Tonight's Prayer Quotes

I know that your soul is on life support and that you feel lost and like you’re completely spinning out of control, but you’re finding yourself — here, tonight… even in this darkness.

I know that this process of ‘me changing my life’ doesn’t just end once I set fire to this list of things I hate about myself. Tonight isn’t as much of a new beginning as it is a violent end and I know the real work hasn’t even started yet.

The Day is Done The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.

For Jenn At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don't. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I could never make dying beautiful. The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myself veins are kite strings you can only cut free. I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree, and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers, and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe. But my lungs remember the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat. And I knew life would tremble like the first tear on a prison guard's hardened cheek, like a prayer on a dying man's lips, like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone… just take me just take me Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much, the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood. We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday. You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess and hope she knows you can hit a baseball further than any boy in the whole third grade and I've been running for home through the windpipe of a man who sings while his hands playing washboard with a spoon on a street corner in New Orleans where every boarded up window is still painted with the words We're Coming Back like a promise to the ocean that we will always keep moving towards the music, the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain. Beauty, catch me on your tongue. Thunder, clap us open. The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks. Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert, then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun. I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun. I know the heartbeat of his mother. Don't cover your ears, Love. Don't cover your ears, Life. There is a boy writing poems in Central Park and as he writes he moves and his bones become the bars of Mandela's jail cell stretching apart, and there are men playing chess in the December cold who can't tell if the breath rising from the board is their opponents or their own, and there's a woman on the stairwell of the subway swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn, and I'm remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun with strip malls and traffic and vendors and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.

I said to you, "Hold my hand. Nothing bad will happen." These are only words. A father's tricks, It slays your father, your faith in him. Because all I can think tonight is how deep the sea, and how vast, how indifferent. How powerless I am to protect you from it. All I can do is pray.

For the children around the world without a home, say a prayer tonight.

I wish on one of the stars for divine orchestration and save the rest of them for all of the other girls in the world who will feel like I do tonight.

He called her on the road From a lonely cold hotel room Just to hear her say I love you one more time But when he heard the sound Of the kids laughing in the background He had to wipe away a tear from his eye A little voice came on the phone Said "Daddy when you coming home" He said the first thing that came to his mind I'm already there Take a look around I'm the sunshine in your hair I'm the shadow on the ground I'm the whisper in the wind I'm your imaginary friend And I know I'm in your prayers Oh I'm already there She got back on the phone Said I really miss you darling Don't worry about the kids they'll be alright Wish I was in your arms Lying right there beside you But I know that I'll be in your dreams tonight And I'll gently kiss your lips Touch you with my fingertips So turn out the light and close your eyes I'm already there Don't make a sound I'm the beat in your heart I'm the moonlight shining down I'm the whisper in the wind And I'll be there until the end Can you feel the love that we share Oh I'm already there We may be a thousand miles apart But I'll be with you wherever you are I'm already there Take a look around I'm the sunshine in your hair I'm the shadow on the ground I'm the whisper in the wind And I'll be there until the end Can you feel the love that we share Oh I'm already there Oh I'm already There

Sitting in front of my fireplace, basking in it's warm glow gives me time to reflect upon the sacrifices that it has taken for me to enjoy the security of a good home, in a safe environment. I can hear the soft whisper of the snow as it caresses my window and covers the ground outside in a scintillating display of sparkling lights under the full moon. How many times have our service men and women watched this same scene from a foxhole, or camped in some remote part of the world. Thankful for the silence of that moment, knowing it won’t last long. Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He/she dresses in fatigues and patrols the world restlessly, ensuring that we can have this peaceful night. Every day they give us the gift of this lifestyle that we enjoy, and every night they watch over us. They are warriors, angels, guardians, friends, brothers, fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers, forming a family that stretches back to the beginning of the country. So tonight when you go to bed say a prayer that God watch over those who watch over us, and thank them for their sacrifices, on and off the battlefield. Pray that they have a peaceful night, and will be home soon with their families who also share their burden. Without them we would not have this moment.

Before you go to sleep tonight, let go of your day; everything is alright. Just bow your head, speak your prayer, and trust in Him who will forever care.

i’ll tell you a tale of Vampirates, a tale as old as true. Yea, I’ll sing you a song of an ancient ship, that sails the ocean blue... That haunts the ocean blue. the Vampirate ship has tattered sails, that flap like wings in flight. They say that the Captain, he wears a veil, so as to curtail your fright. At his death pale skin, and his lifeless eyes, and his teeth sharp as night. Oh, they say that the Captain, he wears a veil, and his eyes never see the light. you better be good child- good as gold. As good as good can be. Else I’ll tell you to the in to the vampirates, and wave you out to sea. Yes, you’d better be good child- good as gold, because- lookཀ can you see?, There’s a dark ship in the harbor tonight. And there’s room in the hold for thee. (Plenty of room for thee.) Well if pirates are bad. And vampires are worse. Then I pray, that as long as I be, that though I sing of Vampirates, I never one shall I see. Yea, if Pirates are danger, and Vampirates are death, I’ll extend my prayer for thee- that thine eyes never see a Vampirate... ...and they never lay a hand on thee.

You know sometimes I wish I'd been born a kender. No worries. No cares. No responsibilities. Nothing but pork chops. See you tonight Brother. I'd ask you to say a prayer but we're up to our eyeballs in gods as it is.

O God, our Eternal Father, as Thy servant I bow before Thee in prayer in behalf of these young people scattered over the earth who are gathered tonight in assemblies everywhere. Please smile with favor upon them. Please listen to them as they lift their voices in prayer unto Thee. Please lead them gently by the hand in the direction they should follow. Please help them to walk in paths of truth and righteousness and keep them from the evils of the world. Bless them that they shall be happy at times and serious at times, that they may enjoy life and drink of its fulness. Bless them that they may walk acceptably before Thee as Thy cherished sons and daughters. Each is Thy child with capacity to do great and noble things. Keep them on the high road that leads to achievement. Save them from the mistakes that could destroy them. If they have erred, forgive their trespasses and lead them back to ways of peace and progress. For these blessings I humbly pray with gratitude for them and invoke Thy blessings upon them with love and affection, in the name of Him who carries the burdens of our sins, even the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Vespers Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed, Droops on the little hands little gold head. Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares! Christopher Robin is saying his prayers. God bless Mummy. I know that's right. Wasn't it fun in the bath tonight? The cold's so cold, and the hot's so hot. Oh! God bless Daddy -- I quite forgot. If I open my fingers a little bit more, I can see Nanny's dressing-gown on the door. It's a beautiful blue, but it hasn't a hood. Oh! God bless Nanny and make her good. Mine has a hood, and I lie in bed, And pull the hood right over my head, And I shut my eyes, and I curl up small, And nobody knows that I'm there at all. Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day. And what was the other I had to say? I said "Bless Daddy," so what can it be? Oh! Now I remember. God bless Me. Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed. Droops on the little hands little gold head. Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares! Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.

prayer ABCs: A. Acknowledge him. Let him know you’re thinking about him. “Hi, Lord. I love you. Would you go into my day with me?” B. Bring it. Tell him about your concerns or needs. “Lord, I’m worried about making rent this month. Would you show me what to do? Would you provide for my need?” C. Chat. Tell God whatever is on your mind. For example, you could tell him about your day, problems, job, family, bank account, or mother-in-law, just as if you were talking to a good friend. “Lord, did you see the family at dinner tonight? I’m worried about little Bobby. He seemed so quiet, and I’m wondering if something’s wrong. Would you comfort him and give me wisdom to know how to talk to him about what’s going on?

Before I go to sleep tonight; I will speak a nice prayer, I will let my worries leave my mind as silence fills the air. If I have a bed; to curl between the sheets, I am an inch more blessed; than the man, on the street. If I have a love to cuddle; in the comfort of my home, I am grateful, I still have their presence to tell them, I love them so. If I have healthy eyes, that I can choose to close; I am grateful for my sight, because some will never know. If I have a voice & glistening ears to listen; Than in all my glory, I am grateful for this livin' All that really matters; is what, most don't have the courage to see, Who you became; from the day of your birth, the dash and the final chapter that makes your story complete.

He wanted three miracles tonight. It was the prayer of a devil. How dare he even ask? But Beckett had no shame. The thought of Blake walking around with a trail of trained killers behind him stopped his heart.

I hear the song your stomach is singing, friend. If you have money, I’ll take your trade and bless you to God in my prayers tonight. If you haven’t, then get your stupid sheep’s face out of here and go to the devil.

Ladies and Gentlemen - I'm only going to talk to you just for a minute or so this evening. Because... I have some very sad news for all of you, and I think sad news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world, and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed tonight in Memphis, Tennessee. Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between fellow human beings. He died in the cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it's perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black - considering the evidence evidently is that there were white people who were responsible - you can be filled with bitterness, and with hatred, and a desire for revenge. We can move in that direction as a country, in greater polarization - black people amongst blacks, and white amongst whites, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand, compassion and love. For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man. But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond these rather difficult times. My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote: "Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black. (Interrupted by applause) So I ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King, yeah that's true, but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love - a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke. We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the past. And we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of disorder. But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings that abide in our land. Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people. Thank you very much.

Prayer that is born of meditation upon the Word of God is the prayer that soars upward most easily to God's listening ears. Topics: Prayer, Meditation I am ready to meet God face to face tonight and look into those eyes of infinite holiness, for all my sins are covered by the atoning blood. Topics: Salvation, Atonement When the devil sees a man or woman who really believes in prayer, who knows how to pray, and who really does pray, and, above all, when he sees a whole church on its face before God in prayer, he trembles as much as he ever did, for he knows that his day in that church or community is at an end. Topics: Satan, Prayer God's Word is pure and sure, in spite of the devil, in spite of your fear, in spite of everything. Topics: Scripture Do not study commentaries, lesson helps or other books about the Bible: study the Bible itself. Do not study about the Bible, study the Bible. The Bible is the Word of God, and only the Bible is the Word of God. Topics: The Bible All that God is, and all that God has, is at the disposal of prayer. Prayer can do anything that God can do, and as God can do everything, prayer is omnipotent.

She has known prayer in her life, but before tonight it has been prayer like sending a coin with a wish into a body of water, it was hope dispersed vaguely outward. She sent it not toward the stern trinity imposed upon her, but toward the Virgin Mother who wore her own mother’s face. Even in prayer she was rebelling.

