So. Many. Words.
On this, the anniversary of 9-11,
so many prayers float across my screen.
I want to take a bit from this one,
a bit from that,
serve them up, a full-course meal of prayer
for those who died
and those who lived
the first responders then, and now,
in so many places in the world.
Forgiveness undeserved, yet given.
Hope lost, and yet restored.
So many faces.
Victims of Ebola.
Liberia, Guinea, Nigeria,Sierra Leone, Senegal.
Countries yet untouched, but still in fear.
The dead,
bodies that can only safely be mourned and buried
if unseen, chlorine sprayed,
to protect the living.
The hooded faceless, inhuman-seeming beings,
that want to be their life-givers, and all too often
are their guides
into the next world.
So many memories.
Promises, after each war, each terror,
each shredded life,
that we would never forget.
That we would never allow that kind of pain
to echo through the nations.
Not now.
Not ever again.
Promises made, and lost, just as quickly.
Shadowed eyes and aching hearts
of millions of refugees pouring into Cameroon
from Nigeria and Central African Republic.
So much uncertainty.
To intervene, or not,
as the United Nations urges global leaders
to protect Iraqi and Syrian civilians from Islamic State militants.
To protect, most especially, religious and ethnic groups,
children — especially the children,
women – especially the women.
And this time, the Arab League member countries
have pledged to work with international efforts
to stop ISIS,
while Western nations wonder
if we (forgive the “we” – this is my part of the world)
are being manipulated into
a war that is not our own.
If we are the aggressors, or
the rescuers.
So many prayers.
I want to take a bit from this one,
a bit from that,
serve them up, a full-course meal of prayer.
The ones in words,
the ones unvoiced,
the ones from those who do not know
that their cares, their longings,
their fears,
that all of these are prayers.
I want to serve them up,
a full-course meal of prayer.
Gracious God,
hear us all.
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