Lord, it’s Sunday morning, and I’m at home;
the community is meeting, but I’m alone with you.
Lord, it’s Sunday morning, and I’m at home;
the community is meeting, but I’m alone with you.
God, for you a day is like a thousand years,
and a thousand years are like a day
We beg you for peace, we are so weary of war.
We appeal for those in danger, whose very lives are at stake.
The grief of remembering what is not,
but could have been.
One nation devoted to spending money
on things we believe will bring us joy.
Why dear God, do you get our expectations up,
only to dash our hopes against a rock?
I’m reminded as I walk in, that whatever good may come out
will be from you, and you alone; not because of my talent or work.
For the sake of those who cannot celebrate today,
but for whom today is a day of terrifying reminders.
Our Father, who is in heaven:
A faithful presence, who never walks out on us.
Lord, what a delight when we see lightning and hear distant thunder.
Raindrops slowing splattering the sidewalk, racing each other, faster and faster!
Lord, by your blessing
we are in your mountains;
Lord, I can’t take it anymore, this life you’ve given is no gift;
but an unending experience of pain: a gift that just keeps giving.
Lord, is it wrong to give thanks
for a homerun, or a touchdown?
Lord, this year we have seen afresh
our debt to teachers,
at schools named Sandy Hook,
Plaza Towers, and Briarwood.
The middle of the night, sleep stolen again;
pain shaking me awake, the thief at midnight.
Prove that your grace is larger than a mile wide tornado;
your love greater than any storm.
Lord, God of Sara, Rebekah, and Rachel;
and God of Hagar, Bilhah, and Zilpah.
Lord, our minds are filled
by video clips played over and over:
explosions, debris, and people dying.