I already knew before you asked

I saw you last night, tossing in bed, trying to mentally sort out everything still unpaid, everything still unresolved, everything that scares you. And before you even opened your mouth to tell me, I already knew. Not because I'm guessing like someone taking a wild shot — I know because I am Father, and a Father who loves pays attention even to what his child doesn't say.

So why pray, if I already know? Because prayer isn't meant to inform me, it's meant to open you up. It's the moment you stop carrying alone what's already mine to carry with you. I want to hear it from your own mouth, even though I already know, because that draws us closer, because that's relationship, not a report.

Today, don't keep to yourself what's weighing on you. I already know the amount on the bill, already know the name that hurt you, already know the ache of missing someone. Come tell me anyway. That's what we call trust.