Pray together. Pray privately.

Hospice last Wednesday. He still has good hours. He told a joke yesterday and we all laughed too hard, the way you do. My mother is sleeping next to him every night. My brother flew in from Sydney; he hadn't seen our father since Christmas and now they are catching up on twenty years in whispered conversations between…

Three years almost to the day from the diagnosis. The doctor said the word 'remission' and I think I said 'thank you' four times before I could pull it together. I am not the same person I was three years ago. I am quieter. I am less impressed by some things and more impressed by others. I cry at the smallest pieces o…

Pray for a quieter mind tonight.

I don't know the details. Pray for them anyway.

It might be nothing. The doctor used the word 'probably' and the word 'most likely' a lot, and then scheduled three more appointments. I held it together through the consult and cried in the car park afterwards. We haven't told the kids yet. They have a big school week and I don't want to give them this to carry. My h…

We didn't tell them how stretched we are; they wouldn't accept the help if they knew. Pray for sufficiency for everyone. Pray for me to do this without resentment, even on the months when it is hard. They gave us everything they had once.

Two real options on the table. Both could work. Both have shadows. Pray for clarity rather than certainty — I keep waiting to feel sure, and the feeling isn't coming. Pray for the wisdom to choose with the information I have, and the courage to live with whichever choice.

I keep replaying it. Pray for me to lay it down without dropping the boundary. There is a version of forgiveness that is just self-erasure and I don't want to do that. There is also a version that holds resentment forever and I don't want to do that either. Pray for the middle path.

Seen, even when it is quiet. Held, even when no one knows. May this prayer find you wherever you are sitting tonight, and may it land like a hand on your shoulder.

Pray for one slow weekend.

Pray for grounded confidence in who I am.

He had a hard week at school — sensory overload on Tuesday, then a misunderstanding with a classmate on Thursday. The teachers are kind but stretched. Pray for one breakthrough this month, and for a steady friend. He doesn't need many. He needs one.

He had a hard week at school — sensory overload on Tuesday, then a misunderstanding with a classmate on Thursday. The teachers are kind but stretched. Pray for one breakthrough this month, and for a steady friend. He doesn't need many. He needs one.

We hadn't spoken properly in four years. Long story, dumb story; it started with an argument about our father's money and ended with neither of us willing to be the first to call. I called yesterday. He picked up on the second ring like he had been waiting. We talked for two hours. We cried. We laughed about something…

It still doesn't feel real most mornings. I open my phone to text her about something silly maybe twice a week. Then I remember. Some days I am okay. I work, I cook, I laugh at a thing on the radio. Other days I am ambushed by a song or a smell or someone who looks a little like her from behind, and I have to sit down…

Pray for patience and for the long view.

May rest find you tonight. May tomorrow be a little gentler.

It still doesn't feel real most mornings. I open my phone to text her about something silly maybe twice a week. Then I remember. Some days I am okay. I work, I cook, I laugh at a thing on the radio. Other days I am ambushed by a song or a smell or someone who looks a little like her from behind, and I have to sit down…

It was not the year we imagined. We had two job losses, a small loss in the family, and a long stretch where we both just survived next to each other instead of with each other. Pray for the second year. For tenderness to come back. For the small habits — the goodnight, the hand on the shoulder, the laugh at our share…

It was not the year we imagined. We had two job losses, a small loss in the family, and a long stretch where we both just survived next to each other instead of with each other. Pray for the second year. For tenderness to come back. For the small habits — the goodnight, the hand on the shoulder, the laugh at our share…

Seen, even when it is quiet. Held, even when no one knows. May this prayer find you wherever you are sitting tonight, and may it land like a hand on your shoulder.

We didn't tell them how stretched we are; they wouldn't accept the help if they knew. Pray for sufficiency for everyone. Pray for me to do this without resentment, even on the months when it is hard. They gave us everything they had once.

Hospice last Wednesday. He still has good hours. He told a joke yesterday and we all laughed too hard, the way you do. My mother is sleeping next to him every night. My brother flew in from Sydney; he hadn't seen our father since Christmas and now they are catching up on twenty years in whispered conversations between…

He had a hard week at school — sensory overload on Tuesday, then a misunderstanding with a classmate on Thursday. The teachers are kind but stretched. Pray for one breakthrough this month, and for a steady friend. He doesn't need many. He needs one.

May help reach them quickly. May they not feel alone.

Such a tender world. We can do small good things.

Pray for rest for the whole household.