Dear God, Dear Jesus, my beloved Lord and saviour,
I’m trying to reach you, but the air is dense around here. Even though I cannot hear you and cannot feel you where I am, I know, Lord, that you pursue me with your unfailing love all the days of my life no matter where I wander. You hear my worries and my doubts and confessions, and though you feel far away, you answer our prayers.
Dear Abba Father,
Everything is possible for you because your love is the most powerful healing force in the universe, in all of creation, and it always has been and it always will be. Please take this cup of suffering from us, for it is painful and tiring. And some of that pain feels so bitter against our skin and in our bellies.
We are not weak, Eloheim, yet this punishment feels so relentless and unfair. After everything that we’ve been through, the way we have been persecuted from our earliest youth, this rebuke feels like too much and we turn from you in these moments.
Should we not be taken into your loving arms and held until you love us the way Jesus son of David did, the way Abraham and Issac and Jacob, Israel, did? Should we not be nurtured and protected and fought for by you, God, the way we missed in our childhood? Should we not be granted rest before you judge us and convict us? We are so weary, God, we need Christ Jesus to carry us all day long and all through the night until each one of us can truly walk on our own.
Abba Father, please take this suffering from us, yet we want your will to be done, not ours. For you will for us to be peace filled and joyous. You will for us to have our needs taken care of. You will for us to be free. We deserve to be free, yet parts of us still struggle to believe this fully. Help us, Lord, to soften and open our hearts so we can allow your love to carry us. Help us, Lord, feel worthy, truly worthy, of your love, even though we are nothing compared to you, even though we would not exist without you, our creator, even though as humans we make mistakes every single day. Show us your love, Abba Father, in ways that meet us where we are.
Oh Sovereign God,
I have a confession to make. I have no idea what I am doing and yet you’ve handed me so much responsibility – like, if I am not centred when I hold the full weight of it I topple forward – and this feels so similar to some ways I’ve been persecuted from my earliest youth. To be given such high expectations to meet, yet to be not given the clear instruction I can hear, confirm, see.
Eloheim, the God of my father and my grandfather and my greatgrandfather,
I cry out to you and ask that you remember the covenant you made with us. I don’t want another failure. I don’t want to be another example of what to avoid and why. Yet, if that is your will for me, Abba Father, I accept my fate, my true fate. Yet, if that is your will for me, I feel like I have already fulfilled my purpose.
So why am I still here?
God, you have handed me such an arduous weight with this responsibility of caring for so many children. Me, I confess to you God, I have been trying to be a loving mother on my own. I confess that I have no idea what I’m doing. None. I confess that what I’ve been trying hasn’t worked. I confess to you, God, that I need your help. I need you to help me with everything, God. You gave me so many children to care for, Eloheim, but I am just a girl myself in many ways. How can you look at me and see a person who deserves to be handed such responsibility? What do you see in me that says, This is a woman who can care for thousands of children. More. More? More children that I can count. What is it about me specifically that makes you so certain I can handle this responsibility?
Because, God, of all my children scattered around the world, I cannot say that each is safe, that each knows s/he is loved, that each feels a true joy, that each knows their purpose, or even that they have a purpose.
I confess, Abba Father, that some of my children have fallen into the hands of the devil, and I have tried everything I can think of to free them, but nothing has worked. I confess, God, that I see this as a failure on my part. I confess, God, that some of my children have willingly run to the devil, being driven by the desire to destroy themselves or others or both.
This is my greatest heartbreak, God, and I confess that I have been trying to heal my heart on my own, and that nothing I’ve done has really worked and that I need your help.
Oh, to walk on this earth as you did as Jesus of Nazarene, so filled with faith and free of nagging worry.
I confess, God, that I have allowed both my guilt and resentment interfere with the way I parent and love the other children. Guilt for not giving them enough of what they need to keep them out of the devil’s arms, under his thumb, and resentment toward the devil himself.
What kind of lost child makes it his life purpose to defy you, to punish you, to bring harm to your children because he knows it will hurt you? What kind of lost child rips out all of the human parts of himself so he won’t be manipulated the way that he manipulates these children?
All to prove to you that he doesn’t need your love. That he doesn’t need your power or protection. That he can not only get along without you but that he can do better without you. And then it wasn’t enough for him to do well without you. He needed to prove to you that others don’t need your love or power or protection. And to prove all of these things to himself.
He has persecuted everyone from his earliest youth. And I tried to love him, Father, I tried to give and give and give him love and shelter and the security of knowing there’s power he can access through you that won’t electrocute him, but he never wanted this love. He wanted to control your love and everyone who loves you. He did it to destroy you and everyone who loves you. I know now, God, that his heart will always be hardened, heavy, but he is one of your children, too, and each of your children deserve your love.
God, I am terribly afraid that I’ve been too caught up in this cycle to properly care for all of my children. This cycle of loving because I want to believe that love will change the world, anger as the scales are ripped from my eyes by his depravity and absolute disregard for all life, fear, resentment that he has tricked me again, and then trying love just one more time.
Here I am, Almighty Lord, trying to offer whatever shelter and light I find in you, too pitifully caught up in my own fear of failure to turn any person away – even those who do not welcome me – and to shake the dust from my feet as a public testimony against them.
I confess, God, that part of me cannot believe that love isn’t powerful enough to change even the most wicked and hardhearted because it makes me feel helpless as a mother. If this nurturing momma love that comes straight through me from you cannot break open each human who walks on this earth, all who have ever walked on this earth, then I don’t know how I can believe it’s powerful at all. I don’t understand your power if it opens one heart and not another.
Each of the children you’ve entrusted to me has the power to keep their heart closed.
How can you ask me to walk away? How can you ask me to leave them alone? Even when they are unreachable, God, I’m the mom who will sit beside them just so they know the lies that the devil tells about not being worthy of love are not true. Even when they can’t really see me there beside them, I know part of them knows I am there. And I believe this presence might just make the difference on those really bad days.
I know this is probably part of the reason you gave me this responsibility. But I’m tangled somehow, loving sideways.
I need you to help me, God. I need you to promise me that even before I fully leave, you will be there beside them. And even if they can’t hear or feel you where they are, I need you to promise me that it’s enough.
Help me believe that you will keep them safe from the devil while I’m away. Help me forgive the devil for all the ways he has destroyed my children, your children, our children, God, all for the sake of his guarding his own broken heart by turning it to stone. Help me forgive myself, God, for not protecting them from his sneaky, devious ways. Help me forgive myself for not being able to free these children, God.
Tell me I did everything you asked, God. Tell me I haven’t failed. Tell me my love was enough, even for those children who never felt it.