Granny’s Prayers & Prophetic Encounters Throughout My Faith Journey

My granny prayed in her room every day before dinner. If she cooked, she would put the food on first and then go into her room to pray. My granny was small in physical stature but mighty in Spirit. When she prayed, things changed. No matter where I was in the world, some

how, I knew when my granny prayed. Prayer was common during my childhood and would be the foundation by which I lived. What I didn’t know then, was the common thread that connected my spiritual DNA to the prophetic calling on my life. As I reflect on God’s hand on me, I am grateful for a praying grandmother, whose prayers stood in the gap as I found my way to Christ and His calling for me.

I believe that it’s important to take time to reflect. Reflecting allows gratefulness to stay at the forefront of one’s spirit. I come from a long line of prayer warriors, intercessors, prophetic dreamers, creatives, and believers in Jesus Christ, so living for the Lord wasn’t foreign to me. My granny laid the foundation of prayer, and my grandfather; praised and built a relationship with Christ for our family. A significant part of who I have become is directly connected to how I was raised. Granny Ruth Hayes praying & testifying during church service.

Small beads of sweat rolled down my face as I lay awake in my granny’s bedroom at one year old. My nightgown had collected my perspiration and presented a dampness that I couldn’t wait to get out of. I wasn’t a crier, but I remember feeling anxious because the adults were taking too long to check on me. After all, nap time was over, and I was ready for my daily juice and snacks. As I sat up in bed, I can recall looking at the sun which beamed through the curtains from the back porch. There was such peace that resided in my granny’s bedroom. It kept me company. This peace, almost tangible, reassured me that I was safe, as I waited for someone to scoop me up and out of the bedroom. This peace was the presence of God, and as I grew older, I would come to understand why the presence of God was so thick in my grandparent’s bedroom.

89th and May Street, on the south side of Chicago, holds the memories of my early childhood. The safe space by which the foundation of Christ was imparted into me, a place where I often encountered God. I didn’t realize that the spiritual encounters that I was experiencing was God training me. At the age of seven, I experienced firsthand the power of prayer through Saturday morning bible school, led by my granny. The neighborhood kids would come and do arts and crafts in the basement while learning about the love of God and how to read their word and pray. I was Granny’s little helper. I passed out the wax paper for the Rice Krispie Treats and made sure the kids had enough butter spread on their hands so the marshmallows wouldn’t stick. I can remember the sweet aroma of rice crispy treats floating in the air.

"I watched my granny go through the scriptures with children that came from broken homes. Their eyes sometimes held the weight of neglect and worry as they entered the basement on Saturday mornings."

Before the kids ran off back to wherever they had come from, we would end bible school with prayer. By the end of bible school, whatever had been tormenting them, had lifted. The neighborhood children were receptive and seemed to be relieved that someone took the time to show them the love of God.

Grammar school was pleasant for me unless I count the times the nuns came into my classroom with rulers to discipline the disorderly children. I silently prayed to God that I would escape the triple licks being handed out for joking around during the Pledge of Allegiance. God’s mercy smiled upon me as the nuns skipped past my name and called my classmate who, somehow managed to have “ants in his pants” every morning during the pledge. He made me laugh, but I had to perfect the art of ignoring him, to avoid having to hold out my hand for the triple licks with the ruler. I wasn’t too impressed with how my school handled discipline, after all, my family wasn’t the spanking type. One year was more than enough for my Catholic School experience. I could never remember the words to the prayer during confession anyway. In my household, we were taught to pray freely, because Jesus was my Savior and friend.

My parents moved around a lot when my little sister and I were younger. I had the pleasure of attending seven different grammar schools throughout my childhood. I always felt like the new kid and had to adjust quickly to fit in. Having a relationship with God gave me the confidence I needed to thrive in the ever-changing environments that I was thrust into. Even though I didn’t like being uncomfortable, the lesson was about flexibility. I was being trained by God to be open to change. How could I grow and go from glory to glory and strength to strength if I couldn’t even accept change in my everyday life?

