At one point in my life, I was finding it impossible to function under the ache of my worries about people I loved. The love was complicated by much pain and the people I loved were hurting in ways I could do nothing about. An older friend suggested that I give it all to God. Thinking about that and staring at a crucifix, I saw the bloody hole in the side of Christ and figured that was as good a place as any. After that I would arrive heavy hearted, then kneel and tuck those huge bodies into that tiny hole until I couldn’t see them anymore. “Here,” I would say. “You have to take them.”
When my mother my mother was dying, I could pray for strength or hope, but I could not pray for her to be healed. I expressed with shame to a friend one day, my inability to make this request. “It’s ok,” she said. “I’ll do it for you.” A burden lifted from me. I didn’t have to worry about what I couldn’t do. Someone else was doing it for me.
I find it impossible to explain what prayer has been for me. I have sometimes prayed many words, and sometimes said very little. Still something has happened in me as a result of direct action from outside of me. I do not have a long list of cancer cures or even minor miracles that I can point to, although I admire people that do. I have a heart that was much broken but tenderly healed. The garden of my spirit, being rather trampled, weedy and out of sorts, was not discarded, but rather chosen for loving restoration and new life.
Because of this, if anyone has prayer requests of any kind, I would be honoured to pray for them. If you understand the value of prayer, I would count it a privilege to join my prayers with yours. If prayer seems awkward, foreign or foolish to you, I would be more than willing to be awkward, foreign and foolish on your behalf, or on behalf of those you love.
You can send requests publicly by commenting on this page, or confidentially by e-mailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org. If you would like me to, I would sincerely welcome the chance to pray for you. Just ask.