"Our Father Which Art...."
Lately I feel like I don't know how to pray. What could i possibly have to say? Please do this? Please do that? Protect him? Heal her? I no longer know how God works. I don't think I ever did know, but I sure thought I knew more than now. Dobson and MacArthur and Ezzo said what was what, and I believed it. Now I feel as if I'm trying to cough up that hook, line and sinker I swallowed, without also coughing up my lungs.
All I can muster these days is prayers along the lines of Anne Lamott:
"helphelphelp" and "thank you thank you thank you"
or Madelaine L'Engle:
I hate you.
God help me...
...and bless you.