I remember having my first open vision around the age of nine years old. I knew it was an open vision and not a dream because I remember vigorously rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It happened upstairs at my grandparents’ house. We were visiting for the weekend as we often did. I walked over to the window and looked down at this bright scene of myself and my cousins playing in the backyard. It was nighttime, but the open vision was during the daytime. I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. It was like an out-of-body experience. I was watching an entire scene from the upstairs window. I could hear the laughter of my cousins as we chased each other around the backyard. My granny was hanging clothes on the clothesline and the wind was slightly blowing. The bedroom that I looked out of was still dark, I hadn’t turned the lights on, but the scene in the backyard was a summer’s afternoon. I remember blinking and rubbing my eyes. Although my mind couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing, I wasn’t afraid. This experience was the beginning of many spiritual and prophetic encounters that the Lord allowed me to have.

“Shanda, Gena, it’s time for dinner,” my grandfather yelled out the backdoor as my sister and I ran around the backyard.

“Here we come,” I responded as I got one last run around the perimeter of the backyard. I had to slow down and catch my breath because my asthma could be triggered at the slightest thing.

The dishes clinked together as my grandfather put our plates on the table.

“Go wash your hands girls,” Grandaddy said.

My sister and I rushed past my grandfather into the main washroom that stood in-between the guest bedroom and my grandparents’ room. My sister, being four years younger than me, didn’t pay too much attention to my grandparents’ bedroom door being closed. My grandparents’ bedroom door was always open during the day unless a grandchild was in there taking a nap, or if granny was in there, on her knees, interceding. As my sister washed her hands first and made it back to the kitchen table to eat her food, I lingered behind. I heard my granny praying down heaven. She prayed in the Spirit with “Thank you, Jesus,” sprinkled in-between. Her voice began to trail off as er bedroom door popped open. I stood there, intrigued, watching to see what my granny would do next. Her face was bright, and the glory cloud hung in the room. I could feel the anointing of God as she reached out to lay hands on me. My granny prayed for my lungs to be clear and my breathing to be at 100%. I took a deep breath, waited for granny’s prayer to end, and went to sit at the dinner table with my sister. I had many encounters when my granny was praying over me. I believe her prayers kept my family and I safe, especially with all the moving around.

My parents, along with my sister, and I moved into an apartment on 68th and Winchester when I turned eleven years old. My new school was Henderson, and the neighborhood wasn’t the best. I have vivid memories of my mother crawling on the floor to avoid being shot as two bullets hit her bedroom window. My sister thought we were playing a game, but I knew better based on the look of terror upon my mother’s face. She had the telephone in one hand while motioning for us to stay down low, with her other hand. Police sirens blared, young men yelled, and feet ran past our building. In my heart, I prayed for God’s protection because my father was working the night shift and wouldn’t be able to make it home fast enough. The next day, my mom pointed out the bullet indentations in the window to my father. Somehow the bullets stopped short of going through. I knew it was God protecting us. Although I was grateful, I couldn’t wait to get back to my granny’s house.

The next weekend, my older cousin joined my sister and me at my granny’s house, but instead of her joyful self, she was quiet and distant. One of my aunts, whose bedroom was upstairs, had come home early from work and a family meeting ensued. The meeting consisted of my older female cousin, my two aunts, and my grandparents. My sister and I were instructed to go play upstairs while the adults met downstairs in the dining room. The meeting went on for about an hour and then my cousin made her way up the stairs. I placed my hand on her belly, bent down close and announced that she had had a baby in there. I looked up at my older cousin whose mouth was gaped open, and eyes widened.

With a shaky voice, she finally asked, “how do you know?”

Meeting her gaze, I nonchalantly replied, “God told me.” After that, I returned to playing with my sister. My prophetic encounters were happening more often. I was hearing God but hadn’t mastered temperance in my delivery.

The seasons changed, and I was one year shy of junior high school. My parents had finally purchased their first home and we moved from the inner-city of Chicago to the suburbs. 12345 South Bishop, the number of Grace. The difference was like night and day. There were no bullets being shot through the widows, no police sirens blaring all night, and many of the children came from two-parent homes like I did. We had our own backyard and garage. No more apartment living, and it was well with my soul.

