Prayer of the Day

Father, I've been asking the quiet question lately — the one that shows up on the commute and in the middle of long meetings: Is this what I'm supposed to be doing with my life?

You knit me together with certain gifts on purpose. Help me name them honestly — the work that makes me lose track of time, the thing people keep thanking me for, the need in the world that tugs at me and won't let go. Somewhere in there is Your fingerprint. Show me.

Teach me, too, that calling isn't always a job title. Maybe the purpose is in the position I already hold — the people I could serve right here if I looked up from my own restlessness. Redeem my ordinary Tuesdays, Lord. Not every burning bush is dramatic; some just look like doing good work with a whole heart.

But if You are stirring me toward something new — a change, a leap, a course I keep almost signing up for — then make it plain, and make me brave. I would rather take a risk with You than stay comfortable without You.

One step, Father. I'm not asking for the whole map. Just light enough for the next step, and the faith to take it.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Father, here is my child, almost asleep. Of everything You've trusted me with, this is the one that makes me pray the hardest.

Watch over this child tonight. Keep their sleep sweet and their dreams kind. Let them wake up rested, ready to laugh.

Thank You for who You made them to be — for the questions they ask, the way they see things, the particular joy they carry into a room. I forget to be amazed. Tonight I remember.

Grow them up strong and gentle, Lord. Give them courage for a world I can't follow them into, and a faith that's truly their own, not borrowed from mine.

Forgive me for the ways I fell short as a parent today. Cover my gaps with Your grace — You have always been the better Father.

Hold them tonight, and hold them always, long after my arms can't reach.

In Jesus' name, Amen.