Prayer of the Day

Lord, You told me to pray for my enemies. I want to be honest with You: I don't want to.

There are names in my heart right now — people who hurt me, people who lied about me, people who took something from me and never looked back. My instinct is to rehearse the wrong, not to pray for the one who did it.

But You said: love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Pray for them which despitefully use you. You didn't say it from a safe distance, either. You said it, and then You prayed for the men holding the nails.

So here I am, doing the hardest kind of obedience.

Bless them, Lord. I say it through gritted teeth today; maybe someday I'll mean it more. Meet them where they are. Deal with them — not as I would, but as You dealt with me: with truth, and with mercy. If there is wrong in them, turn them from it. If there is pain behind their cruelty, heal it.

And work on me while You're at it. Take this bitterness before it takes me. I'm not asking You to call what happened okay — You never do. I'm asking You to carry the debt so I can put it down.

Keep me praying for them until the prayer changes me.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Lord, it's late, and I'm still awake.

I've counted, breathed, flipped the pillow to the cool side. Sleep isn't coming, and lying here fighting for it is only pushing it further away. So instead of fighting, I'm going to talk to You.

You know why I'm awake. Maybe it's the coffee. Maybe it's the worry. Maybe it's nothing I can name — just a body that won't power down and a mind still pacing the halls.

Whatever it is, I'm through pretending I can fix it by trying harder. Sleep is a gift, not a wage. I can't earn it. I can only receive it. So I open my hands here in the dark.

While I wait, I'll use the quiet. Thank You for this bed. Someone tonight has none. Thank You for this roof, this blanket, this breath. Thank You that the night is not empty — You are in it, wide awake, keeping watch over everyone I love.

I pray for the others awake right now: the new parents, the night-shift workers, the worriers like me, the ones in hospital beds watching the same slow clock. Be near to every one of them.

If sleep comes, thank You — I'll take it gladly. If it doesn't, then stay with me through these strange small hours, and give me grace for tomorrow anyway. You've stretched thin nights over thin days before and somehow made them hold.

Either way, I am not alone in this dark room. That is enough to rest on, even with my eyes open.

In Jesus' name, Amen.