The Party That Never Quits

Some days, all I can manage to pray is

"Be with me, Jesus"

And often, I don't even have the strength to create sound. Some days it's mouthed, others it's a whisper inside my head.

I am tempted to see this as a failing. That my prayers aren't beautiful prose, that they aren't sprinkled with verses and the promises of God.

But always, this story comes to mind:

"Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.'

"But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'

~Luke 18:10-13

God would much rather hear my hearfelt 4 word prayer than any long winded thing I spew out because it makes me look holy and sanctified, and satisfies some part of me that says I've just done it 'right'.

My little prayer carries many answers, and I hear them being softly whispered to me as I pray my desperate petition;

"I will never leave you or forsake you..."

"I am with you always..."

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it."..."

"I carry you, weary mother..."


It is such a comfort to know that whenever I manage to muster up this cry

"...God has surely listened and heard my voice in prayer. Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld his love from me!"