Just twenty or so days after my father passed away on September 21st, 1988 from a rare form of prostate cancer, I prayed and wrote the following three prayers; I came across them while going through an old DOS collection of essays. I thought I'd pass them on.

November 11th, 1988

Lord, I want to know your grace. I want to experience your love. I want to be with you in your presence every moment of every day. But, Jesus, something always seems to hold me back, feelings of inadequacy, that I must be better than I am. Free me, Lord, to truly love you. I come.

I come to you and wait, no words breaking the silence of the peace that you would give, no thoughts disturbing the stillness within which you speak. Come, Lord Jesus.

Lord, I'm lonely even with so many people around. So many words I've spoken—driven by air—longing to be closer, yet afraid. Lord, I love you and others in such a fragmented sort of way. I want to love wholly. I wait.

November 12th, 1988

In these quiet moments when all I hear is rain sound on the pavement and wet tires and distant voices, I feel so all alone. It seeps in like rain into the stress cracks of an earth shaken rock. Not so hard after all. Everyone else is sleeping or studying. I am lonely, Lord. Make me what you want to be to me, Lord. Stretch me as you will have me stretched. Love me, Lord, as you will have me loved.

Lights are turned off, doors bolted shut, shoes kicked off; I lay in bed wondering why I can't allow you to love me. Meet me, Lord, right here! Not somewhere up ahead which always seems to fade like a mirage on hot pavement. I need you in ways that I don't know—yet you know. I'm open, Lord. Come.

December 8th, 1988

Lord, in the stillness I give you thanks. In the solitude, I wait and listen for your voice. In the quiet, you are here.