There’s a low-rumbling storm passing through. Flashes of light. Groans filling the sky. I’ve been sitting on my bedroom floor in the dark, trying to pray. But all I can manage to say is, “Lord . . .” Lord, like He knows what I’m trying to say even though I don’t. So, I sing Angel from Montgomery over and over again, the only words I have that come close to prayer, tears seeping, my voice cracking.
Just give me one thing, Lord, that I can hold on to.
I don’t know what to grab in this freefall, in this year from hell.
To believe in this living . . . Lord, this time it’s too hard, there’s too much piling on too fast.
I am an old woman, alone in desperate times. I don’t know if this faith of mine is enough. One thing to hold on to.
