I Hear the Cry, Not Just the Calm Words

I know that sometimes your prayer doesn't come out as a neat, well-formed sentence with a beginning and an end. It comes out as tears, as a stifled cry into the pillow so no one hears, as a groan that has no proper beginning, middle, or end. Child, I hear that too — and maybe even more closely, because a sincere cry carries the raw truth of what's hurting you, with no decoration covering it up.

You don't need to apologize for crying while you pray, for screaming inside without being able to speak out loud, for not being able to form a 'pretty' prayer in the middle of the crisis you're living through. I answer the cry just as much as I answer the calm, quiet prayer. What matters to me is that you come, however you're able to come to me, even in pieces.

Today, if the fear feels too big to carry alone, cry out — really cry out, without shame. I promise I am listening, attentive to every sound that comes from you, and that same promise that freed so many people from fear in the past still holds true for you now, today, in this very moment.