I can’t stop thinking about you.
You, on the other side of these words. How I wish I could reach through the warm glow of your cyberdoor, turn the knob, step inside, cup your face in my hands and tell you:
You. Are. Loved.
I read your emails, the ones that you mustered up the courage to send in the middle of the night. You unzip your heart, trust me enough with your secrets. You expose wilted spirits, and ask: Could you pray?
Today, I am.
I light the HOPE candle for you, sweet sister. This day is for you …
For you, the woman tethered to the desk and the to-dos. You are tired.
May the Father grant you respite.
And for you, whose husband sits in the room … but isn’t really there at all.
May Abba enfold you with enduringly strong arms.
And for you, the woman surrounded by a hundred friends who need you, but no one really sees your pain. You’re lonely. And why can’t anyone reciprocate what you so freely give?
May the Lord whisper His love over you.
I pray for you, with the diagnosis.
And you, with the errant child.
And you, whose closest friend is heartache.
And you, who lost your faith and don’t know how to get it back.
I know some of your faces — just some — because you are here in the comment box, or just up the road, or across the church aisle.
But some of you? You crack open this door quietly, peek in and leave. You are a shadow. Today, dear one, before you leave, will you stand in the light, and will you look up above the hinged door? Would you read that sign? Yes, right there. That’s a Love note from the Father, you know. It reads: My banner over you is love.
I pray for you today.
When you read these words, know they are for you. Know that you are being prayed for.
I’ve lit the wick; I hold out Hope for you.
Today’s comment box is for your prayers. Shall we intercede for one another? How can I pray for you? If you can’t share the details, that’s OK. And if it’s too hard to step out of the shadows, that’s OK. Because God knows. He knows.