Gator, go wake that woman of yours. I need some answers. We need her to run the computers for us.” “Tonight, Boss?” Gator complained. “I had other ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “We all did. Hop to it.” “What about Sam?” Tucker asked. “His woman is the one who got us into this.” “I’m wounded.” Sam clutched his abdomen dramatically and staggered with quick, long strides so that he made it to the doorway in three quick steps. Jonas coughed, sounding suspiciously like he’d muttered “bullshit” under his breath. Kyle threw a peanut at him and Jeff surfed across the table in his bare socks to try to catch him before he bolted. “He’s in love, boys, let him go. He’ll probably just get laughed at,” Tucker said. “Do you really think Azami’s brothers are going to allow her to hook up with Sam? She’s fine and he’s . . . well . . . klutzy.” “That hurt,” Sam said, turning back. “Did you get a good look at those boys? I thought Japanese men were supposed to be on the short side, but Daiki was tall and all muscle. His brother moves like a fucking fighter,” Tucker added. “They might just decide to give you a good beating for having the audacity to even think you could date their sister, let alone marry her.” “Fat help you are,” Sam accused. “I could use a little confidence here.” Kyle snorted. “You don’t have a chance, buddy.” “Goin’ to meet your maker,” Gator added solemnly. Jeff crossed himself as he hung five toes off the edge of the table. “Sorry, old son, you don’t have a prayer. You’re about to meet up with a couple of hungry sharks.” “Have you ever actually used a sword before?” Kadan asked, all innocent. Jonas drew his knife and began to sharpen it. “Funny thing about blade men, they always like to go for the throat.” He grinned up at Sam. “Just a little tip. Keep your chin down.” “You’re all a big help,” Sam said and stepped out into the hall. This was the biggest moment of his life. If they turned him down, he was lost.

Life with a Narcissist To love without fear is tomorrow’s prayer but tonight brings emotional eggshells, and machiavellian use of power. Existing under a microscope with each move measured. One delicate step forward is the crown. Two bold steps is the dungeon. Those are tonight’s rules. Tomorrow the rules change and the game with my heart begins again.

Does this mean I'll hear you sing at prayer meeting tonight?" "Yes, ma'am. Though I gotta warn you, the bucket I carry my tunes in is pretty rusty. Probably has a few holes in it too." "Then you'll fit right in with the rest of us. there's a reason God told his people to make a joyful noise, you know. Musical prowess is not a requirement, just an engaged heart.

Heidi said, “I have been thinking all day what a happy thing it is that God does not give us what we ask for, even when we pray and pray and pray, if He knows there is something better for us; have you felt like that?” “Why do you ask me that to-night all of a sudden?” asked Clara. “Because I prayed so hard when I was in Frankfurt that I might go home at once, and because I was not allowed to I thought God had forgotten me. And now you see, if I had come away at first when I wanted to, you would never have come here, and would never have got well.” Clara had in her turn become thoughtful. “But, Heidi,” she began again, “in that case we ought never to pray for anything, as God always intends something better for us than we know or wish for.” “You must not think it is like that, Clara,” replied Heidi eagerly. “We must go on praying for everything, for everything, so that God may know we do not forget that it all comes from Him. If we forget God, then He lets us go our own way and we get into trouble; grandmamma told me so. And if He does not give us what we ask for we must not think that He has not heard us and leave off praying, but we must still pray and say, I am sure, dear God, that Thou art keeping something better for me, and I will not be unhappy, for I know that Thou wilt make everything right in the end.” “How did you learn all that?” asked Clara. “Grandmamma explained it to me first of all, and then when it all happened just as she said, I knew it myself, and I think, Clara,” she went on, as she sat up in bed, “we ought certainly to thank God to-night that you can walk now, and that He has made us so happy.” “Yes, Heidi, I am sure you are right, and I am glad you reminded me; I almost forgot my prayers for very joy.” Both children said their prayers, and each thanked God in her own way for the blessing He had bestowed on Clara, who had for so long lain weak and ill.

People everywhere, enjoying life, smiling, and just slowing down to let the world take care of itself for a few hours. The feeling was contagious. Especially when I stepped into McPherson's Pub to grab a bite of the special and listen to some traditional Irish music. The fiddle made me want to dance with myself, and many did. The drum beat like my very own heart. And some little flute that looked no wider than a pencil reminded me of the Aran Islands floating not too far from Abbeyglen. God was here tonight. In the strings of the guitar and the call of the singer's voice. I realize how often I overlook him back at home. And I know I don't want to do that anymore. The LORD will send His faithful love by day; His song will be with me in the night a prayer to the Gid of my life.

My eyes dawdled across the missalette. I had never noticed before that the official title of the ‘Lord have mercy’ prayer was the gracious phrase ‘Invitation to Sorrow’. Hey there, Sorrow, how’ve you been keeping? Come on in. If your bike doesn’t have lights you can always crash on our sofa tonight. Oh, so you’ll be staying a while, Sorrow? Planning to get to know me better? Grand, so. There’s tea in the pot. All

Long before we woke up this morning and long after we go to sleep tonight, the Holy Spirit was and is circling us in prayer. And if that doesn't infuse us with holy confidence, I don't know what will. But it isn't just the Holy Spirit who is interceding for us; the Son of God is interceding for us as well. They are interceding for the will of God to be accomplished in our lives. We are double circled. They are circling us all the time with songs of deliverance.

I have bad news for you, for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world, and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and killed tonight. Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice for his fellow human beings, and he died because of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it is perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black--considering the evidence there evidently is that there were white people who were responsible--you can be filled with bitterness, with hatred, and a desire for revenge. We can move in that direction as a country, in great polarization--black people amongst black, white people amongst white, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and to replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand with compassion and love. For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and distrust at the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I can only say that I feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man. But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to go beyond these rather difficult times. My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness; but love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or they be black. So I shall ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King, that's true, but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love--a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke. We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times; we've had difficult times in the past; we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; it is not the end of disorder. But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings who abide in our land. Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people.

What, may I ask, does your one truck contain if not gowns?” Inspiration struck, and Elizabeth smiled radiantly. “Something of great value. Priceless value,” she confided. All faces at the table watched her with alert fascination-particularly the greedy Sir Francis. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, love. What’s in it?” “The mortal remains of Saint Jacob.” Lady Eloise and Lady Mortand screamed in unison, Sir William choked on his wine, and Sir Francis gaped at her in horror, but Elizabeth wasn’t quite finished. She saved the coup de grace until the meal was over. As soon as everyone arose she insisted they sit back down so a proper prayer of gratitude could be said. Raising her hands heavenward, Elizabeth turned a simple grace into a stinging tirade against the sins of lust and promiscuity that rose to crescendo as she called down the vengeance of doomsday on all transgressors and culminated in a terrifyingly lurid description of the terrors that awaited all who strayed down the path of lechery-terrors that combined dragon lore with mythology, a smattering of religion, and a liberal dash of her own vivid imagination. When it was done Elizabeth dropped her eyes, praying in earnest that tonight would loose her from her predicament. There was no more she could do; she’d played out her hand with all her might; she’d given it her all. It was enough. After supper Sir Francis escorted her to her chamber and, with a poor attempt at regret, announced that he greatly feared they wouldn’t suit. Not at all. Elizabeth and Berta departed at dawn the following morning, an hour before Sir Francis’s servants stirred themselves. Clad in a dressing robe, Sir Francis watched from his bedchamber window as Elizabeth’s coachman helped her into her conveyance. He was about to turn away when a sudden gust of wind caught Elizabeth’s black gown, exposing a long and exceptionally shapely leg to Sir Francis’s riveted gaze. He was still staring at the coach as it circled the drive; through its open window he saw Elizabeth laugh and reach up, unpinning her hair. Clouds of golden tresses whipped about the open window, obscuring her face, and Sir Francis thoughtfully wet his lips.

Heavenly Father, I (we) ask You to camp Your angels around us, our homes, and our properties, to guard us and protect us, and to destroy any evil spirits, demonic spirits, strongmen or messengers of satan, witchcraft, acts of witchcraft, or curse, that try to come against us, against our homes, or against our properties. In the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth, I (we) plead the Blood of Jesus Christ over us, over our sleep, over our thoughts, over everything in our rooms, over our homes, and over everything in our homes. I (we) plead the precious Blood of Jesus Christ as our protection. Heavenly Father, I (we) ask You to loose into each of us a Spirit of love, peace, joy, and restoration. Lord Jesus, I (we) ask You to give us sweet sleep tonight, give us peaceful sleep tonight and keep us safe according  to Psalms 4:8; and according to Psalms 127:2, I (we) ask that You give us Your beloved sleep tonight. I (we) ask You to keep Your hands on us while we sleep tonight and speak to our hearts tonight. I (we) ask You to do this in the Name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Heavenly Father, fill us with Your Holy Ghost anointing and power, fill us with Your presence, in the Holy Name of Jesus Christ, I (we) pray with thanksgiving. Lord Jesus, I (we) ask you to do all of these things according to John 14:14; and Heavenly Father I (we) ask You to give us these things according to John 16:23. In the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth, I (we) pray with thanksgiving. Amen.

