Prayer of the Day

Lord, this is not a sprint, and I am tired of running.

Give me endurance — the plain, unglamorous strength that gets up each morning and simply continues.

I don't ask You to shorten the road. I ask You to lengthen my stride, deepen my breath, and keep my eyes on where we're going.

Daily bread was Your idea, Father. So I'll stop asking for a year's strength at once and just take today's portion, with thanks.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Lord, it's night, and my mind will not be quiet.

The worries I managed to outrun all day have caught up with me here in the dark. They always seem bigger at night. You know this about us — You made these minds, and You are not annoyed with mine.

So here they are, one by one. The thing about money. The thing about my health. The people I love and can't protect. The conversation I keep replaying. The tomorrow I keep rehearsing.

I've held them all day, and it changed nothing. You hold them tonight.

You tell me to cast my cares on You, because You care for me. I'm doing that now — not gracefully, but honestly. Some of these I'll try to pick back up at 2 a.m. Be patient with me. Take them again.

Quiet my thoughts the way You quieted the sea — not by explaining the storm, but by speaking to it. Peace. Be still.

And if sleep is slow to come, let me lie here in the dark with You — not alone, not abandoned — just tired, and safe, and loved.

In Jesus' name, Amen.