This past week, we held a special women’s meeting. Forty-eight women gathered, including three who were joining us for the first time. There was a deep sense of expectancy in the air, as the theme for our time together was prayer. We spent time in worship, shared from the Word, and encouraged one another in the importance and power of personal prayer. At the end of the meeting, we invited anyone who desired to come forward for individual prayer—and that’s when something beautiful began to unfold.
Among the women who stepped forward was an elderly lady named Rivka. Our follow-up team members recognized her immediately, though she only attends our women’s meetings occasionally. She seemed hesitant at first, almost unsure whether she should come forward. But something in her eyes told us that she was carrying a heavy burden. As she approached our follow-up team for prayer, her voice trembled, and she said, “I need help… I don’t know how to forgive my daughter whom I feel has forsaken me.”
We sat down together, and she began to open her heart. Rivka told us that her son, Alex, had been murdered many years ago because of the circles in which he had moved. The pain in her voice was unmistakable—raw, aching, and still very fresh despite the years. Her eyes welled up with tears as she confessed that the bitterness and grief had made it impossible for her to move on from her son’s death. In addition, Rivka also felt that she couldn’t forgive her daughter Irina, who had become estranged from her after the death of Alex.
She went on to share that she came from a traditional Jewish family back in Russia where she was raised, but had never prayed before—not once. “I was a member of the Communist Party for most of my life,” she said. “I even served as a factory director for many years. We were taught to believe in ourselves—not in God. Prayer was never part of my world.”
We listened as she spoke, sensing a sacred moment forming between us. Then one of our team members, Miriam, gently asked, “Rivka, have you ever prayed to Yeshua (Jesus)?”
She paused for a moment and shook her head. “No. I don’t even know how,” she replied. “But… I want to try. I want to know if He’s real.”
With her permission, I led her in a simple but heartfelt prayer of repentance.
She repeated each word softly, sincerely—giving her heart to Jesus for the first time. Afterward, we prayed together for forgiveness towards her daughter, for the healing of her heart, and for the grace to live a life of faith and joy in Yeshua.
When we finished, something had shifted. Rivka looked up at Miriam, her face glowing with a peace that we hadn’t seen in her before. “I feel… happy,” she said, surprised. “I can’t explain it—it’s like something inside me opened up. I don’t have the words, but I feel light… free. And I believe it. Everything you said… every word we prayed… I feel it’s true.”
Tears filled Miriam’s own eyes as she embraced her. “That’s the love of Yeshua,” Miriam said. “He’s real, and He’s with you now.”
We had brought a few Bibles with us that day, just in case. Lena, one of our team members, reached into her bag and offered a Bible to Rivka. When Lena placed it in her hands, she held it as if it were a treasure. “I’ve never had one before,” she whispered. “I will read it.”
That moment reminded us again why we do what we do.
God had gently reached into the life of a woman who had lived for decades without faith, without prayer, and without hope—and gave her a new beginning. From grief and bitterness to peace and joy, from unbelief to the start of a living relationship with her Savior.
Please keep Rivka in your prayers, that her faith would grow deep and strong, and that healing would continue in her heart and family.
God is not finished with her story. He’s only just begun.