FRIDAY, APRIL 2, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Oh my, another item has been added to my list of sins. Last night I was lying in bed, waiting for Father to tuck me in and say my prayers with me, when Mother came into the room, sat on my bed and asked very gently, “Anne, Daddy isn’t ready. How about if I listen to your prayers tonight?” “No, Momsy,” I replied. Mother got up, stood beside my bed for a moment and then slowly walked toward the door. Suddenly she turned, her face contorted with pain, and said, “I don’t want to be angry with you. I can’t make you love me!” A few tears slid down her cheeks as she went out the door. I lay still, thinking how mean it was of me to reject her so cruelly, but I also knew that I was incapable of answering her any other way. I can’t be a hypocrite and pray with her when I don’t feel like it. It just doesn’t work that way. I felt sorry for Mother—very, very sorry—because for the first time in my life I noticed she wasn’t indifferent to my coldness. I saw the sorrow in her face when she talked about not being able to make me love her. It’s hard to tell the truth, and yet the truth is that she’s the one who’s rejected me. She’s the one whose tactless comments and cruel jokes about matters I don’t think are funny have made me insensitive to any sign of love on her part. Just as my heart sinks every time I hear her harsh words, that’s how her heart sank when she realized there was no more love between us. She cried half the night and didn’t get any sleep. Father has avoided looking at me, and if his eyes do happen to cross mine, I can read his unspoken words: “How can you be so unkind? How dare you make your mother so sad!” Everyone expects me to apologize, but this is not something I can apologize for, because I told the truth, and sooner or later Mother was bound to find out anyway. I seem to be indifferent to Mother’s tears and Father’s glances, and I am, because both of them are now feeling what I’ve always felt. I can only feel sorry for Mother, who will have to figure out what her attitude should be all by herself. For my part, I will continue to remain silent and aloof, and I don’t intend to shrink from the truth, because the longer it’s postponed, the harder it will be for them to accept it when they do hear it! Yours, Anne

He was going to kill her. “You dragged me up here for nothing.” “Your pride dragged you up here. If Van Eck senses anything amiss tonight, it’s all over. This isn’t a two-person job and you know it.” “Inej—” “My future is riding on this too, Kaz. I don’t tell you how to pick locks or put together a plan. This is what I’m good at, so let me do my job.” She yanked the rope taut. “And just think of all the time you’ll have for prayer and quiet contemplation on the way down.” She vanished over the side of the chapel. Kaz stood there, staring at the place she’d been only seconds before. She’d tricked him. The decent, honest, pious Wraith had outsmarted him. He turned to look back at the long expanse of roof he was going to have to traverse to get back to the boat. “Curse you and all your Saints,” he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling.

Via Negativa Sometimes it's too hard with words or dark or silence. Tonight I want a prayer of high-rouged cheekbones and light: a litany of back-lit figures, lithe and slim, draped in fabrics soft and wrinkleless and pale as onion slivers. Figures that won't stumble or cough: sleek kid-gloved Astaires who'll lift ladies with glamorous sweeps in their hair— They'll bubble and glitter like champagne. They'll whisper and lean and waltz and wink effortlessly as figurines twirling in music boxes, as skaters in their dreams. And the prayer will not be crowded. You'll hear each click of staccato heel echo through the glassy ballrooms—too few shimmering skirts; the prayer will seem to ache for more. But the prayer will not ache. When we enter, its chandeliers and skies will blush with pleasure. Inside we will be weightless, and our goodness will not matter in a prayer so light, so empty it will float.

A Prayer for Grace and Illumination Stay with me, Lord, for it is necessary to have You present so that I do not forget You. You know how easily I abandon You. Stay with me, Lord, because I am weak and I need Your strength, that I may not fall so often. Stay with me, Lord, for You are my life, and without You, I am without fervor. Stay with me, Lord, for You are my light, and without You, I am in darkness. Stay with me, Lord, to show me Your will. Stay with me, Lord, so that I hear Your voice and follow You. Stay with me, Lord, for I desire to love You very much, and always be in Your company. Stay with me, Lord, if You wish me to be faithful to You. Stay with me, Lord, for as poor as my soul is, I wish it to be a place of consolation for You, a nest of Love. Stay with me, Jesus, for it is getting late and the day is coming to a close, and life passes, death, judgment, eternity approaches. It is necessary to renew my strength, so that I will not stop along the way and for that, I need You. It is getting late and death approaches. I fear the darkness, the temptations, the dryness, the cross, the sorrows. O how I need You, my Jesus, in this night of exile! Stay with me tonight, Jesus, in life with all its dangers, I need You. Let me recognize You as Your disciples did at the breaking of bread, so that the Eucharistic Communion be the light which disperses the darkness, the force which sustains me, the unique joy of my heart. Stay with me, Lord, because at the hour of my death, I want to remain united to You, if not by Communion, at least by grace and love. Stay with me, Jesus, I do not ask for divine consolation, because I do not merit it, but, the gift of Your Presence, oh yes, I ask this of You! Stay with me, Lord, for it is You alone I look for. Your Love, Your Grace, Your Will, Your Heart, Your Spirit, because I love You and ask no other reward but to love You more and more. With a firm love, I will love You with all my heart while on earth and continue to love You perfectly during all eternity. Amen. —Saint Padre Pio of Pietrelcina

The man raised the violin under his chin, placed the bow across the strings, and closed his eyes. For a moment his lips moved, silently, as if in prayer. Then, with sure, steady movements, he began to play. The song was like nothing Abbey had heard anywhere else. The notes were clear, sweet and perfect, with a purity of tone that not one violin in ten thousand could produce. But the song was more than that. The song was pain, and loss, and sorrow, an anthem of unrelenting grief for which no words could be sufficient. In its strains Abbey heard the cry of the mother clutching her lifeless child; of the young woman whose husband never returned from war; of the father watching his son die of cancer; of the old man weeping at his wife's grave. It was the wordless cry of every man, woman and child who had ever shaken a fist at the uncaring universe, every stricken heart that had demanded an answer to the question, “Why?”, and was left unsatisfied. When the song finally, mercifully ended, not a dry eye remained in the darkened hall. The shades had moved in among the mortals, unseen by all but Abbey herself, and crowded close to the stage, heedless of all but the thing that called to them. Many of the mortals in the audience were sobbing openly. Those newcomers who still retained any sense of their surroundings were staring up at the man, their eyes wide with awe and a silent plea for understanding. The man gave it to them. “I am not the master of this instrument,” he said. “The lady is her own mistress. I am only the channel through which she speaks. What you have heard tonight — what you will continue to hear — is not a performance, but a séance. In my … unworthy hands … she will tell you her story: Sorrow, pain, loss, truth, and beauty. This is not the work of one man; it is the story of all men, of all people everywhere, throughout her long history. Which means, of course, that it is also your story, and mine.” He held up the violin once more. In the uncertain play of light and shadow, faces seemed to appear and vanish in the blood-red surface of the wood. “Her name is Threnody,” he said. “And she has come to make you free.

The artillery and mortars had been silent for at least the past few hours. After awhile the rabbi stopped initiating new songs. He took a few more sips of wine and sat for a time, almost shining in obvious pleasure, and yet reflective and silent. All watched him, and after a few minutes he spoke again in his odd Moroccan/Brooklyn accent. "The weapons of a Jew are prayer and mitzvot. Tonight we are arming ourselves with mitzvot like the finest suit of armor ever made. Better than a ceramica," he said, referring to the bullet-proof flak vests worn by many Israeli soldiers by their street name. "By the mere act of sitting and eating and drinking, because we are doing so in a sukkah at the time that our Creator told us to do so, we acquire for ourselves a heavenly shield more powerful than any missile or tank." He let those words settle in as he beamed at all present at the table and standing in the sukkah. "A mitzvah—carrying out HaShem's commandment or doing a good deed, such as an act of kindness towards your fellow human being—creates a heavenly smell, a wonderful odor that is both spiritual and physical. When the Creator of the whole universe commanded the Jewish people to bring sacrifices upon His holy altar, and they did so exactly as he had instructed them, the Torah says that it created a Re-ach Tov, a good and wonderful scent, that pleased the Ribbono Shel-Olam. And in those moments when the Jewish people acted on the instructions of their Creator, there was a kesher and a devekus, a tie and a drawing closer, between the Jewish people and their Creator.

Hi, Bruce,’ said Uzma. ‘Hello,’ Bruce replied. ‘Would it be possible to have a photo taken?’ she asked. ‘Sure, we can do that!’ he replied, smiling broadly. I took the photograph. Then it was my turn. He signed my book and bandanna and posed for another photograph. Just as I was about to let the next fan have their moment in the sun I turned to Springsteen and said, ‘Bruce. Three words: “Point Blank”, acoustic’ The following night I was sitting in the Sheffield Arena with Amolak and my sister. It was 16 April 1993 and we were in the front block ten or fifteen rows from the stage. Uzma was having the time of her life. It was her first Springsteen concert and it was so wonderful to see her having so much fun. Springsteen had just finished singing ‘Badlands’ when he requested an acoustic guitar and told the audience: ‘A fella came up to me and asked for this song. I don't know if he's out there tonight, but if he is, this is for you.’ He began slowly strumming the acoustic guitar before singing, ‘Do you still say your prayers darling, before you go to bed at night? Praying that tomorrow everything will be all right?’ He was singing ‘Point Blank’. I doubled up, buried my face in my hands and wept. Amolak hugged me. ‘Point Blank’ was one of my favourite songs. I never imagined I would hear it sung acoustically. The fact that Springsteen had remembered my request and then decided to actually listen to my suggestion was overwhelming. As I continued to cry uncontrollably and as Bruce Springsteen continued to sing ‘Point Blank’, Amolak said to me: ‘You see, buddy, dreams do come true.’ *

Open All Night" (originally by Bruce Springsteen) I had the carburetor cleaned and checked With her line blown out, she's hummin' like a turbojet Propped her up in the backyard on concrete blocks For a new clutch plate and a new set of shocks Took her down to the carwash, check the plugs and points I'm goin' out tonight, I'm gonna rock that joint Early north Jersey industrial skyline I'm a all-set cobra jet creepin' through the nighttime Gotta find a gas station, gotta find a payphone This turnpike sure is spooky at night when you're all alone Gotta hit the gas, baby, I'm runnin' late This New Jersey in the mornin' like a lunar landscape The boss don't dig me, so he put me on the nightshift It takes me two hours to get back to where my baby lives In the wee wee hours, your mind gets hazy Radio relay towers, won't you lead me to my baby? Underneath the overpass, trooper hits his party light switch Goodnight, good luck, one two powershift I met Wanda when she was employed Behind the counter at the Route 60 Bob's Big Boy Fried chicken on the front seat, she's sittin' in my lap We're wipin' our fingers on a Texaco roadmap I remember Wanda up on scrap metal hill With them big brown eyes that make your heart stand still 5 A.M., oil pressure's sinkin' fast I make a pit stop, wipe the windshield, check the gas Gotta call my baby on the telephone Let her know that her daddy's comin' on home Sit tight, little mama, I'm comin' round I got three more hours, but I'm coverin' ground Your eyes get itchy in the wee wee hours Sun's just a red ball risin' over them refinery towers Radio's jammed up with gospel stations Lost souls callin' long distance salvation Hey Mr. DJ, won't you hear my last prayer? Hey ho rock 'n' roll, deliver me from nowhere Ryan Adams, Nebraska (2022)

