I must begin with a confession, because that is the only honest way to tell this story. When the invitation came for me to lead the Nakuru Diocesan five-day charismatic gathering, I did not feel ready. I felt the weight of it immediately. Five full days, three sessions each day, each lasting two hours—it was overwhelming just to think about it. There was a quiet fear within me, the kind that does not shout but lingers, asking difficult questions: Will you be able to carry this? Will you be enough? I knew very well that if anyone else had been placed in my position, they would have felt the same.
But as I sat with that weight, something deeper began to rise within me. I remembered who I am. Not in pride, but in identity. I remembered who I belong to, and more importantly, who it is that had sent me. This was not my mission; it was His. That realization began to steady my heart. Then I remembered the preparations that had already been made—not only the notes I had written and the hours I had spent in prayer, but also the fifteen intercessors who had been faithfully praying every single day from the moment I received the invitation letter from the Nakuru Diocesan Pastoral Director. That hidden prayer, that unseen covering, suddenly became very real to me. It was as if my eyes were opened to a deeper reality: I was not going alone. I was being carried. Not just by people, but by heaven itself. And in that moment, my fear gave way to a quiet confidence.
I arrived on Monday afternoon, and Benson, the diocesan moderator, warmly received me and took me to have lunch at the home of a generous woman who was a member of the Renewal. It seemed like an ordinary visit, just a simple meal before the work would begin. But almost immediately, it became clear that God was already at work. As we gathered to pray for the food, something stirred within me—a gentle but unmistakable impression. I sensed something connected to the body, specifically related to prostate or gynaecological issues. I had barely spoken when the woman of the house, visibly surprised, confirmed that her spouse was a gynaecologist surgeon, and more specifically, a specialist in prostate cancer. The room shifted. There was a quiet pause, the kind that comes when something unseen suddenly becomes visible.
Before the moment could settle, another impression came to me—this time a name: Charles. Someone present immediately responded, explaining that his brother Charles had struggled deeply with addiction but was now doing better. At that point, it was no longer something to analyse. It was clear to all of us that God was revealing His presence among us, even before the conference had officially begun. That simple lunch became something sacred, a gentle but powerful reassurance that the mission ahead was not ours to manufacture—God Himself was already moving.
After lunch, we went to the conference venue. Only a few participants had arrived at that point, but we did not wait for numbers to increase before turning to God. We prayed for those who were still on their way, asking that the Lord would begin to speak to them even before they arrived. There was a growing sense that something had already begun in the spirit.
The first day of the conference, Tuesday, came with a quiet intensity. That morning, as I was praying before the first session, I felt a bold desire rise within me. I asked the Lord to show me something specific about the participants—something that would awaken their faith and lift their expectations. It felt like a risk, but I chose to trust Him. What followed was clear and precise. I saw a man seated in the second row, second seat to my right. I could see his physical features—he appeared to be in his fifties, short, slightly heavy, bald, with a dark complexion. He was wearing something blue, possibly a jacket, and dark trousers. His face was round, with eyes that seemed to carry weight.
Then names began to come: a sense that his name might begin with B, possibly Ben, and also a connection to the name John. I also perceived the names Mary and Wamuyu, which seemed connected to his family. But what struck me most was not the details—it was his heart. I saw it with what looked like a long crack running through it. It was wounded, deeply so, but not closed. There was still openness. And from within him, I heard a prayer, simple but profound: “Lord, change my heart.” It was not a religious statement. It was real. Honest. A cry from within.
I also sensed that he worked with his hands, possibly in carpentry or something related, that he was married, and that he had several children. And I felt strongly that this retreat was a moment of decision for him—a call to fully give his life to Christ. I wrote everything down immediately and sent it to my email, choosing not to revisit it until later.
When I finally stood to preach and shared what I had seen, the atmosphere in the room changed. It grew still. Then the man stood up. One by one, the details were confirmed—not approximately, but precisely. He was an engineer. His brother was John. His chief engineer, someone very significant in his life, was named Ben. Later, he brought his wife to the conference, and her name was Mary—this was even more striking because her name had been mentioned before she had even arrived. The man was overwhelmed. Tears filled his eyes, not from sorrow, but from the deep realization that God had seen him, known him, and spoken directly into his hidden life.
That moment set the tone for everything that followed. Faith rose in the room in a way that cannot be manufactured. It was no longer just teaching—it was encounter. Almost immediately after a brief exhortation encouraging everyone to remain attentive to the movements of God, I felt prompted to call forward those who were sick. About nine participants came out, each carrying different conditions. There was no struggle, no striving—just a simple command in faith.
And they were healed. All of them.
Among them was Benson, the moderator himself, who had lived with a back condition for many years. In that moment, it was gone. Completely.
By then, the atmosphere had completely shifted. Something had opened. Faith was no longer something we were speaking about—it was something we were standing inside of. There was a deep and undeniable awareness that God was present, not in an abstract way, but in a real and tangible manner. It felt as though the distance between heaven and earth had grown very thin.
What followed from that moment until Saturday was beyond what words can easily contain. It was not just powerful—it was deeply personal, deeply sacred. And as I stood there, watching everything unfold, I knew within me with certainty: this was not the work of a man. The Holy Trinity was present among us, moving freely, touching lives, revealing hearts.
And this was only the beginning.