family didn’t understand the depth of what I had done or why. It was the first of many rifts that distanced me from their love. But I’ve never regretted it.

Because that’s what it means to stand in the gap.
It means choosing to step between pain and the person carrying it.
It means bearing burdens you were never meant to carry—but doing it anyway, because love compels you.

What I didn’t know then was that I was already walking in my intercessory calling.
Not in prayer circles or pulpits—but in a quiet shed in a backyard.
With a five gallon bucket, some hung laundry, and whispered courage.

That day, grace intervened.
The school dean—Mrs. Pasquini—didn’t just hear our story.
She listened.
And she chose to adopt my friend, changing her life forever.

Alive in Christ means exactly that:
To be so fully alive in Him that we feel what He feels.
To carry the weight of injustice when others simply walk by.
To step into the unknown, not for recognition, but for perfect love.

If you’ve ever been misunderstood for doing what was right…
If you’ve paid a price for someone else’s safety…
If you’ve carried a burden in silence and stood in the shadows on someone else’s behalf…
Then you’ve already stood in the gap.

And friend, you are alive in Christ—fully, beautifully, sacrificially alive.

 Closing Reflection

Some moments are remembered not because they require praise,
but because they were consecrated—set apart by love that cost something.
This was one of those moments.

To carry another’s pain in silence,
to stand watch in the shadows,
to run alongside someone who’s terrified—
these are not acts the world rewards.
But heaven remembers.

Looking back, I now see this moment for what it truly was:
a tender act of intercession,
a priestly offering not of sacrifice, but of presence,
a prophetic stand when the world turned away.

To be alive in Christ is to become a resting place for His compassion.
To be willing to feel what He feels,
weep where He weeps,
and stand where others will not.

It is the path of the intercessor.
The mantle of the priest.
The ache of the prophet.

As hard as it was,  I would choose it again.

 Scriptures That Now Illuminate the Story:

The Intercessor’s Calling: Standing in the Gap

Ezekiel 22:30 (KJV)
“And I sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it: but I found none.”

Galatians 6:2 (NIV)
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

The Priesthood of Aaron: Standing Between Life and Death

Numbers 16:48 (KJV)
“And he stood between the dead and the living; and the plague was stayed.”

Malachi 2:7 (NKJV)
“For the lips of a priest should keep knowledge, and people should seek the law from his mouth; for he is the messenger of the Lord of hosts.”

The Jeremiah Walk: The Weeping Prophet’s Call

Jeremiah 1:5 (KJV)
“Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.”

Jeremiah 9:1 (NKJV)
“Oh, that my head were waters, and my eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain…”

For The Reader

If you’ve ever felt overlooked in your obedience—
if you’ve ever paid a price for someone else’s freedom—
know this:
You were never invisible to God.

You were chosen to stand.
And when you did, you stood in the very place where Christ Himself intercedes—
between brokenness and mercy,
between judgment and grace,
between what was lost and what can be redeemed.

You were alive in Christ.
You still are.

From my quiet heart to yours, May you hear His whisper…
Spring Lynn Booth


Visit:whispers-in-the-quiet.org
Email: Hopeministries2010@yahoo.com

© 2025 Spring Lynn Booth. This writing is a personal testimony and is published for the purpose of Christian encouragement, intercessory faith-building, and the furthering of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. All Scripture quoted is from the Holy Bible and used with reverence for God’s Word. This post may not be reproduced without permission but may be shared freely for personal or ministry use.