A couple of days ago I didn’t pray
I didn’t say help, or thank you. I didn’t tell the Lord,
I remembered that when I am weak,
He is strong.
At the end of the day
I collapsed into the flannel sheets and
never said one word to the Lord of my life,
the One who holds me, holds all,
the approachable Jesus
who gave sight to the blind,
caused the lame to walk,
raised the dead to life,
became hope for the desperate.
I started to confess my lack of prayer to a friend
in a text. She mainly knows me as someone who prays,
who believes prayer is needful---
as needful as drinking water,
My prayer life has hiked up and down
mountains. I love the mystery of prayer.
There are days when my prayers are mute.
Prayer sits in silence and waits. A dove coos in thicket.
The Lord is near, my Redeemer. Do I dare say,
Friends can sit with one another
without speaking and
find each other’s presence
to be enough.
I remember someone complaining
at church about a hymn, or a chorus that
referred to God as a friend. She said it sounded
so casual to call God friend.
Maybe she leaves God in heaven?
But my God helps me find my keys and
rides around with me
in the car.