My prayers swing from holy reverence to terror in a breath. Sometimes I mutter, “God, grant me the freaking serenity,” at my children because they are messing with the last, tiny, frayed shred of it.
The thing is, I have to pray. Life is hard enough. Prayer is my way of saying: “I don’t have to hold all the bags. I can put them down.” It’s not balanced. It’s not perfect. It’s just real.
This message is an excerpt of “Remember this night” by Dana Bowman in the July/August 2019 issue of Gather magazine.
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