I didn't have prayer.
It's been one of those days that my hands fly like vultures across the pages of my bible, seeking the remains of something once alive and vibrant. Nothing seems to speak to me. I can't concentrate, and the Bible doesn't make sense today.
I try to pray, but I stall. There are things I want to say, but I can't articulate any of them. I don't have any words, and then my hollow laugh at the irony of that. I close my eyes. I flop down on the bed that I've spent too much time in today. My mouth is stale, and I need a shower. I still have on my pajamas. Jesus knows I can't pray, so I don't.
I just sit there, funky, sad, and quiet in His presence until it is out--a barely perceptible sigh.
Jesus considers it (Psalms 5:1).
He doesn't say anything to me. He doesn't make me laugh or demand that I "snap out of it." He doesn't give deep spiritual insight. He sits. He nods in understanding at the longings only He can see. He sighs. His sigh is His intercession.
I wish I could touch him, but I am small and human, and mostly wait for Him to touch me. Even then, it is a mere whisper of His presence, but I'll take it. We sit. He allows me to be in pain. I'm okay with that, just as long is He doesn't leave me.
I feel tired, and His presence nudges me to get under the covers. He wants me to sleep. I know this. For a moment, it startles me that I know exactly what I am supposed to do for Jesus. I wonder at it, such a little thing, just go to sleep, but Jesus knows me well. He knows what I need. I trust and obey, pulling the covers over my shoulders. I find a prayer and gather what few resources I have today and speak it aloud to him. It is that one word prayer that I have said so often.
I feel a whisper of His presence. I feel His soft kiss goodnight inside my dreams.