We have prayer time each morning in my homeroom class. I wish I were sanctified enough that I could enjoy it, but in reality it’s a trial. I haven’t finished my coffee, and I am impatient with the push and pull of listening to a sincere request while silencing the chatty students in the other corner. My partially conscious state does not encourage me to impress these talkers with the serious business of hearing prayer needs. In fact, I’d just as soon skip this whole affair.

But, for all the talking and chatting, when it comes time to bow heads and close eyes, there is complete and perfect silence.This morning we pray for friends with cancer, for tests and quizzes, for the man whose car broke down on the road near the school. We lift up requests for sick parents, vacations, birthdays, and repairmen fixing water heaters. As I hear the words tumbling from the mouth of my serious yet eager prayer volunteer, I’m reminded that we serve a God who cares for both the big and the small in our lives.

It’s a special grace in my life to have these students and to have this moment, even if I struggle with arriving at it.


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