In My Prayer. My silent niche. You incarnate in my prayer. Dawn is all dancing like a rainbow in your smile. Anxious to uncover dreams after morning. The desire to arrange sparkly beads in your hair. Reduce heartbeat, please at the tips of your fingers. I will pray together with night just to keep remembering you. A never ending memory to always say your name. Silence that leads to longing for the rising of light. Horizon knocked on all the gates, which grabbed a reprehensible body, who hesitated to stop at the tip of the tongue. Lips murmuring, stringing questions hung at the end of time. The self that is always broken and dishonest, who is kufr and who is infidel. All beings submit to the most holy feet. Let silence accept everything that is magical. Although the reflection of the moon's face is filled with wounds with lies in our mouths, betrayed by lust and unstoppable desires. May you soon incarnate so that a million flowers bloom in the heart of the most cursory. The eyes are altered, betraying a million flashes of light from the darkest night. The most beautiful gems are buried in mud puddles. Even though the sky is still dark. Heavy rain that is redder than all blood. Which surpassed the fangs of the old snake. The endless cycle of the sun throws puzzles about the mysteries of the universe that are never answered. The beginning of all this sorrow in myself. If only you please, transform into a butterfly in my prayer tonight. A pair of wings that burned like a fire of longing in my heart. Who suddenly fidgeted and flew into your eyes. Then descend on the branch of the Khuldi tree, before breaking into my tears. Suppose tonight, in my prayer, you incarnate like a thunderous storm. Like the sound of noisy thunder. The footsteps stepped hurriedly on the foggy road. Infiltrate the gaps of our thoughts and feelings. Shackle our arms, knees and breath. If only, in my prayer tonight you will be transformed into murky tears. Who trembled, even though it would patiently take care of my sadness. The pain that somehow healed my soul. Beliefs that keep mysteries for my deepest secrets, which you endlessly hum, in order to be a comfort for my sad life. My dear. Lady of my heart. My love. My soul. Bless me with all your generosity. With your mercy, with your endless love. With your infinite anger.

You mean you’re not going to kiss my wrist again,” I said. “But that’s all right, because I am going to kiss you.” And I did. If I could keep a single moment for all time, that would be the one. I became the very air; I was full of stars. I was the soaring spaces between the spires of the cathedral, the solemn breath of chimneys, a whispered prayer upon the winter wind. I was silence, and I was music, one clear transcendent chord rising toward Heaven. I believed, then, that I would have risen bodily into the sky but for the anchor of his hand in my hair and his round soft perfect mouth. No Heaven but this! I thought, and I knew that it was true to a standard even St. Clare could not have argued. Then it was done, and he was holding both my hands between his and saying, “In some ballad or Porphyrian romance, we would run off together.” I looked quickly at his face, trying to discern whether he was proposing we do just that. The resolve written in his eyes said no, but I could see exactly where I would have to push, and how hard, to break that resolve. It would be shockingly easy, but I found I did not wish it. My Kiggs could not behave so shabbily and still remain my Kiggs. Some other part of him would break, along with his resolve, and I did not see a way to make it whole again. The jagged edge of it would stab at him all his life. If we were to go forward from here, we would proceed not rashly, not thoughtlessly, but Kiggs-and-Phina fashion. That was the only way it could work. “I think I’ve heard that ballad,” I said. “It’s beautiful but it ends sadly.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. “Is it less sad that I’m going to ask you not to kiss me again?” “Yes. Because it’s just for now. The day will come.” “I want to believe that.” “Believe it.” He took a shaky breath. “I’ve got to go.” “I know.” I let him go inside first; my presence was not appropriate for tonight’s ritual. I leaned against the parapet, watching my breath puff gray against the blackening sky as if I were a dragon whispering smoke into the wind. The conceit made me smile, and then an idea caught me. Cautiously, avoiding ice, I hauled myself up onto the parapet. It had a wide balustrade, adequate for sitting, but I did not intend merely to sit. With comical slowness, like Comonot attempting stealth, I drew my feet up onto the railing. I removed my shoes, wanting to feel the stone beneath my feet.

On these lands, in both the occupied places and those left to grow wild, alongside the community and the dwindling wildlife, there lived another creature. At night, he roamed the roads that connected Arcand to the larger town across the Bay where Native people were still unwelcome two centuries on. His name was spoken in the low tones saved for swear words and prayer. He was the threat from a hundred stories told by those old enough to remember the tales. Broke Lent? The rogarou will come for you. Slept with a married woman? Rogarou will find you. Talked back to your mom in the heat of the moment? Don't walk home. Rogarou will snatch you up. Hit a woman under any circumstance? Rogarou will call you family, soon. Shot too many deer, so your freezer is overflowing but the herd thin? If I were you, I'd stay indoors at night. Rogarou knows by now. He was a dog, a man, a wolf. He was clothed, he was naked in his fur, he wore moccasins to jig. He was whatever made you shiver but he was always there, standing by the road, whistling to the stars so that they pulsed bright in the navy sky, as close and as distant as ancestors. For girls, he was the creature who kept you off the road or made you walk in packs. The old women never said, "Don't go into town, it is not safe for us there. We go missing. We are hurt." Instead, they leaned in and whispered a warning: "I wouldn't go out on the road tonight. Someone saw the rogarou just this Wednesday, leaning against the stop sign, sharpening his claws with the jawbone of a child." For boys, he was the worst thing you could ever be. "You remember to ask first and follow her lead. You don't want to turn into Rogarou. You'll wake up with blood in your teeth, not knowing and no way to know what you've done." Long after that bone salt, carried all the way from the Red River, was ground to dust, after the words it was laid down with were not even a whisper and the dialect they were spoken in was rubbed from the original language into common French, the stories of the rogarou kept the community in its circle, behind the line. When the people forgot what they had asked for in the beginning - a place to live, and for the community to grow in a good way - he remembered, and he returned on padded feet, light as stardust on the newly paved road. And that rogarou, heart full of his own stories but his belly empty, he came home not just to haunt. He also came to hunt.

The four women came to see them at the house later in the afternoon. Alexander and Tatiana were playing soccer. Actually Tatiana had just gotten the ball away from him and, squealing, was trying to hold on to it, while he was behind her, trying to kick it from under her. He had lifted her off the ground and was pressing himself hard into her while she was shrieking. All he was wearing was his skivvies, and all she was wearing was his ribbed top and her underwear. Flummoxed, Tatiana stood in front of Alexander, trying to shield his near-naked body from four pairs of wide eyes. He stood behind her, his arms on her shoulders, and Tatiana heard him say, “Tell them—No, forget it, I will,” and before she could utter a sound, he came forward, walked up to them, twice their size, bare and unrelentingly himself, and said, “Ladies, in the future you might want to wait for us to come and see you.” “Shura,” Tatiana muttered, “go and get dressed.” “Soccer is probably the least of what you’ll see,” Alexander said into the women’s stunned faces before going inside the house. When he came back out, suitably covered, he told Tatiana he was going to the village to get a couple of things they needed, like ice and an ax. “What an odd combination,” she remarked. “Where are you going to get ice from?” “The fish plant. They have to refrigerate their fish, don’t they?” “Ax?” “From that nice man Igor,” Alexander yelled, walking up the clearing, blowing her a kiss. She gazed after him. “Hurry back,” she called. Naira Mikhailovna apologized hastily. Dusia was mouthing a prayer. Raisa shook. Axinya beamed at Tatiana, who invited them all for a bit of kvas. “Come inside. See how nicely Alexander cleaned the house. And look, he repaired the door. Remember, the top hinge was broken?” The four women looked around for a place to sit. “Tanechka,” said Naira nervously, “there is no furniture in here.” Axinya whooped. Dusia crossed herself. “I know, Naira Mikhailovna. We don’t need much.” She looked down on the floor. “We have some things, we have my trunk. Alexander said he will make us a bench. I’ll bring my desk with the sewing machine…we’ll be fine.” “But how—” “Oh, Naira,” said Axinya, “leave the girl alone, will you?” Dusia glared at the rumpled bedsheets on top of the stove. A flustered Tatiana smiled. Alexander was right. It was better to go and visit them. She asked when would be a good time to come for dinner. Naira said, “Come tonight, of course. We’ll celebrate. But you come every night. Look, you won’t be able to eat here at all. There’s nowhere even to sit or cook. You’ll starve. Come every night. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

My dear Marwan, in the long summers of childhood, when I was a boy the age you are now, your uncles and I spread our mattress on the roof of your grandfathers’ farmhouse outside of Hom. We woke in the mornings to the stirring of olive trees in the breeze, to the bleating of your grandmother's goat, the clanking of her cooking pots, the air cool and the sun a pale rim of persimmon to the east. We took you there when you were a toddler. I have a sharply etched memory of your mother from that trip. I wish you hadn’t been so young. You wouldn't have forgotten the farmhouse, the soot of its stone walls, the creek where your uncles and I built a thousand boyhood dams. I wish you remembered Homs as I do, Marwan. In its bustling Old City, a mosque for us Muslims, a church for our Christian neighbours, and a grand souk for us all to haggle over gold pendants and fresh produce and bridal dresses. I wish you remembered the crowded lanes smelling of fried kibbeh and the evening walks we took with your mother around Clock Tower Square. But that life, that time, seems like a dream now, even to me, like some long-dissolved rumour. First came the protests. Then the siege. The skies spitting bombs. Starvation. Burials. These are the things you know You know a bomb crater can be made into a swimming hole. You have learned dark blood is better news than bright. You have learned that mothers and sisters and classmates can be found in narrow gaps between concrete, bricks and exposed beams, little patches of sunlit skin shining in the dark. Your mother is here tonight, Marwan, with us, on this cold and moonlit beach, among the crying babies and the women worrying in tongues we don’t speak. Afghans and Somalis and Iraqis and Eritreans and Syrians. All of us impatient for sunrise, all of us in dread of it. All of us in search of home. I have heard it said we are the uninvited. We are the unwelcome. We should take our misfortune elsewhere. But I hear your mother's voice, over the tide, and she whispers in my ear, ‘Oh, but if they saw, my darling. Even half of what you have. If only they saw. They would say kinder things, surely.' In the glow of this three-quarter moon, my boy, your eyelashes like calligraphy, closed in guileless sleep. I said to you, ‘Hold my hand. Nothing bad will happen.' These are only words. A father's tricks. It slays your father, your faith in him. Because all I can think tonight is how deep the sea, and how powerless I am to protect you from it. Pray God steers the vessel true, when the shores slip out of eyeshot and we are in the heaving waters, pitching and tilting, easily swallowed. Because you, you are precious cargo, Marwan, the most precious there ever was. I pray the sea knows this. Inshallah. How I pray the sea knows this.

