A hard prayer. One of those prayers you hope to pray only once every few years max. Ideally never again, although you know that’s a non-reality this side of the Resurrection. But it’s a matter of life and death—literally—so you pray it anyways. Over and over again. Rolling it over and over again in your mind like a burning coal. Mumbling it under your breath like a curse word. Begging God for a blessing that you wish to that same God that you never had to ask for in the first place.
God heard and responded.
I cannot, of course, empirically prove that he answered, or that events occurred the way they did because I spoke some words over and over again into the ether. But I don’t care. I know what I saw with my eyes, heard with my ears, and felt with my hands. I know what I begged for. I know what happened and when. And I felt grace break into the world.
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