My mom hadn’t found a home church that she was comfortable with. She had long since stopped attending her childhood church of which my grandparents were still members. One day, instead of visiting my grandparents’ home, as we did every weekend, my mom decided that we were going to go visit a new church. I was completely blindsided and didn’t know how to feel. I was fine attending church with my grandparents. My routine was locked in, and I knew what to expect. The new church seemed radical compared to where I grew up going. I was used to traditional worship where women wore dresses and had to stand behind podiums that sat floor level because the pulpit was off limits. I had made up my mind that if I couldn’t go to church with my grandparents, then I didn’t want to go at all. I got away with staying home during my junior high years but one Sunday evening, my mom put her foot down.

“Shanda, go get dressed, you’re coming with me to service,” Mom said.

“But mom, why I gotta go to that church?” I spoke.

“Because I said so, now go get dressed. No more discussion,” Mom concluded.

I rolled my eyes as soon as I was out of my mothers’ view and reluctantly made my way to my room. At the time I felt like what I had always known was being ripped from me. It was like old-time-religion and the new church were colliding within me. I was just coming out of eighth grade and was embarking on a fresh wind of God that I didn’t even know I needed. My foundation had been laid. God wanted to put me in position to be trained up in ministry, and that would only happen if I attended a different type of church, one that embraced the calling of God in my life.

I sat next to my mother, in the large sanctuary that seated 2,000 people at one time. Compared to the storefront church that I was used to, the new church seemed like a football stadium. The first thing I noticed was how long the services were compared to my grandparents’ church. I slouched in my seat and wondered why the church had cushioned chairs instead of wooden benches like I was used to. I could barely keep my eyes open the first couple of times I attended service. I was up past my bedtime, and yet there was one more song that the praise team had to sing. I had to accept the idea of a praise team instead of a choir. I truly felt like an alien as I sat in my new church. Women were permitted to wear pants and present on the pulpit. I had never seen anything like it. The service went on and the Apostle was coming to the close of his sermon when he walked off the pulpit and started walking through the congregation. He had the microphone and began speaking affirmations over random people in the audience. The Apostle, as I had come to learn, was prophesying. Although it was my first time seeing the Spirit of God move in this way, it was faintly familiar at the same time. Right before church service was dismissed as I fought to keep my eyes open, announcements of an up-coming audition were made.

“Reminder, auditions for three guest spots on The Awakening will be next Saturday at the skate party. All drama members, please see Sister Bunny for your assignments after service.”

I sat straight up. “What’s The Awakening?”

“They have a Christian television show that they produce through the drama ministry here,” Mom answered.

“Can you take me to the audition?” I asked.

“Yeah, you can go,” Mom responded.

Excitement filled my heart as I anticipated my place in the new church. I was always creative. I took private voice lessons for two years at the Chicago Academy for the Arts, downtown Chicago, of which I also attended my freshman year of high school. By the time I was a Sophomore, I had transferred to a public performing arts high school because tuition was too high at the former. I took part in Christmas programs and gave speeches for Resurrection Sunday, but never in a million years did I think a local church would be into television production. I didn’t know what to expect for my audition, but I was excited to try out.

The weekend of auditions arrived, and my mom and I were on our way to the skating rink. I sat quietly on the passenger’s side with great anticipation.

“What do you think I’ll have to do?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll be fine,” my mom said.

I looked out the window and went over in my mind what the auditions would be like. When my mother and I finally pulled up, the parking lot was full. We had to circle a couple of times before we found a parking space. I wanted to know where all the people were, surely, they weren’t all auditioning for a church program. We got out of the car, stood in the first line, and finally made our way inside the skating rink. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were at least a thousand people in the audition line, which was wrapped around the inside of the building. At the time, I hadn’t heard of the show before the week prior, but standing there, I quickly realized this show was a bigger deal than I had known.

The drama team members were taking turns acting out different scenarios with those who were auditioning. The skits were short and to the point. I stood in line for over an hour, but my excitement was still heightened. I watched nervous actors step up to the floor, camera recording, and scenarios being yelled out. It was hard to prepare anything because the skits kept changing. They wanted us to improv.

“Next,” an older woman called out. I was next up and for the first time, I felt nervous.

“State your name and age for the cameras.”

“L.A. Holts, and I’m 15 years old.”

“Your scenario is to talk to me, your school counselor, about dealing with depression.”