Sky's The Limit" [Intro] Good evening ladies and gentlemen How's everybody doing tonight I'd like to welcome to the stage, the lyrically acclaimed I like this young man because when he came out He came out with the phrase, he went from ashy to classy I like that So everybody in the house, give a warm round of applause For the Notorious B.I.G The Notorious B.I.G., ladies and gentlemen give it up for him y'all [Verse 1] A nigga never been as broke as me - I like that When I was young I had two pair of Lees, besides that The pin stripes and the gray The one I wore on Mondays and Wednesdays While niggas flirt I'm sewing tigers on my shirts, and alligators You want to see the inside, I see you later Here comes the drama, oh, that's that nigga with the fake, blaow Why you punch me in my face, stay in your place Play your position, here come my intuition Go in this nigga pocket, rob him while his friends watching And hoes clocking, here comes respect His crew's your crew or they might be next Look at they man eye, big man, they never try So we rolled with them, stole with them I mean loyalty, niggas bought me milks at lunch The milks was chocolate, the cookies, butter crunch 88 Oshkosh and blue and white dunks, pass the blunts [Hook: 112] Sky is the limit and you know that you keep on Just keep on pressing on Sky is the limit and you know that you can have What you want, be what you want Sky is the limit and you know that you keep on Just keep on pressing on Sky is the limit and you know that you can have What you want, be what you want, have what you want, be what you want [Verse 2] I was a shame, my crew was lame I had enough heart for most of them Long as I got stuff from most of them It's on, even when I was wrong I got my point across They depicted me the boss, of course My orange box-cutter make the world go round Plus I'm fucking bitches ain't my homegirls now Start stacking, dabbled in crack, gun packing Nickname Medina make the seniors tote my Niñas From gym class, to English pass off a global The only nigga with a mobile can't you see like Total Getting larger in waists and tastes Ain't no telling where this felon is heading, just in case Keep a shell at the tip of your melon, clear the space Your brain was a terrible thing to waste 88 on gates, snatch initial name plates Smoking spliffs with niggas, real-life beginner killers Praying God forgive us for being sinners, help us out [Hook] [Verse 3] After realizing, to master enterprising I ain't have to be in school by ten, I then Began to encounter with my counterparts On how to burn the block apart, break it down into sections Drugs by the selections Some use pipes, others use injections Syringe sold separately Frank the Deputy Quick to grab my Smith & Wesson like my dick was missing To protect my position, my corner, my lair While we out here, say the Hustlers Prayer If the game shakes me or breaks me I hope it makes me a better man Take a better stand Put money in my mom's hand Get my daughter this college grant so she don't need no man Stay far from timid Only make moves when your heart's in it And live the phrase sky's the limit Motherfuckers See you chumps on top [Hook]

Tonight, take heart that God receives your prayers. Wipe away your tears and receive his peace.

~Z L/ti ~0"I/~ Z t4 k Lt(n. I/ ~ Z L When I awake, I am still with You. -PSALM 139:18 Isn't it great to know that even though we sleep eight to ten hours, when we awake God is still with us? He hasn't dozed off during the early hours of the morning. I know that when I am the closest to Jesus, my prayers come more easily and more often. During dry seasons of life I have to consciously set a time for prayer-and often it's more out of duty than desire. As I abide with my Savior, I don't have to say, "It is time for me to get to my task and pray." No, I pray when there is a need, regardless of the time of day or night. These last few years have brought me to God's throne because I want to go there, not because I have fallen back to the law. If you aren't there yet, just wait. The sufferings of life will cause you to drop to your knees in earnest prayer. Earlier in my Christian walk it was hard to understand the meaning behind I Thessalonians 5:17, where it says, "Pray without ceasing." Now I have experienced that in real, living color. I pray literally without ceasing. I pray when I wake, pray at mealtime, pray throughout the day-and I end my day with a prayer of thanksgiving for getting me through the day. When a friend calls to tell you of a prayer need, you don't say, "I'm sorry, but I don't pray again until I go to bed tonight." Of course you wouldn't say that! In fact, I recommend that you pray with the person who's making the request. That way you are sure to pray for their particulars rather than getting distracted with a busy schedule. No longer is prayer a burden. It's a privilege to be able to pray, not because of the law, but because of the grace of the cross. Embrace this privilege and make it a regular, important part of each day. Be faithful in prayer so you can know of God's faithfulness. PRAYER Father God, what a privilege it is to pray without ceasing. You have given me the

When D. L. Moody’s Church in Chicago lay in ashes, he went over to England, in 1872, not to preach, but to listen to others preach while his new church was being built. One Sunday morning he was prevailed upon to preach in a London pulpit. But somehow the spiritual atmosphere was lacking. He confessed afterwards that he never had such a hard time preaching in his life. Everything was perfectly dead, and, as he vainly tried to preach, he said to himself, “What a fool I was to consent to preach! I came here to listen, and here I am preaching.” Then the awful thought came to him that he had to preach again at night, and only the fact that he had given the promise to do so kept him faithful to the engagement. But when Mr. Moody entered the pulpit at night, and faced the crowded congregation, he was conscious of a new atmosphere. “The powers of an unseen world seemed to have fallen upon the audience.” As he drew towards the close of his sermon he became emboldened to give out an invitation, and as he concluded he said, “If there is a man or woman here who will tonight accept Jesus Christ, please stand up.” At once about 500 people rose to their feet. Thinking that there must be some mistake, he asked the people to be seated, and then, in order that there might be no possible misunderstanding, he repeated the invitation, couching it in even more definite and difficult terms. Again the same number rose. Still thinking that something must be wrong, Mr. Moody, for the second time, asked the standing men an women to be seated, and then he invited all who really meant to accept Christ to pass into the vestry. Fully 500 people did as requested, and that was the beginning of a revival in that church and neighbourhood, which brought Mr. Moody back from Dublin, a few days later, that he might assist the wonderful work of God.

Prayer: Father God, thank You for giving me the joy of family. Help me to create a place where there is forgiveness and love. My children are truly a reward for me, and they come straight from You. Thank You. Amen.   Action: Be bold and ask your children tonight, “Do you feel loved in our home?” Be ready for unexpected answers.   Today’s Wisdom: Discipline is demanded of the athlete to win a game. Discipline is required for the captain running his ship. Discipline is needed for the pianist to practice for the concert. Only in the matter of personal conduct is the need for discipline questioned. But if parents believe standards are necessary, then discipline is needed to attain them. —GLADYS BROOKS

Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk." John 5:8 Like many others, the impotent man had been waiting for a wonder to be wrought, and a sign to be given. Wearily did he watch the pool, but no angel came, or came not for him; yet, thinking it to be his only chance, he waited still, and knew not that there was One near him whose word could heal him in a moment. Many are in the same plight: they are waiting for some singular emotion, remarkable impression, or celestial vision; they wait in vain and watch for nought. Even supposing that, in a few cases, remarkable signs are seen, yet these are rare, and no man has a right to look for them in his own case; no man especially who feels his impotency to avail himself of the moving of the water even if it came. It is a very sad reflection that tens of thousands are now waiting in the use of means, and ordinances, and vows, and resolutions, and have so waited time out of mind, in vain, utterly in vain. Meanwhile these poor souls forget the present Saviour, who bids them look unto him and be saved. He could heal them at once, but they prefer to wait for an angel and a wonder. To trust him is the sure way to every blessing, and he is worthy of the most implicit confidence; but unbelief makes them prefer the cold porches of Bethesda to the warm bosom of his love. O that the Lord may turn his eye upon the multitudes who are in this case tonight; may he forgive the slights which they put upon his divine power, and call them by that sweet constraining voice, to rise from the bed of despair, and in the energy of faith take up their bed and walk. O Lord, hear our prayer for all such at this calm hour of sunset, and ere the day breaketh may they look and live. Courteous reader, is there anything in this portion for you?

Heavenly Father, thank You for allowing me to commune with You through prayer tonight. I place my faith in Your power to answer my prayers.

As he always did before retiring, so tonight he pulled out a drawer of his night table and took from it a small black ledger in which he wrote down the day's expenditures in a script so small that he could have written the Lord's Prayer on the heads of pins with it.

Reaping Results Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God’s will. Then you will receive all that he has promised. HEBREWS 10:36 May your hard work reap exceptional rewards. May your earnest prayers accomplish great and powerful things. May your faith-filled gifts produce exponential results. And may your rest heal and restore you in every way. Sleep well tonight.

hearing a lot about the Holy Spirit and how our praying in the Spirit builds up our faith. It’s something I don’t do very often at all. I’m not even sure why I don’t. John 16:13 says the Holy Spirit will teach us all things. Acts 1:8 says and you shall receive power after the Holy Spirit comes upon you. I’m going to begin praying in the Spirit more consistently from today forward. Matter of fact tonight is a good night to start. Thank you Lord for today. Bless my son Lord keep him safe.

Prayer Tonight my heart goes to all the survivors on Earth; my thoughts and tears are for the hurt, the ill, the stabbed, the abused, the hopeless and the helpless... I bow to the rescued and to those that didn't make it, to the resilience of human race, to the struggle, the hope and the amazing will of such frail creatures to hang on to their lives and fight for one more hour, one more day, one more month or one more year on Earth...God Bless You and Hang In There...It's ALL Worth It!   

Maybe the forest is a prayer tonight, bent under the weight of all that winter, the whole world on its knees. Or maybe the prayer is the hush. Could I pray this way, letting the night settle onto my thoughts like snow on my shoulders, that gently? Hush. My snowshoes shuffle through the drifts. Hush: one snowshoe, then another. There is no other sound.

