When I first began to pray, perched in my window, listening to the tick of irrigation,
my prayers were concrete and desperate pleas.
So aware of my own smallness, trusting something bigger than myself…
“Heal my daddys back”, “help me fit in at school”
As a teen my prayers were trapped in melodrama, hidden in religious lace.
Certain I was holier than thou,
watching the sinners pound their chests while I prayed
“thank you God, that I am not like them’
As a young adult, my prayers found their feet.
They shifted as my identity and priorities did.
They changed as I met Jesus in all my ineptitude.
They changed as I realized how wrong my priorities had been,
“Oh Lord, break my heart with the things that break yours”
And now my prayers are raw.
A heart laid bare.
Desperate pleas for wisdom, for grace, for patience.
Humbled by a call much too big.
So aware of my own smallness
All I can do is plead and praise.
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