The Book Of Prayers

Girl:

Dear God, are You there? Can You hear me tonight?

I’m holding Your book in the soft candlelight.

My body is weary, and no one knows why—

Is there a reason I ache when I try?

God:

My child, I am near in the hush of your breath,

In the tremble of questions that dance upon death.

Though the world cannot see what you bravely conceal,

Every tear that you shed, I silently feel.

Girl

But why must I suffer while others run free?

I long to be dancing beneath the oak tree.

Is it something I did, or forgot to pray?

Please, won’t You take this illness away?

God:

You did nothing wrong, you are perfect, you shine—

Like a flower that blooms out of season, divine.

Your journey is quiet, yet full of my grace,

A path not of punishment, but sacred space.

Girl

Will I ever be whole, like I was before?

Will I laugh without pain and walk through Your door?

Or must I keep hoping, and writing in here—

In my book of prayers, through every fear?

God:

One day, dear child, there’ll be no more night,

No more cold hospitals, no fading light.

Until that dawn, write your soul without fear—

For each word you offer, I’m already near.