A Reflection on Fasting, Prayer, and Divine Resilience
By Anna Biela, Ph.D
We fast and pray because we want to empty ourselves—to clear away the clutter, quiet the noise, and create space to hear God more clearly. Lately, my own spiritual journey has led me deep into this place. Alongside intentional fasting and prayer, I began incorporating breathwork and the laying on of hands as part of my personal practice of seeking physical and spiritual healing. As the body becomes quieter, I find that I become more attentive to what is happening within me and more receptive to God’s presence.
Then came a moment that felt deeply significant. Moved by a spiritual prompting, I closed my eyes and reached for my Bible, opening it without looking at the pages. Remarkably, my hands opened to the same page twice. The first time, my eyes fell on Jeremiah 1:4–9. The second time, my finger landed directly on Jeremiah 1:18, within the larger passage of verses 16–19.
I cannot claim to know exactly why this happened, but I experienced it as a powerful moment of spiritual confirmation. The words of Jeremiah spoke directly to the season I am walking through.
The first opening of the text speaks about identity and calling. God tells Jeremiah that before He formed him in the womb, He knew him, and before he was born, He set him apart. For me, these words became a reminder that my life is not accidental and that God knows me more deeply than I know myself.
Perhaps, like Jeremiah, we can become focused on our limitations—our fears, insecurities, weaknesses, or the things we believe disqualify us. Yet God does not ask Jeremiah to rely solely on his own ability. When Jeremiah says that he does not know how to speak, God responds by touching his mouth and giving him the words.
That is a powerful reminder: our weakness does not necessarily prevent God from working through us.
The second time I opened the Bible, the message felt different. It moved from identity toward courage and action. In Jeremiah 1:17–19, God tells Jeremiah to prepare himself, stand up, and speak without being afraid. He warns him not to be dismayed by those who oppose him.
These words challenged me. There comes a point when preparation has to become movement. Faith cannot remain only an internal experience. At some point, we are called to stand, to speak, and to walk forward—even when we do not feel completely ready.
Then came the image that gave this reflection its title.
God tells Jeremiah that He has made him “a fortified city, an iron pillar and a bronze wall” against the land.
What moves me most is that Jeremiah is not promised a life without opposition. In fact, God explicitly tells him that people will fight against him. The promise is not the absence of struggle; it is the assurance of God’s presence within it.
They may fight against you, God tells Jeremiah, but they will not overcome you, because “I am with you to rescue you.”
For me, this is where the meaning of healing changes. Healing does not necessarily mean that every difficulty disappears or that life becomes conflict-free. Sometimes healing means becoming rooted enough in God that circumstances no longer have the power to define who you are.
Fasting has helped me create space. Prayer has helped me listen. Breathwork has helped me become still and present. And the laying on of hands has been part of my personal experience of seeking God’s restoration.
But ultimately, the source of healing is not the practice itself. It is God.
When I look back at those two unexpected openings of Scripture, I see a simple progression: remember who you are, stand up, and do not be afraid.
Jeremiah was not promised an easy path. He was promised that God would be with him.
And perhaps that is the deeper meaning of being fortified—not becoming untouchable, invincible, or free from suffering, but becoming firmly rooted in faith so that suffering does not have the final word.
I step into this next chapter not as someone who has everything figured out, but as someone learning to trust God more deeply.
Not because I am made of iron.
But because I know where my strength comes from.