I pray for my kids constantly. I have teenagers, and I feel a bit like Job who offered burnt sacrifices for each of his kids after their parties, thinking, “Perhaps my children have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.”* It’s hard work praying for kids who are not always walking the straight and narrow.
People at my church need prayer. My husband is the pastor, and I know a lot about these folks. The more I know them, the more I love them; and the more I love them, the more it hurts to see their burdens.
People around the world send me letters and email messages. They’ve read my book or heard me speak, and they know they’ve found a safe place to unload—and they tell such heartbreaking stories. I can’t do anything but pray for them.
My friends. My relatives. Myself! We all have so much going on, and we all need so much prayer.
Perhaps I dread praying lately because it brings to mind all the suffering in the world. I’d rather put my fingers in my ears and sing lalalala!
Yeah, I’m tired of praying. But tough beans. I’m also tired of cooking dinner sometimes and of working and of pulling weeds. It doesn’t mean I’m going to quit. Living out the faith takes perseverance. I love the sweet presence of the Lord, and I get plenty of opportunity to enjoy him. But he’s also opened my eyes to the burdens of others and he asks me to bring those burdens to him. It’s rather overwhelming to think he’s chosen me for this job, but I’m going to keep doing it as long as he lets me.Leave a Comment