I took a moment, I didn’t remember the people that had auditioned before me, having such a heavy subject matter. I took a deep breath and allowed the Holy Spirit to guide my words. Before I knew it, I was deep into reciting a monologue off the top of my head, as if I had memorized a portion of a script written by the best playwright. The words flowed from me like living water and the conviction that was displayed captured the attention of everyone in the skating rink. Before it was all said and done, a thunderous applause swelled and filled the building as the people cheered. The drama team member even broke character and told me that I did a great job. I walked off the floor, smiling and satisfied with what God had just done.

“Winners will be announced at the end of next week’s episode of The Awakening,” a drama team member announced.

Auditions ended and the large crowd dwindled down from thousands to under a hundred. My mother wrapped up her conversations with the other church members and we went on our way. My heart was full as I rode home from my first acting audition. The next week couldn’t arrive fast enough because I had finally gotten an opportunity to watch an episode of The Awakening. I was hopeful that my name would get called but I had all the people who auditioned on my mind. The Awakening episode came to an end and my name was one of three that scrolled across my television screen. Out of thousands of people who auditioned, I had won a cameo spot. God had a plan for me.

The next few months were a blur as I started filming for The Awakening. Because I had done so well in my audition, I was also invited to join the drama ministry. I felt at home. My cameo spot turned into a principal character named Stacey. My character would eventually be the college roommate of the main character Marquita. The Awakening television show won an Angel Award and an Emmy. What started out as my being reluctant to leave my childhood church, turned into me being cast on an Emmy Award winning television show.

The Awakening was a Christian, urban soap opera that followed the lives of young people who lived various problematic ways of life. The characters were presented with the opportunity of salvation. The main characters consisted of a teenage mother, a drug dealer who refused Christ, a concerned mother who belonged to a local ministry, a saved police officer who approached the inner-city youth with ministry and God solutions and a host of others. The purpose of the television show was to show the youth in the inner cities of Chicago that Christ was a better way. By the inner-city youth relating to the characters that appeared in the Awakening, they were more open to receive ministry and the message of salvation.

Throughout my years of filming The Awakening with the drama ministry, I learned that God wanted to use the gifts and talents within me, for His glory. My church was the perfect place to shape and mold me for ministry in the creative and worship arts. The Awakening was the number one watched show in Chicago in its time slot with over three million viewers each week. According to the Chicago police, crime was down when The Awakening was on because the gang members watched it. My experience with the drama ministry allowed me to embrace the creativity within, rather than separate it from my faith. Through the drama ministry, I learned that my faith and passion for the arts could merge to win souls for Christ. Once I got that revelation, my feet hit the ground running.

I had been filming The Awakening for a season. People were starting to recognize me on the street and my sphere of influence was starting to grow. My Apostle began to teach ministry classes to the young people at church. I was a full-time high school student, a principal character on television and now I was being trained up for ministry. There were about two-hundred children that were part of King’s Kids. Each week the Apostle chose one of us to preach during Sunday service. Three young men were chosen first and I was picked to minister on the fourth Sunday. “I fasted and prayed for the Holy Spirit to use me.” I counted it an honor to carry the Gospel and didn’t take it lightly. By this time, I was fully aware of the prophetic operating in my life.

Sunday rolled around, and my entire family showed up to hear me speak. Even my granny came, which I thought would never happen because my new church was so different from my old one. My family sat with pride in their eyes as I began to minister to a packed congregation at the age of seventeen. God had surely answered my request for, as my sermon ended, young people from all over the sanctuary came to the altar, hands lifted high, some crying out, others silent and gave their lives to Jesus. This would be the first of many altar calls that I would lead.

After high school, I got accepted into Columbia College Chicago as a theater major. I had come off a year of professional acting at ETA theater and was ready to concentrate on my higher education. Columbia College welcomed me with open arms. The theater program was second to none. I excelled in my theater program. Next to the office was a board that announced auditions. Usually, the board announced student projects such as films and plays. I checked the board often so as not to miss any important auditions. One day, as I checked the board, a major film house was looking to cast for a feature film and was looking for college students to portray high school students. I was excited. I took the phone number down and called when I got home later that evening.

