A prayer after a horrible day....
Is this all for naught, Lord? Have I wasted my life pouring into these girls?
I just spent the last two hours listening to words of death. Listening to nothing that has the aroma of Christ. Like a tomb of rot.
Curse this, "Oh, my god!" that, stabbing insults at every person under the sun. Over and over again. Singing lyrics of songs that promote inventing ways to sin. Trying to figure out ways to mess with the mind of boys. If there's a lull in the conversation, fill it with hateful words about their teachers.
I couldn't even speak today, no word would move out of my mouth.
I just sat there begging for your Spirit.
We drove through the streets of St. Paul and the tension rose in my soul.
Maneuvering around snow mounds, a car honks, I'm in their way.
Sliding between two cars, each parked on one side of the street. Another car approaches as I begin to make my way between. He won't stop, I break. Inches between us, we both squeeze through, not before giving me the bird.
One thought on their mind, themselves.
I don't know, honestly, how the world manages to get anything done when the only thing we can possibly think about is ourselves. That is our sole thought, our motive, our conversation.
"Why are we here?" "Why did God create us?"
So we could be happy. One might believe.
Because God needs us. Another apostates.
We've lost our first love.
I just want to scream at the world, at the church, and look in the stupid mirror at myself,
"It's not about YOU!"
Instead, I sit in my car and feel sorry for myself that I can't seem to see any fruit in the lives of these girls. I'm defeated. I'm of little faith.
Lord, I pray for these girls, give them a heart of flesh and eyes to see your Kingdom. Drop the scales from their eyes that they may behold the Christ. And be forever changed. Give me faith.
World, see the Christ. He is long awaited and now celebrated. See his humility. All nations be moved in your hearts, be torn. Rend them, Lord. How great is the love of your Son. On the sweet cheeks of a baby, red with birth, the very blood pumps that would rescue my soul. That rescues yours, O peoples. See the wrapped hands that grasp virgin mother, these same hands would touch the eyes of the blind and give sight! World, see! Behold!