Genesis 2:7

Then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.

Breathe into me, Lord.

Breathe into me the Breath of Life

and command me to live

as You commanded Adam.

Command me to live

as You commanded those

dry bones in the desert.

Fill my lungs with

Your Holy Breath

and set me on the path to proclaim

Your infinite love and glorious majesty.

Quench my thirst with Living Water.

Feed me with the Bread of Life.

Fill me, oxygenate me, revive me

with Your Holy Spirit.

Give me strength to soar.

Give me breath to sing.

Let my feet never touch the ground

for You carry me and lift me up.

Let me ride on the Breath of the Spirit.

Let me breathe the air that angels breathe.

Command me to live, Lord,

and I know my heart and lungs will listen.

Command me to live, Lord,

and fill me with Your love.

Amen.

2 Timothy 4:7

It was my dad who said to me a few months ago that he was not fond of the term “prayer warrior” because he saw those who practiced intercessory prayer less as warriors fighting a battle and more as medics or prayer first-responders. 

I so liked what he had to say that I actually modified it slightly to use on my own.  Yes, there are times when we are called to be prayer warriors, but most of the time I see myself as a spiritual first-responder.

2 Timothy 4:7

 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

Lord, I am not a warrior.

That fight is not within me.

But that does not mean

that I won’t charge into

the battle for You.

Lord, I am not a warrior.

You made me a medic.

You made me one of Your

Spiritual First-Responders.

I will fight for Your people Lord,

but I will do it with healing;

I will do it with prayer.

I will be gentle

and I will be kind.

I will be fervent, and I will

let Your Spirit shine, Lord.

I will speak softly,

but with passion.

I will deliver Your Spirit, Lord,

with my words.

I will deliver Your Spirit

with my love.

I will lift Your people up.

I will claim them in Your holy name.

I will stand by them.

I will stand with them.

I will not leave them alone.

I will keep the faith for them.

I will keep it safe and strong.

This race, Lord, is never over.

There is no finish.

I will never stop praying,

until that day You bring us home.

Amen.

Isaiah 41:13

For I, the Lord your God,
    hold your right hand;
it is I who say to you, “Do not fear,
    I will help you.”

Here, take My hand.

I have wondrous things

to show you, beginning here

with all the things you miss

in that fraction of a second

you lose when you blink.

Take My hand.

Come now, don’t be afraid.

You’ve been lost and wondering,

wandering for far too long,

but, have no worries, I know

the way through the woods.

After all, I created each and every tree.

I know every pinecone that has fallen

and every acorn pocketed in a squirrel’s cheeks.

Please, take My hand,

and let Me help you.

You are precious to Me.

You are so very precious to Me.

I cannot bear to see you suffer.

Stop hoarding that anger,

that sadness, that unbearable grief.

Your soul was not made

to carry all that pain.

Your pain is My pain

and every tear you cry,

flows again from My eyes.

Look, it’s getting dark

and the shadows are growing long.

Take My hand.

Let Me be your light.

You do not have to do this alone.

Dear, dear, child, draw near to Me now,

Draw near to Me.  Let Me hold you.

Let Me take this burden from you.

Amen.

Psalm 143:8

Let me hear of your steadfast love in the morning,

    for in you I put my trust.
Teach me the way I should go,
    for to you I lift up my soul.

To You, Lord, I lift up my soul.

To You—before the sun rises.

To You—before I even open my eyes.

To You—at my first waking breath.

To You—as my dreams fade and scatter

back to the shadowed memories of sleep.

To You—before the hunger of morning

wrestles me away.

To You, Lord, I confess

all my weaknesses, all my ugly truths,

all my doubts and all my fears,

all that troubles me and all that breaks me.

Every part of me that is broken,

I lift first thing to You, Lord.

Like a child handing over a torn teddy bear,

like a child weeping over a broken, beloved toy,

like a child who fears life will never be the same,

like a child who knows no better,

I hand all of these things—

I lift up all of these things to You.

And to You, Lord, I profess.

I am Yours.

All of me.

To remake.

To restore.

