I am small, God is big. This is most certainly true.
I feel my smallness mightily this week after a depression flare, a reminder that I do not control a single thing that really matters.
I kneel in the pew after communion.
My prayers are weak, quiet, uncertain. I don't know what I even need. I only know that I have need, I am need, I am a huge black hole of need that doesn't even know what to ask for. My thoughts are tired. My prayer is weak.
There in that big church, I am small, and my God is big. But he's not too big. He's not so far up there, not high in the sky where he can only hear loud prayers or confident prayers.
I know this because I know His Word.
He is near to the broken-hearted, to the crushed, to the tired in spirit.
My God is not way up there, waiting for me to assemble a good prayer and shoot it up to him.
He is with me, even me, even here.
What words do I pray that day after I receive His body and blood? Were they profound, lengthy, or holy? I remember only a quiet "thanks" and a weary "help me." But He prays with me and for me, right alongside me.
I imagine him there with me, on the creaky kneeler, His feet like mine resting on the torn coloring pages under the pews. I imagine Him letting me lean right on Him in my weary praying. His arm is around me for comfort and support. His other hand rests on my praying hands, and He prays with me and for me.
He sweeps my prayer up into His; he takes my prayer and amplifies it, sanctifies it.
He untangles all my tangles, and He knows exactly what I need. He sees me with clear eyes and looks upon me with the love of the Father. He lives to advocate for me, and He does this even when I am too weary to pray.
My weakness takes refuge in His strength.
In His arms, surrounded by His prayer, I wait in safety.
But you, O , are a shield about me,
He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him,
since he always lives to make intercession for them. (Hebrews 7:25)
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