Sometimes I am too tired to pray.
Some nights I lay down and I don’t think twice about it.
I think about the two beautiful souls lying in the rooms across from mine. I worry about them. About their happiness, about their innocence. I worry if they are making good friends and are surrounded by good people. I worry if they felt loved today. Between the car rides and the drop-offs, between dinner dishes, baths and bedtime stories. Did I pause long enough for them to really feel my love?
I worry about our house. The things that need cleaned or fixed. Updated or organized. And I worry about the money it will take to do those things. To feed those mouths I love so much. To pay for the vacation to California that I promised next year. To keep keeping up with all we have ahead.
Then I think about the man next to me. I worry about him, too. I forgot to touch him today, and yesterday and probably the day before that. I can’t remember the last time I really looked hard into his eyes and told him I loved him. I know he feels my distant, my tired. I don’t worry about him feeling my love today because I already know the answer: he didn’t.
And I don’t worry about myself because I have about 109 more things I am thinking about, that I am worrying about. So, I put myself last because I know that I will be fine. And I know that because I have faith in God. Which is bizarre because if I have faith, He is watching over me, carrying my load beside me, quietly guiding. Then shouldn’t I know He will take care of all the rest?
The truth is, sometimes I am not so sure. Sometimes I have prayed so long and so hard and seen nothing, that I think if I miss a night of prayers, who will notice? I doubt He will.
Then I stop and think of all I do have, which sometimes requires a little more soul-searching than others, and I am reminded. I am reminded that He answers, even to sinners like me.
So tonight, even in all my tiredness, whether I talk to him 30 seconds or 30 minutes—I won’t be too tired to pray, and you shouldn’t either, because even this messy, broken and imperfectly beautiful soul knows . . . He is always listening.
You may also like: