Night refuses to bring sleep. In the stillness, young fingers interlock as she readies for prayer. “Please God, give all children around the world one hour. One hour of peace, safety, warmth. Ease their hunger, fears, and abused bodies.” Every night, before saying amen, the tear-drenched heart pleads, “Please God, save me.” Years pass, without rescue. By age twelve, the prayers are replaced with anger. Years pass.

A young woman with children of her own, she hears the faint whispers of God, “Come back to me.” Day by day, anger and pain are replaced with joy and gratitude. God carries her beyond the fires of life, heals her heart, and redeems her soul.

Today, white hair and the peaceful roadmap of wrinkles dance together. Chocolate-dusted coffee and pillows arranged to support her troubled back stand ready for morning time with her Father. Before she has the opportunity to engage, He asks, “What happened to that prayer? You know, the one for all children. you prayed it for so many years.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve included prayers for the disadvantaged. But You are right, the passion is gone. Will You help me find it?”

He responds, “Because the prayer became bonded to the abuse, your anger buried it.”

“Help me find it, please.” Words clung to the back of her throat, refusing to come forward. Seasoned in faith and trust, she moves toward His truth, “I’ll be right here, say the words.” No longer a child, she approaches the prayer with the mind and heart of a woman. The child is gone. Heavy-laden and seemingly foreign words push ahead, “Please God, for one hour, ease the suffering of the homeless, mentally ill, and all children. The lonely, dejected, incompetent, caged, trapped, and abandoned. As their suffering lifts, for those brief moments, allow Your people to witness and minister. Let the displaced feel the power and love of a Savior.” Tears, too long denied, flow for the weary souls.

Oh dear. Deeper thoughts and plans take hold. Ask Him for more. “What if, for that one hour, you flood them with Your presence? Forget sending us, there’s only one hour. A surge of Your energy, they can’t deny! All would respond, running into Your arms.” The excitement is barely containable. So clever.

God clarifies, “I sent my Son to the world, gifting miracles for years and witnessed by multitudes. He willingly endured humiliation, torture, and death. One hour of My presence will not achieve what you desire. The day will come when I reveal to the world who I am. Every knee will bow.”

He continues, “My children are tasked with specific missions. But all who believe in Jesus are called to share the Gospel. Continue to pray, my daughter. My heart is warmed when your heart is broken for the suffering. Perhaps you should find ways to share your faith one hour per day.”

Father, thank You for healing another piece of my heart. You and I have journeyed through this process for many years. Others would have given up on our   

expedition, but not You. Never You. Thank You for unveiling the connection between the prayer and the abuse. The keys to the shackles of bondage were ripped from Satan’s grasp.

Thank You for trusting me with a ministry. Please help me find ways to spend my hours fruitfully.

In Jesus’s name, Amen