To make new,

so that joy may find its way

to me this morning,

so that Your love may break

through all the storms

that leave my heart in darkness,

so that the light of Your love

may break through and shine

and wake my soul and give it new life.

To You, Lord, I lift up my soul.

To You, Lord, I lift up my soul and sing.

Amen.

Romans 8:24-25

For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

When I think of the future

these days, I am mostly afraid,

or anxious and doubtful.

The future is unknown

and the unknown right now,

seems vast and expansive,

a whole, dark universe

without a single star.

In the past, I have looked

to the future with hope.

I have dreamed sweet dreams

of the things that have yet to be.

But now, such daydreams seem

like a luxury only children can afford.

To invest in hope seems risky and foolish.

And besides, what can I do when

the only currency in my pocket is fear?

Even so, even as I stand there, staring

into the vast unknown, I wonder if it’s true.

I wonder if I am completely hopeless,

or if there remains a few pennies of hope,

hidden under the couch cushions

or lost and forgotten in the pockets

of the jeans I wore last winter.

Invested well, even the smallest bit of

hope can grow into the richest treasure.

Fear is plentiful but worthless.

But hope—even the tiniest amount—

is invaluable.

Yes, the unknown is the unknown,

impossible to see or predict.

We know nothing about the future,

but this—God is there waiting.

He is always there waiting.

Every path, every road you have

ever taken has always led to God.

God, our Omnipresent, Divine Host,

is with you in all times.  

Having carried you in the past,

He walks with you now in the present,

even as He waits for you in the future.

Always.

And knowing that—holding onto that—

gives me permission to dare,

to dare to dream, to dare to hope. 

Amen.

Hebrews 6:19

We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul ….

Lord, I have become untethered,

unmoored, set adrift during the storm,

and this boat I’m on is too small

and leaking and rocking and already

the seawater is pooling at my feet.

The boat tips and threatens

to flip as it climbs each wave,

before crashing back down again.

And it’s dark—it’s so very dark

and I cannot see—I’m crying, I think

but my tears taste like the ocean

and I can’t help but wonder if

the sea has already claimed me.

But then, as one wave settles down

and another has yet to rise in its place,

I see You Lord.  I see You, somehow,

standing there, a lighthouse shining

in the middle of the water.

The waves bow down to You,

crest then fall, before disappearing

and fleeing into the night.

The clouds part over You, revealing

the stars, revealing a universe

that wakes and blinks and rubs its eyes

as it, too, is called upon to shine.

The storm rages on around me,

but around You there is no darkness,

there is only infinite light and infinite hope.

And here You come to me, walking

on water, leaving behind a trail

of light as if You were a comet,

streaking across the night sky.

And everywhere You shine,

the darkness stops and stares

for a moment, before grabbing

its things and sprinting away.

And everywhere You walk, Lord,

the storm settles and stills,

the waves lie down and sleep.

And here I sit, in my boat,

soaked and shivering,

every part of me quivering

as You reach out Your hand

and pull me into Your embrace.

Hope, my anchor.

Hope, my savior.

Hope, my redeemer.

Amen.

Isaiah 44:3

For I will pour water on the thirsty land,

    and streams on the dry ground;
I will pour my spirit upon your descendants,
    and my blessing on your offspring.

Lord, right now, I need

to be bathed in the Spirit.

I need to be washed

clean by Holy Waters.

I need to stand under

the waterfalls of Holy Living

and listen as Your Spirit pounds

the earth around me.

I need to feel Your presence,

that thunder that rumble.

I need a Holy Spirit storm, Lord.

I need that Breath of the Spirit

to catch me, to lift me off my feet.

I need to be carried in the whirlwind.

I need to feel the earth lurch under me.

I need to be twisted and tossed.

I need to be thrown about.

I need to be lost, Lord.

I need to be out of control,

in order to know that You

are in control.

I need Your Holy Spirit Storm, Lord,

to shake me from my complacency.

But then, after the storm, I need You to still

the restlessness that grows within me.

I need You to howl at me Lord,

and I need You to whisper.

I need You to shout and sing,

and then I need You to whisper and hum.

I need Your Spirit, Lord.

Pour out to me Your Spirit.

Soak me, drench me, in Your love.

Amen.