Hellcat Maggie, you killed decent people tonight. You’re going to pay with your miserable life at sunrise.” Reverend Joe, a homely, overweight man known for dropping to his knees in prayer to avoid work,

Field Notes on Loving a Girl in Secret" There’s a danger in comparing her to things. Her prayer, a stall of horses. Her anger, the beak of a bird. Her sleep, a sun-bleached fence. Her sadness, a yard pile of firewood. A patch of pines is all I remember of a field. Quiet, she says. Her stick-shift sedan, her trouble with mathematics, her car radio turned up all the way. I write her questions on a sheet of paper so no one can hear. Late at night in my blue car, we drive back roads, the only place we speak openly. The field’s full enough tonight, I think, to break into a thousand wings. Julia Koets (Source: versedaily.org)

The Petition Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight, and give Your angels and saints charge over those who sleep. Tend Your sick ones, O Lord Christ. Rest Your weary ones. Bless Your dying ones. Soothe Your suffering ones. Shield Your joyous ones, and all for Your love’s sake. Amen.§

You take heart now. Be encouraged. The bad times are really the good times in disguise. And I’m going to get down on my knees tonight and ask God to break through. God is walking with you,

bringing in folding chairs to place in the aisles. She didn’t know Reverend Kelley, but she had met his elder daughter, Kim Randall, through her community service, and her heart went out to the Kelley family. The life of every clergyman in the region was at risk, including Dewan’s life, a thought she could hardly bear. But everyone had to be wondering who the killer would target as his next victim. With her head held high and a brave expression on her face, she entered the sanctuary and found her spot in the front row between Deacon Fuqua and his wife, Dionne. She leaned across and spoke to the deacon. “Should someone adjust the air-conditioning? With so many people packed inside the church, it’s bound to get hot.” “It’s being done,” Deacon Fuqua told her. “Can you believe this crowd? I see God’s hand in this prayer vigil that Dewan organized.” “God’s hand is in everything my husband does,” she said. A flurry of activity up on the podium at the front of the sanctuary gained Tasha’s attention. The members of the choir, decked out in their white and gold robes, were taking their places and preparing to sing God’s praises. She closed her eyes, her every thought a prayer for all those whose hearts were heavy tonight. Patsy and Elliott Floyd had arrived in time to find seats in the middle aisle, a few pews from the back of the building. As she glanced around, Patsy was pleased to see so many of her parishioners here this evening. She had sent out e-mails to the entire congregation and made numerous personal phone calls. Tonight’s prayer vigil was of great importance on several different levels. First and foremost, Bruce Kelley needed the combined strength of this type of group praying. Second, holding this vigil at the black Baptist church went a long way toward bridging the gap between black and white Christians in the area. Third, this was an example of how all churches, regardless of their doctrine, could support one another. And coming together to pray for one of their own would bring strength and comfort to the ministers and their families who were living each day with fear in their hearts. As they sat quietly side by side, Elliott reached between them and took her hand in his. They had been married for nearly thirty years, and they had stayed together through thick and thin. They had argued often in the early years, mostly because Elliott had never been at home and she’d been trapped there with two toddlers. She had not been as understanding as she should have been. After all, Elliott had been holding down a part-time job and putting

To gauge his mood, we would ask whether his hands were “in or out of the bag”—meaning his prayer bag. If they were in it, he was in spiritual mode and incommunicado; if they were out, there was a chance of talking to him.

Did you ever doubt that he was?” I shook my head.  “No.  It’s more that tonight was just another reminder why you should never stop praying.  Because you never know which one of your prayers might be granted.” “I couldn’t agree more.

I haven’t been drained that low in a long time. I shouldn’t have tried to take so much all at once,” I muttered, wanting to apologise but not quite finding the right words beyond that statement. “Well feel free to just steal all of mine then,” Darcy spat icily, clutching her neck tighter. I had the urge to heal her, but knew if I tried to touch her again, she’d only recoil. The ambulance pulled away and I glanced around, double checking Darius wasn’t here and I was glad to find he’d listened to me for once. That was something anyway. “Come on, I can drive you girls back in my car,” I offered. I’d left my Faerrari parked at the Acrux Hotel when I’d last visited Tucana, opting to stardust home because I’d been too drunk to drive. But I hadn’t had any magical drinks tonight, so I’d healed myself of the effects of the whiskey I’d consumed before coming to get Darius from the nightclub. Tory’s lip curled back as she glared at me with poison in her gaze. “We’re not going anywhere alone with you,” Darcy said bitterly, distrust in her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, stepping forward to get hold of her. I’d protect her tonight whether she liked it or not. Tory moved to intercept me and Caleb joined her too like a prime asshole. “You don’t fucking touch her again,” Tory growled. I narrowed my eyes at her, about to object, but as my gaze slid to Darcy over her shoulder and I saw the wall in her eyes that told me to get fucked, I knew I wasn’t going to win this fight. “Bastard,” Darcy hissed at me, looking woozy. Shit, I needed to heal her. And I could get her a blood replenishing potion back at the academy. “Come on, girls. The bus is gonna leave soon,” Caleb said, tugging Tory after him but she dug her heels in, waiting for Darcy. I opened my mouth to try and find the words that would convince Blue to stay with me, but she walked straight past me with her cheek turned and Tory threw me one more filthy look before they all headed down the street to the bus stop where mountains of students were gathering. Professors were among them and I knew they were safe enough in numbers, but my feet were still rooted to the pavement as I watched Darcy leave. You drank way too much. You have to get a grip. How are you going to keep feeding from her if you act like a monster every time your teeth are in her? I’d never had this problem before. The only thing I could compare it to was when my magic had been Awakened and my Order had Emerged. That first feed had made me feel like a ravenous beast with a bottomless stomach, and yet it still didn’t have a pinch on what it was like to feed from Blue. Caleb led Tory and Darcy past the queue straight onto the bus and my hackles rose as they joined Max and Seth on the back seats. And as Seth pulled Darcy close to him and nuzzled against her cheek, that feral animal in me awoke once more. I took out my Atlas and shot an update to Francesca, anxiously scoring my fingers through my hair. Just as the bus pulled away and rounded a corner, the FIB appeared on the street and I was immediately surrounded by three agents with dark frowns on their faces. “Lance Orion, you need to come down to the station and make a statement,” Captain Hoskins said and I sighed, knowing it was going to be a long ass night. I agreed and as I was stardusted away to the precinct, my heart was tugged in another direction, nearly forcing the stars to guide me elsewhere. But the captain ensured I made it to where he wanted to take me and I made a silent prayer to the stars that Darcy wouldn’t end up in Seth Capella’s bed tonight. Because I wasn’t sure I could control the demon in me who’d want his head for that. (ORION POV)

Columba of Iona: “Be a bright flame before me, O God a guiding star above me. Be a smooth path below me, a kindly shepherd behind me today, tonight, and forever. Alone with none but you, my God,

Dear God, I know you get millions of requests. I know, you know, that I am drunk, and high I know you will forgive me, I had a very good time tonight. You know, because you know everything. I don’t know how many requests you get daily, to write a happy ending for people, but I’ve never had a happy beginning or a middle, and now as you know I am on the last chapter of my life; I need to get on the “Happy Ending” list, I pray that you hear my prayer, and write a happy ending for me. Amen.

Dear God, I know you get millions of requests. I know, you know, that I am drunk, and high I know you will forgive me, I had a very good time tonight. You know, because you know everything. I don’t know how many requests you get daily, to write a happy ending for people, but I’ve never had a happy beginning or a middle, and now as you know I am on the last chapter of my life; I need to get on the “Happy Ending” list, I pray that you hear my prayer, and write a happy ending for me. Amen.

You’ll be in my prayers tonight,” Jack said.

Who Failed to Pray? When my wife and I were first married, we lived temporarily in my parents’ home before beginning our pastorate in another state. One night each week my parents drove several miles to a country schoolhouse, where my father conducted a Bible study and prayer meeting. One evening, while they were away, my wife and I were alone in my parents’ home, praying on our knees, when a sudden premonition of terrible danger swept over me. I began to plead God’s mercy, lifting my hands in agony of prayer. I did not know what the danger was and thought perhaps a robber was outside our window. For ten minutes or more I could only plead the blood of Jesus and claim the name of Jesus. Then the burden lifted. My wife could not understand what had happened to me, and said my face was as white as a sheet. She asked me what I thought it was. I replied that I did not know, only that I was sure God had delivered from some great danger. About twenty minutes later there was a knock on our bedroom door. It was my mother. Her first words confirmed my earlier apprehension: “Oh, Wesley, God has been so merciful to us tonight! When Papa and I were driving home on the highway, the bright light of an oncoming car blinded our eyes. The car was coming at high speed straight at us. At the last moment it swerved and just missed us. When it was past, we realized that we were on the wrong side of the road!” Explain it as you will. Perhaps it was the hand of prayer that guided the steering wheel of the speeding car and swerved it to avoid a collision. Perhaps I had touched heaven’s throne, and God sent an angel to handle the situation. I do not know. But this I do know: God alerted us to intercede and at the very time of danger spared the lives of my parents to many more years of ministry. Thereafter, when I hear that a valuable servant of God has been killed in an accident, I ask myself: “Who failed to pray?

tonight, that made her warm to quilting the most. Mark had always said prayer was like the wishes you wanted for yourself and those you love,

We are fond of crying out “Lord, do whatever you want to do tonight!” in our pre-service prayer times, but week after week, we keep choosing the consistency of our programs, proven set lists, and controlled outcomes over risking to follow His voice. Week after week we choose control instead of surrender, and yet we wonder why there is no power.

If I thought even for one moment that a single molecule were running loose in the universe outside the control and domain of almighty God, I wouldn’t sleep tonight.

As she stepped on the wet, moonlit stones, she offered up a small prayer: Dear Lord, let me not drown tonight. If I have to die, let it be tomorrow, on dry land. Amen.

Note to self: In your prayers tonight, be sure to thank God for making (a) that unbelievably hot nurse, (b) compression shorts, and (c) Joey Cosentino.

His Name Is Ted.   His name is ted But he doesn't understand I lay there waiting Holding his hand   Night has come And I lie and stare I cannot close my eyes I do not dare   I clutch his paw And hold on tight Maybe my prayers will be answered tonight   The floor boards creak outside my door And I know I have been bad Once more   The tears fall Before he starts Another night And a broken heart   He takes my clothes And my soul I cannot get back The innocence he stole   I cry for my mum But she does not come No chance of rescue For her evil son   My teddy bear Held tight in bed He will never tell The secrets I said.

