I bring muffins and say my prayers and walk dogs and write cards and texts, but it isn’t enough. They don’t need baked goods and stationary, they need help- and I can’t be the one to provide it.
I want to. I desperately want to, but the help they need is so much bigger than me and what I can offer…hence the prayers. I say a lot of them lately. In all the in-between spaces of my life; the car, my lunch break, between meetings. They aren’t long. Sometimes I can only get out one frantic, desperate syllable-
over and over and over again.
But to be honest, sometimes I wonder if God hears them, and if He does, what is He doing with them?
Is he just storing them away in a file cabinet, alphabetized by author’s last name- to be answered all at one time on some unknown future date? Or does He check them the way we check emails- some read and responded to right away but others forgotten or accidentally marked as spam?
Hey God, can you check your spam please?
All the while the brokenness continues. Day by day, I wait. I bake and pray and walk and write and wait. The brokenness remains, and I hurt for these dear people I love so much but can’t help.