A prayer you can steal.
Sometimes, all you can muster is something small and simple. And that's OK.
I don’t have anything really profound today. But what I do have, I’m hoping you’ll steal.
Today was just one of those mornings. I didn’t get up at 4:30am. I didn’t spend time journaling. I didn’t spend time reading. Why? Because it was just one of those mornings.
And the hits just kept on coming.
As I got my kids ready for school, my 9-year-old daughter let us in on something: the school “passion project” she’d been working on all year and was supposed to present today wasn’t ready. We knew that it had encountered some hiccups. She was making a “video game” using a program at school, and when she went to save it a couple weeks ago she lost everything.
So we tried a backup program at home. That failed, too. However, we thought she still had some slides at school about the project that her teacher told her she could use. I realized this morning, though, that the “slides” weren’t really slides at all. Instead, they were questions she was supposed to ask the audience ABOUT her project after she was done presenting.
Needless to say, she was distraught. We felt bad for her. I questioned my parenting all morning, if I’m honest.
Should I have asked more questions?
Should I have emailed her teacher and not just assumed or trusted what I was hearing?
Did I not give her enough attention?
All that kind of stuff.
As I rode home from dropping her off at school, that’s when I was reminded of a book I’m reading. It’s called “Coming Clean” by and it’s all about the author recounting his first 90 days of sobriety. However, at the end of every chapter he says a simple prayer. It’s a prayer that has its roots in Luke 18:35-43, and has been said for centuries by the Church. It’s this prayer — with a slight variation — that I want you to steal.
It begins:
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