Good morning…
Waking on this Sabbath morn, my muddied heart sits still amid high winds and hard rains of various kinds.
Though I am safely up the coast, I feel a prayerful solidarity with those hunkered down in the path of Hurricane Ida. I am praying, minute by minute, for the daughter of a dear friend who finally got a much needed bed in the ICU at an Atlanta hospital overrun with COVID patients. I hold in my heart the caregivers of the diseased and the depressed, the demented and the dying in our village. I am grieving with those seeking to celebrate the life and resurrection of our dear friend, Betty Skinner. Praying as I promised, I remember the good friend of a subscriber who has been working for days trying to get 200 Afghans, men, women, and children, to the airport at Kabul, from safe house to safe house. (“The next several hours are critical and they are nearing the end of the time for rescue,” her email explains.) I ponder in prayer the many who have lost their lives this week and the pain of all the loved ones abruptly left behind. I pray prayers of safety for those seeking to save the lives of strangers.
Reflecting on yesterday’s post, I Can’t Take It Anymore, amid life’s reeking residue, “God, what is MINE to do, MINE to say, MINE to care about?”
Deep prayer is MINE to do. Dredging up and pouring out the murky contents of my heart, I trust the eternal power of the God who sees, who hears, who loves. I am not the only one drawn down deep and spread out wide, silently in sync with the relentless rhythms of God. You can throw the whole weight of your anxieties upon him, for you are his personal concern (1 Peter 5:7, PHILLIPS).
We can dredge up and pour out our muddied, murky hearts any time of day or night. Dredging up and pouring out our honest prayers to God, this is enough.
…Sue…
