“I have a fire going on in my mouth,” I said.

H laughed at me and said, “A fire in your mouth, huh?”

“Yep,” I said, holding my right hand in front of my lips and wiggling my fingers in what I hoped looked fire-like. In my left hand, I held the responsible party – a Jamaican Jerk Chicken Wrap. Leaning over my plate, I took another bite.

At the table next to us, a young couple ordered more salad and I dipped a french fry in ketchup and that’s when it happened. I wonder if you would have noticed it if you’d been sitting at a table near us in the restaurant.

Peace. It came out of nowhere, and all of a sudden it was everywhere.

I don’t know if I ate that french fry, or if I put it back on the plate, or if it slipped out from between my index finger and my thumb and ended up somewhere on the floor in all of its hand-cut, ketchup-dipped glory.

“All of a sudden,” I said to H, “I have this amazing feeling of peace.” I wiped my hands on the cloth napkin in my lap and leaned forward just a bit. The sun was setting just on the other side of the black see-through shade that James, our server, had lowered for us when he’d seated us at this table.

“Really?” H asked, and I could tell he believed me. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I’m telling you this in case you’re like me and have ever wondered if a prayer offered up by ordinary people on an ordinary day with everyday ordinary words can ever really have an impact. Maybe you wonder if your prayer follows the right formula to ever make it past the ceiling. Maybe you think God can’t possibly do anything with the words you whisper. Maybe you’ve stopped praying because you haven’t ever heard God answer you.

But let me tell you this. That peace that wrapped itself around me like fleece in the shadowed corner of an ordinary restaurant? That peace came to me because ordinary people were praying for me. No fancy words. No special formulas. Just people who love me and knew that what I needed most that day were a few moments of supernatural peace. They’d sent me emails that told me they were praying. Text messages had reassured me that my name was on their lips.

You know those moments when you’re driving along singing loudly to Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber or Mary J. Blige or David Crowder or The Allman Brothers or CeCe Winans and suddenly, out of nowhere, someone you haven’t thought of in ages comes to mind? Or maybe you have to stop at a stoplight and an old man shuffles across the street in front of you with his bedroom slippers on and his pants pulled up to his armpits and your heart goes out to him. Or maybe there’s something in that telemarketer’s voice that catches your attention and you can’t shake it for the rest of the day.

Those moments? Those are invitations. Sent directly from heaven with your name on the envelope. Imagine that! No fancy words required. No special formula. No expensive degree. Just you. Just as you are. God’s invitation to whisper or shout or mumble words of prayer.

I don’t pretend to know exactly how it works.

Here’s what I do know: I know it’s not like Santa Claus or horoscopes or the lottery. And, I know this: I know that sitting in the corner of a restaurant with peace welling up inside you and gently wrapping itself around your shoulders – taking your breath away and making the light all misty – is a miracle.

And it blows me away when I think that God invites us to participate in miracles.