I stood in my kitchen bare feet to hardwood floor,
And I prayed.
I prayed for the momma who had waited years for her bitty and now waits longer for results from the doctor about eyes that don't work.
I pray for the daughter that waits to say good bye to her only momma with no siblings to bear the grief that is coming.
I pray for my heart that won't beat right and makes the room spin and go dark, and I feel overwhelmed and inadequate.
I pray for the girl who is beautiful and funny and hates God and the skin that she feels trapped in and tries to cut her way out of it all the anger and hurt and loneliness and accusations that play on repeat in her head.
I pray for the boy who is in a mans body but doesn't know what a man should do because there are so few men left that now boys just grow into boys that have large hands and dark hair on their chins and a conquerors drive but no goal or purpose.
I pray for the future that refuses to comply to my demands. And I try and laugh at it like the woman in Proverbs 31, but it is a timid frightened laugh.
And I am afraid.
Sometimes prayer does that, not that it's meant to.
Not that it means to.
But sometimes when the list of prayers gets long and heavy, I get afraid.
Fear seems so safe.
Like if we meticulously tease out every dark corner and pre-maturely in our minds live the worst we have prepared.
Grace, that is not as safe, beggars can not be choosers and I want to choose.
Why?
Because I am fearful.
Fearful that God is not good.
Fearful that God is not willing.
Grace is only appealing as a trump to fear when we, I, soul deep believe Jesus is for me.
That Psalm 33 is true "The earth is full of the goodness (Steadfast love- love with no exit strategy)of the Lord."
Even hospital rooms and tired days and inadequate skills and uncertain futures.
When the bitty you've waited years for, you wait more.
When the relationship you've built you watch, knowing it is a vapor, soon to dissipate.
There is goodness in the waiting and the results and even the physical pain.
Goodness and grace in it all.
So I stand and I pray, but instead of begging for crumbs from the table I thank for the feast that is mine.
For heaven that waits for undeserving me.
For chicken broth and kale in a black pot on a stove.
For being alienated, with out hope, with out God, far off.... BUT GOD
For cool floors on bare feet.
For mommas that love Jesus and are loved by Jesus.
For brown curls on a bitty head.
For hope and goodness and love.
For room mates that do my dishes.
For steadfast love that has no exit strategy.
Full of goodness and full of love.
I pray- I ask- I thank.
And fear it can not stay because love always trumps fear and thanks always reminds us of how we are loved.
And love does not leave, so while the thanks of daily and eternal things spill from my lips fear must leave my heart.
