Tonight I am heavy with prayer, if only because there are so many words I want to put to the emotions in my heart.
I pray to the God I both follow and fail every day, sometimes even in the same breath. I pray to the Holy Trinity, to the Spirit who moves me, to Jesus who guides me, to God who forgives me when I disregard the other Two.
I pray for the brokenness scattered across headlines, woven in between the lines of articles and opinions and blog posts. I pray because this brokenness is removed from me; it is faceless and far. I pray for those in mourning, for those nursing shattered dreams, for those who have lost faith – in God, in humankind, in love.
I pray because my compassion cannot move past my words and into my arms and hands and fingers. I pray because my compassion is timed. It is dated. It will expire.
I pray for the brokenness that I can touch, but often can’t find the words or the courage.
I pray for friends whose lives are stuck in fog, whose sadness is larger but quieter than the headlines. I pray with the friend who apologized for unloading a fraction of her burden, to just feel a little bit lighter and less alone. I pray in fear and shame that my countenance might have told her an apology was even necessary.
I pray in my ignorance and shortsightedness, as if this global brokenness is somehow uncontainable or unobserved. I pray to be heard, shouting because I am convinced that He is far away, fearful that the emptiness is bigger than He who fills it, uncertain because I know my thumb can block out the sun.
I pray because I don’t know what else to do. I pray because I want it all to be fixed. I pray because the answer is still “Not Yet”.
Tonight — if only tonight — will you join me?