Looking at him like he’d grown another head, she raised her hands up as she asked, “Don’t you have some other girl you want to harass? Maybe a girl who would actually appreciate it?” “Nope. You are the only girl I want to harass.” Which was the truth. Since he’d met Deanna, no other woman had existed for him. If he wasn’t with her, he was thinking about her. When he was with her, he wanted to stay with her, get to know her—and not only in the biblical sense, but that was definitely on top of his list. More attendees started filing out of the double doors, and Deanna’s head fell back as she let out a small groan. She might not have meant for the gesture to be or sound sexual, but that’s exactly what it’d been. He wanted to lean forward and press his lips to the soft skin on her neck, slide his hands up her dress and find out if she was wearing lace panties, silk panties, or no panties… “You win.You can drive me home.” She sounded anything but happy at her acquiescence, but Lucky was happy…Very happy. Well, this night had gone from bad, to worse, to horrible, to just plain humiliating. As Lucky opened the passenger side door to his SUV and held her hand while she got in, she immediately sent up a silent prayer that he didn’t notice the way a shiver ran up her arm from the touch of his large, rough hands. Deanna took a deep breath and pushed down the frustration and panic that was battling inside of her for top billing. Once he shut the door, she tugged her skirt down. When he got in, the entire left side of her body broke out in goosebumps from the intense stare he directed at her, but she kept her eyes trained ahead, looking out the windshield. She sat with her jaw set, her hands folded in her lap, and her back straight, hoping to convey that she just wanted to go home. “You’re quiet,” Lucky observed as they drove out of the parking lot. Proving his point, Deanna continued focusing out the window, at the moonlight dancing off the river. She knew she was being rude. She was a little too emotional and didn’t trust herself to speak. Especially considering the six glasses of wine she’d had this evening. Loose lips sank ships, and alcohol made her one Chatty Cathy capable of taking down an armada of ocean liners. “How was your evening tonight, Lucky?” he asked himself before answering his own question. “Oh, it was great, actually. Thanks for asking.” Deanna bit her lips to keep from smiling. She should’ve been annoyed at his adolescent behavior, and if it were any other guy, she was sure she would’ve been. But this was Lucky. And, whether she liked it or not (which, for the record, she didn’t), what should’ve been annoying or irritating on him always landed in the charming and amusing columns. “Of course!” he replied enthusiastically, still talking to himself. “I’m so glad you had a good time! What was the highlight of your evening, if you don’t mind me asking?” If he kept going, she was going to start cracking up, so she worked to maintain her composure. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Which she was fully aware made her behavior even more adolescent than his. She was being ridiculous. Still, trying to disguise her amusement, Deanna sighed. “Fine. You win again. What do you want to talk about?” Lucky shook his head as he clicked his tongue. “Sorry, Pop-Tart. You had your chance.” Pop-Tart? Had he seriously just called her Pop-Tart!? Before she was able to form an appropriately indignant response, he continued the conversation he was having with himself. “Wow. Highlight of my evening…” He hissed through his teeth. “That’s a tough one. I’m going to have to go with the dance that I had with this smokin’-hot brunette.” Her cheeks burned at his description. Then she tried to remind herself that he was joking around, but the message got to her head and, she feared, her heart too late.

You should go and enjoy your last night of freedom." Dominic held tight to her hands with one of his own, while with the other he tilted up her chin until she was forced to meet his stormy gaze. "Don't worry, Kat. I intend to." With that, his mouth came down on hers to claim her in a way she had never been claimed before. Their last kiss was warm and gentle, an exploration. This kiss devoured, consumed. And in her surprise, she responded. She slipped her hands from his to wrap them around his neck and into his hair. The dark locks slid like warm silk through her chilly fingers and the friction of the action caused her to kiss him deeper. He tasted very faintly of cigar smoke tinged with just the sharpest hint of whiskey. She never would have thought that taste would please her, but somehow it fit him. Smoky and tangy melded together in a way that made her knees go weak. Not that she needed their support. The moment their lips touched, Dominic crushed her against him and became her support and her prison all at once. A prison she didn't feel any desire to escape. In comparison to the air and the cold of the snow, he was as hot as fire. She was molded against a hard, lean body that melted her defenses and made her groan. "Dominic," she whimpered against his lips. He smiled between hot kisses. "So you do know my name. Say it again." Instead she lifted her lips for another kiss, but he held back. "Say it." "Dominic," she repeated, so low he barely heard it. But it was loud enough for now. Later, he would make her cry out his name. It would be a plea and a prayer as he took her careening over an edge he doubted she even knew existed. Yet. Just the thought of that made hot blood pump harder through him and he brought her even closer. Slowly, he moved his mouth away from hers and began a leisurely trail down her throat. To his delight, she arched against him with a quiet moan as her fingers dug into the layers of his coat. Emboldened by her passionate response, he pressed her back against the terrace wall as one hand brushed up her body until he cupped her breast. Her eyes flew open in surprise, but within the green depths he saw no fear, rather a haze of desire and surrender. With a half-smile, he kissed her again, this time with more control as he gently massaged the nipple thrusting out even through her heavy gown. Her mouth came open with a gasp of pleasure and he drank deeply of her taste. He wanted her. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow wasn't going to come fast enough.

I am called to enter into the inner sanctuary of my own being where God has chosen to dwell. The only way to that place is prayer, unceasing prayer, Many struggles and much pain can clear the way but I am certain that only unceasing prayer can let me enter it.

You'd better pray your ass off before you climb in bed tonight. You better pray the Lord finds you some other line of business, cuz the folks you're working for right now is goddamn devils. Swindling, thieving, crooked goddamn devils.

2020 Quarantine Killings by Playon Patrick And they ask: how do black boys write about their city? How do we know street if we don't know un-cracked sidewalk? They ask: how do these black boys know anything about their city? How the buildings are sitting on corners where brothers' bodies are still learning how to rot. There are small crosses placed in the grass where families cannot afford to bury their loved ones Reminds my brothers and I that we are early graves before we are anything else. We call those corners playgrounds, We call those corners the killing fields. We call our bodies bullets even if we were never aimed in the right direction We called the remnants of our mother's family the Diaspora tree. We make a catalog of prayers out of broken hands We pray for our family tree to make its way back home to this soil. We use our hands to dig the graves we cannot afford. We are farmers - our broken black bodies - We have never know city, never known comfort, Never known safe street in any city. We use our feet to walk streets paved by sunlight, And asked our shadows if they meant to choose this skin. We make a catalyst of bodies our dinner menu And we eat with our eyes closed. We are fed lies so easily it tastes like medicine. Always conflicted between being black and being people. I wish God could have given us a choice. For years we have been told that there is something we need to scrub off this body As if this dirt could go away Working in the field make you realize how easily black can cook in the sun. How easily we turn on each other for a little slice of the pie. We don't know this city - how it was built with our grandmother's arthritic hands. how we wouldn't have gotten a house or a bed when it was first built When it was first settled - when it was first taken from the Indians When our God believed in the same beginning. We don't know home. We don't know how generations of our people could use these legs Could run miles on end into the night Our faces bedazzled with the remnants of the stars We will forever search for our forefathers' footsteps We don't know home - we know run We know this land has never been ours We know how to fold ourselves into nothing We know our sweat and tears tenderize this soil Somehow we make fertilizer for the soil We know how to make these hands be useful We are the farmers of every revolution No country was built without the piling up of dead bodies This country just happens to be where our dead were dragged and hung up. America: the land of the free and home of the brave We fought and died for that slogan right beside our white brothers Doesn't that make us worth something? Tonight a riot is the language of the unheard

2020 Quarantine Killings And they ask, 'How do black boys write about their city? How do we know street if we don't know uncracked sidewalk?' They ask, 'How do these Black boys know anything about their city? How the buildings are sitting on corners where brothers' bodies are still learning how to rot?' There are small crosses placed in the grass where families cannot afford to bury their loved ones, reminds my brothers and I that we are early graves before we are anything else. We call those corners playgrounds. We call those corners the killing fields. We call our bodies bullets, even if we were never aimed in the right direction. We call the remnants of our mothers' family the disaspora tree. We make a catalog of prayers out of broken hands. We pray for our family tree to make its way back home to this soil. We use our hands to dig the graves we cannot afford. We are farmers of broken Black bodies. We have never know city, never known comfort, never know safe street in any city. We use our feet to walk streets paved by sunlight and ask our shadows if they meant to choose this skin. We make a catalyst of bodies our dinner menu and we eat with our eyes closed. We are fed lies so easily it tastes like medicine. Always conflicted between being Black and being people. I wish God could've given us a choice. For years, we have been told that there is something we need to scrub off this body, as if this dirt could go away. Working in the field make you realize how easily Black can cook in the sun, how easily we turn on each other for a little slice of the pie. We don't know this city, how it was built with our grandmothers' arthritic hands. How we couldn't have gotten a house or a bed when it was first built, when it was first settled, when it was first taken from the Indians, when our gods believed in the same beginning. We don't know home. We know how generations of our people could use these legs, could run miles on into the night, our faces bedazzled with the remnants of the stars. We will forever search for our forefathers' footsteps. We don't know home. We know run. We know this land has never been ours. We know how to fold ourselves into nothing. We know our sweat and tears tenderized this soil. Somehow we make fertilizer for the soil. We know how to make these hands be useful. We are the farmers of every revolution. No country was built without the piling up of dead bodies. This country just happens to be where our dead were dragged and hung up. America, the land of the free and home of the brave. We fought and died for that slogan, right beside our white brothers. And doesn't that make us worth something? Tonight, a riot is the language of the unheard. Playon Patrick

He was shivering hard when he came upon the rock face. A ragged wall of granite twenty yards in height, where the land stepped up toward the mountains at the valley’s edge. Such diminutive cliffs were a common enough feature of the landscape, often forming natural boundaries between farmsteads. More to Will’s purpose, they tended to contain caves. All he had to do was find one that didn’t contain a bear. ‘Lawl-father of the Pantheon above, lord of law and life,’ he prayed silently as he felt his way along the rock, ‘I don’t know what I did to make you piss in my stew tonight, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.’ No sooner was the prayer uttered that the rock gave way beneath his hands. He stumbled forward, almost cursing, before he realized that the opening was in fact a cave entrance. ‘Well, that’s service for you,’ he thought ‘Thank you, kindly.’ … He looked into the cavern packed from wall to wall with small, green figures. Feral faces with pointed snouts and pointier ears. Little black eyes screwed tight in anger. Teeth bared. … ‘Lawl above,’ Will thought, ‘you’re an absolute bastard.