The weather changed from fall to winter. My asthma seemed to be most active when the weather changed. The audition for the movie was fast approaching but the closer the audition got, the more congested I felt. One week before the audition, I had a major asthma attack and had to be rushed to the ER. Three breathing treatments later, I was admitted into the hospital with pneumonia. As sick as I was, I knew I had to get to that audition. I laid in my hospital room and prayed.

“Lord, I need you to heal me. I believe you want me to audition,” I softly spoke between coughing and wheezing.

I was in the hospital for three days with no change in my breathing. My aunt came to the hospital to visit me. As I expressed my concern about the audition, she informed me that I may have to miss it. Her reasoning didn’t sit well with me. Something on the inside of me was willing me towards the opposite of what she was saying. The audition was in three days, and I had to get better. I stayed in the hospital up until the final hour. My chest had cleared up in time for me to be released from the hospital on the day of the audition. My aunt came to pick me up and I begged her to drive me straight to the audition. I still had my wristband on when we pulled up to the building. Once again, there was a line wrapped around the building. I stood, feeling blessed that The Father had honored my prayer.

The audition went well. After I finished, I heard the Holy Spirit say, “You got the part.” The production assistant announced that those who were chosen would be called within the week. I arrived back at the car and shared with my aunt what I had just heard. The following days went by as I waited with great expectations, by the phone. After the week had passed with no phone call from the production company, my aunt assured me that I would get the next one and not to be sad. I reminded her of what the Holy Spirit told me about getting the part.

“Well, we can all misunderstand God sometimes. He might just want you to rest, you were just in the hospital a week ago.”

“I’m telling you, I’m sure of what God said. He said I got the part.”

My aunt just looked at me as if I were just being stubborn and changed the subject. I didn’t have a doubt in my mind. I didn’t care what it looked like. Two weeks had gone by and still no call from the production team. Everyone except me had moved on. My parents were glad that I was feeling better. Week three arrived and the phone rang. The production team was calling to inform me that I was cast and needed to come down to the location for more information.

I praised God throughout my entire house and informed my family of the good news. My aunt, who was at a loss for words, picked me up and took me back to the building where the auditions were held three weeks prior. It was chaotic when I arrived. In one room was a group of students who were being let go while the group that I was in, replaced them. The casting agency had somehow chosen the wrong group of talent. When the legendary star of the movie had flown in for rehearsals, he had informed the director that the first group of kids didn’t match the look of the film. So, production was halted, and God’s word remained true in my life. That legendary actor was the late great Sidney Poitier. We filmed To Sir with Love Part 2, and I was blessed to be in all the classroom scenes.

As filming commenced, I realized why I was led to auditioning. During filming, the Lord had me praying for and ministering to many of the actors, while on set. The Lord wanted to encourage many of them and used me to do so. My desire was to be a willing vessel to be used by God. Getting cast was secondary to the real assignment of ministry. Many of the cast members weren’t believers so God met them where they were. God used me to peek into their lives. The Holy Spirit revealed things to them that I couldn’t have known. The prophetic was strong and accurate.

Since my earlier years of me ministering on movie sets, the Lord has expanded my territory as a writer and director of my own productions. The faith-based plays that I write deal with hard issues that affect the communities that I come from. In addition to the Gospel message infused in my scripts, the testimonies of audience members who have seen my productions are priceless. Lashanda Holts performing the, "I Am Life” monologue, Chicago.

As my first play went up during the summer of 2005, a young lady sat in the sold-out audience and wept. She had watched me perform the monologue, “I Am Life” which depicts the voice of a fetus, begging for its life. What I didn’t know then was the young woman was pregnant at the time and contemplating an abortion. Because of the play, she changed her mind and decided to keep her baby. When my cast member shared her testimony with me, I knew that I was in the middle of God’s will for my life concerning His calling. For everything that I have done, if one soul has been saved, it has been all worth it. (Luke 15:10 “Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”)

Through the years I have experienced the hand of God in the most peculiar ways. From watching my granny pray to open visions;, Words of Knowledge, preaching, and laying hands, God has been and is good to me. My spiritual journey hasn’t been easy by a long shot, but it has been worth it. The Father is still using me to minister prophetically as an artist today. My desire is to see the Kingdom of God expand through what He has given me. Although I see His mighty hand, I do all things unto the glory of God.