Our father who art in Heaven, please
be on Earth as it is up there because I can’t do this on my own.
Help?

The words trip and fall off my tongue sincerely, but without eloquence.

Fitting, I suppose.

I’ve been tripping and falling through life without much eloquence lately.

I have no idea what I’m doing.
Help?

At once it is a bold declaration of trust in One greater than myself, and a confession of my own terrifying folly.
Am I doing this all wrong?

Father please…

The words trail off because I’ve run out of good ideas, including what to pray next. I hope He knows better than I do.

But I keep returning, returning, returning to ask again.

Father…

Not because He needs to be reminded nor begged, oh no.
I don’t think He’s like that.

But I —

I need to be reminded over and over again that in this stumbling and tripping and falling He is present, that this is what it is to walk by faith (I think).

I hope.

Our Father who art in Heaven, please

I already know that He is, and that He will, but still…
Ah, there’s the catch. I don’t do well at “still”. I do a lot better at chaos, swirling panic, grasping. Trying. Fearing that I’m alone.

And all I know is that there is no line between faith and fear; sometimes they’re the same thing all mixed together indistinguishable.

All I have is this.

Our father who art in Heaven, please
be here

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 Originally published on A Deeper Story – (February 2014)