Whispers

Lately my prayers have been whispers.

Short.
To the point.
Intimate.
Raw.

I believe these prayers dear to God. Different of course from the as the ornate collects and other liturgy in the common book of prayer, yet just as true. I am broken, trying to move close to God, but his glory is intimidating. I’m at his feet with ashamed whispers.

But he hears.
He is my Father.
Abba.
Daddy.

Brendan Manning’s words ring in my ears: God loves me as I am, not as I should be. I notice evidence of my Abba responding in my life through circumstances, friends, peace in my heart.

My jaw drops.
Amazement.
I look around,
Did you notice that?
I did.
I know I did,
but it’s fleeting.
It’s … mystical, spiritual, bizarre
when you know that you’ve been heard,
really heard,
by the divine.

Rejoice!
God heard me.
God hears you.
God hears our whispered prayers.

May this resound today of all days. May you draw close to the source to celebrate LIFE, even (especially) among the whispers of your soul.

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