Prayer of the Day

Lord, You know who I am praying about. You saw what they did. You know it was real. I am not here to pretend it didn't hurt.

But I have been carrying this too long, and it is heavier than they will ever know. The resentment I keep feeding does not touch them. It only lives in me, and it is a bad tenant.

So today, as an act of will and not of feeling, I choose to forgive. I hand this person and what they did over to You — the Judge who sees everything and gets everything right. Justice is Yours now, not mine. I resign the job.

I may have to pray this again tomorrow. The hurt may knock again next week. Each time it does, help me open the door and hand it back to You.

And someday, Lord — I am not there yet — make me able to wish them well. Do in me what only You can do.

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.