a prayer

Out of the heart the mouth speaks, justified or condemned by the words we share. Depending on the tree, we produce either good or bad fruit. We are shown to be what we really are based on what we do and say. Would you grow within me the fuit that comes only from you, that which is for the healing of the nations?

We are desperate for that which will bring peace and joy and love. I am sick with the troubles of this world. Let me not be overwhelmed by the catastrophes of our struggles. Let me not be paralyzed in fear by what we have done to one another. Where do we go from here? What can we do when so much has gone wrong?

Yesterday I sat in an old holding cell for slaves as they awaited buyers in Zanzibar. I sat in the claustrophobic room where many had died and many more had not seen the sky or felt the wind or sun for months or years. I was in the same space but a different time. I couldn’t imagine such events taking place if it wasn’t for the headlines I read today. Dictators holding power, oppressing for their own benifit as they multiply the blood on their hands. Governments beating their citizens to death in Cambodia today. Young Somalian boys born into violence and poverty, their only hope for economic gain being piracy.

This is the world you stepped into and nothing was ever the same again. You stepped into oppression, totalitarian dictatorship, and a twisted religious system that only served the leadership and was sucked dry of mercy. This is your world. You healed a man’s hand and they sought to destoy you for it. I believe that your kingdom is growing Father, but I’m afraid that not much is different from then. What should I do? You know I am yours, let me never forget it. How should I confront it? How do I prepare myself? You want me to know you.