It’s hard to write when I know the world’s hurting. It’s hard to write about love, or heartbreak, or even finding strength because it feels like I’m reducing the pain others are experiencing right now, even though I’m not. Or not trying to.
And it feels trivial to think about my own little problems when there’s a world outside of me that’s thinking about, and waking up to, things that cut much deeper.
I have lists of ideas to write about—silly, light-hearted, encouraging, thoughtful, bold. But none of them hit home today. Instead, I’m sitting at my table, listening to a fire truck race by on the street outside my apartment and wondering what I could say that could actually matter.
And at times like this, I’m instantly brought to my faith.
I’m brought to prayer, because when I feel I don’t have the answers, or the words, or even the understanding of something bigger than myself—I pray. I pray because I know, and I believe, and I trust that there is a God who knows more than I do. And knows the purpose of things I cannot comprehend. I pray because I want to be led to answers, but even more than that, I pray because I want to know what tiny difference I can make, and what I can do to bring some sort of healing to the world around me.
I pray because I believe.
And so I’m praying right now—for our world, for us, for myself and my privilege, so that I can understand the people around me and not stand in a place of judgment or dismissal. I pray for strength. I pray for peace. I pray that we can begin to understand one another and turn our faces to each other, rather than against. I pray that we don’t try to just ‘get along’ or brush problems under the rug, but that we fight passionately for what we believe. And for the causes that need fighting for. And for each other, most of all.
I pray that there will soon be a day where love comes first, and understanding comes second, and no matter where we come from or what our walk of life has been, we open our eyes to one another. And we try to understand.
I pray that pain won’t be so prevalent. That care and kindness will take priority. And I pray that one day we won’t wake up and feel burdened by the decisions of our country, won’t be fearful of the future, won’t need to defend our race, our sex, our bodies, our choices. Won’t have to fight for rights that should already be given.
Today, I pray for myself and others of privilege, that we will find the words that express love, humility, determination, and passion for those whose voices feel silenced. Today, I pray for those who feel silenced, that their words will grow from their bellies and become huge and powerful. That they see those fighting for them, with them. And that they see there is strength and hope, even where hope seems lost.
Today, I pray for new beginnings. I pray for guidance—for each of us, and for our country. I pray for love. And I pray for healing. That on days where we cannot find the words, on days where our nation feels distraught, on days where it doesn’t seem like there are answers—we find them in our faith.
And we hold on, trusting, believing, learning, loving, changing, growing, and coming together.