You know the two most dear people to me in all the world are Madge and Anna Spears. You don't know them...Rosemary knows them, both of them. They’re in heaven now. They were spinsters. They were sisters. They lived together. There were three of them originally. I only knew two of them; and they were the kind ...and there are some in this church, and you know who they are, and they live for the church. If there's a meeting, they’re at it. If there's a prayer meeting, no matter what time of day it is, they’re at it. They were always praying for me... always praying for me. And Madge Spears died last year at the age of 101, and she's in glory now, and I say to you tonight with all sincerity, that's a great Christian. That's the measure of greatness. She never had the limelight. Her name was never up in lights. She never stood before thousands of people to speak. In her own closet, she would pray every single day for me. For me! And Jesus is saying, ‘That cup of cold water....’ ========== Mark 9.38-42 For or Against First Presbyterian Church, Jackson, Mississippi

To add even more drama to my announcement, I concluded by saying that after they got ready for bed they should go sit on their beds and moan… for the Bible says that the Holy Spirit will lift up prayers on our behalf if all we can do is moan. “So the Holy Spirit will be tucking you into bed tonight. I am

Tonight, after a day full of bad vibrations and thick, dark energy swirling its negative spiral throughout my world, affecting those around me – I could not hold it in any longer. So I cried. I cried for every being on this planet who has ever thought of them self as a victim. I felt the victim consciousness flood my mind tonight, but I knew I was not experiencing it as a personal lesson – it was so that I could hear and feel all of them. I heard their cries, their prayers, and I felt their hopelessness. And after I cried for them – for us, I sent them all my love… for that is what I Am.

The Sensible Shoes Club sat in Meg’s parlor in front of a crackling fire, chairs from the kitchen gathered into a circle. “It’s nice to meet you guys,” Becca said to Mara and Charissa after a few minutes of friendly introductions. “And congratulations on the baby.” “Thanks!” Charissa tucked the pink shoes back into her purse. “Great to meet you too!” Mara chorused the same. “I’ll be in my room, Mom,” Becca said, “if you need anything.” “Thanks, honey.” Becca would probably spend the next two hours on the phone with Simon. To her credit, she had spent very little time texting or talking with him whenever she and Meg were together. But at night, after Meg went to bed, she could hear Becca through the wall, her voice animated with infatuation. Meg waited until she heard Becca’s bedroom door close upstairs. Then she looked around the circle at her friends. “I’ve been meditating the past week on some of the stories about the end of Jesus’ life—not to be morbid, but to watch his love. The prayer exercise I chose for tonight caught my attention because it shows him with his friends, loving them.” She passed around the handouts and

Sideline Story By Barbara Dooley, Georgia Grits When you have a lot of children, and we had four, you get worn slap out. By the time the last baby arrives, you just let them do just about whatever they want. We had a rule that our first son, Daniel, could not go to the sidelines with his father, who was the head coach at the University of Georgia at the time, until he was ten years old. Our youngest son, Derek, got this chance a lot sooner. When Derek was five, Georgia played our biggest in-state rival, Georgia Tech, in Atlanta on Thanksgiving night. We spent Thanksgiving without the coach, then drove to Atlanta for the game. When we got to the hotel, Derek immediately asked his father if he could sit on the sidelines. Feeling guilty about Thanksgiving, Vince compromised and told him that if we were beating Tech by a large score at the end of the third quarter he could go down on the sidelines. There were two rules: he could not get near the team, and he could not get near Dad! At family prayers, Derek prayed, “…and Jesus please let us be beating Tech by a big enough score that I can get to the sidelines.” At the end of the third quarter the score was 42--0, and I thought that was a reasonable lead to take him down to the sidelines. By the time we got to the fence, Tech had scored and it was 42--7. By the time I got him over the fence, it was 42--14. By the time I got back to my seat, it was 42--21 and Derek Dooley was pulling on his dad’s pants leg. That night in the hotel, we put the children down in their room and turned out the lights. We went to our adjoining room and Vince turned out the light. I knew, womanly instinct, that something major was about to be said. I just lay there as still as I could, waiting. Finally he said, “Barbara, the strangest thing happened tonight on the sideline. Tech had the ball going down the field to score and Derek was pulling on my pants leg. I pushed him away, anything to get him to turn loose of my leg. Finally when Tech scored, I looked down and said, ‘Derek, what do you want?’ I was ready for anything except for what he said. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and said, “Daddy, don’t worry about a thing. Jesus is just having a little fun.

Version Two-Morning (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.) THIS MORNING I ADMIT WHEN ISOLATED I AM POWERLESS OVER (Fill in problem). (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I ADMIT WHEN I RELY ONLY ON MY WILL MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I BELIEVE THERE IS A POWER GREATER THAN MYSELF. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I BELIEVE THIS POWER CAN, AND WILL, RESTORE ME TO SANITY. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM MAKING A DECISION TO TURN MY WILL OVER TO THAT POWER’S CARE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM MAKING A DECISION TO TURN MY LIFE OVER TO THAT POWER’S CARE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM ENTIRELY READY TO HAVE THAT POWER REMOVE ALL MY DEFECTS OF CHARACTER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I HUMBLY ASK THAT POWER TO REMOVE MY SHORTCOMINGS. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM SEEKING THROUGH THIS PRAYER TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH THAT SPIRITUAL POWER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE POWER TO CARRY OUT THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE WILLINGNESS TO TAKE THE ACTION NECESSARY TO CARRY OUT THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO CARRY THIS MESSAGE TO OTHERS WHO STILL SUFFER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE ABILITY AND WILLINGNESS TO PRACTICE THESE PRINCIPLES IN ALL ASPECTS OF MY LIFE. (Engage in your ending ritual if you are using one.) Version Two-Evening (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.) TONIGHT I ADMIT IN ISOLATION I AM POWERLESS OVER (Fill in problem)-THAT MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A POWER GREATER THAN MYSELF AND YOU ARE RESTORING ME TO SANITY. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM GRATEFUL THIS DAY I WAS ABLE TO MAKE A DECISION TO TURN MY WILL AND MY LIFE OVER TO YOUR CARE. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I CONTINUE TO BE ENTIRELY WILLING TO HAVE YOU REMOVE ALL MY DEFECTS OF CHARACTER. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I HUMBLY ASK YOU TO CONTINUE TO REMOVE MY SHORTCOMINGS. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I TAKE PERSONAL INVENTORY AND FIND I HAVE BEEN WRONG AND NOW PROMPTLY ADMIT IT TO YOU. (If after an honest review of the day you are unable to identify anyone you have harmed, skip the next two sentences.) (BREATHE) TONIGHT I LIST THESE PERSONS I HAVE HARMED TODAY, AND AM WILLING TO MAKE AMENDS TO THEM ALL. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AGREE TO MAKE DIRECT AMENDS TO THESE PEOPLE WHEREVER POSSIBLE, EXCEPT WHEN TO DO SO WOULD INJURE THEM OR OTHERS. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM SEEKING THROUGH PRAYER TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH YOU. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR THE POWER TO CARRY OUT YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR THE WILLINGNESS TO CARRY OUT YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM SEEKING THROUGH MEDITATION TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH YOU. (BREATHE) TODAY I EXPERIENCED A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING AS A RESULT OF THESE STEPS. (BREATHE) TODAY I TRIED TO CARRY THIS MESSAGE TO OTHERS WHO STILL SUFFER. (BREATHE) TODAY I PRACTICED THESE PRINCIPLES IN ALL MY AFFAIRS. (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.)

This is all so tangled and so impossible, but God did the impossible tonight. He does it all the time. I’m so overcome by it that I can’t formulate an elaborate prayer. I simply whisper, “Thank you.

All quiet along the Potomac,” they say, “Except, now and then, a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. ’Tis nothing—a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an officer lost—only one of the men Moaning out, all alone, his death-rattle.” * * * * * * All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard—for the army is sleeping. There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread, As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack—his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep— For their mother—may Heaven defend her! The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, That night, when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips—when low-murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, As if to keep down the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, The footstep is lagging and weary; Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Toward the shade of the forest so dreary. Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? Was it moonlight so suddenly flashing? It looked life a rifle—“Ha! Mary, good-by!” And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to-night, No sound save the rush of the river; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead— The picket’s off duty forever!

Dad stops behind Felicity, larger than life even in his late sixties, his hair prayer than brown, the lines in his face getting deeper every day. He gives me a strangled sort of look. "I'm supposed to talk to you about where babies come from. Your mother says you were doing it wrong." Felicity has a sudden coughing fit that has Ares off his feet and across the room making sure the baby's okay before i can finish thinking fuck. "I told her she should've given you a few more minutes," dad adds. He clears his throat. "So the shed should be free tonight." Felicity's leaning against the wall, laughing so hard she's crying. Loki's gripping her around the head and patting her hair, his eyes huge and terrified, like female tears scare the shit out of him. Are's whole body is vibrating with silent laughter. Dad clears his throat again and nods to me. "So, practice good. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want.

I close my eyes and say a prayer, That tonight you’ll be held. I lift you up to the spare pair Of shoulders that can’t be felled. Tonight, as you sleep, I pray your worries are wiped away. May you wake up and not weep, For joy will come in the day. Let the bridge cover your worries, Let the rain wash away the fear. Let the shoulders hold your furies. Let the sunshine bring you cheer. Shoulders holding you high. Arms shielding you from danger. May you never have to cry, On top of the mountainous glacier.

Elliot always ordered for the teachers at the robatayaki. The Japanese words he knew were those for pleasurable sustenance. Tonight he began with teriyaki yellowtail and buttered grilled potato. The teachers and Meryl joined him. After Meryl admired the flatfish chopstick rests and answered yes when Fiona asked if she thought the hijiki seaweed looked like shiny black worms, the Master’s sister brought a dish that Elliot hadn’t ordered. “The Master is giving us this for free.” Jo put her hands together in the customary prayer. “Itadakimasu.” “He is?” Meryl asked. Fiona told her to just say itadakimasu— “E-ta-ba-key...ma.” And was impressed; it had taken her five days to try to say it. Darryl said, “Say ookini.” “That’s easy.” Meryl looked over to the Master. “Oh-key-knee.” Puppet eyes glittered. Circle lips opened wide. Laughter exploded like balls of fireworks at a summer festival. “A delectable delight,” Elliot said. “Grilled lotus root stuffed with ground pork. Your son’s favorite dish. Put a little of that mustard on it.” “Byron’s favorite? No, Byron’s favorite is my potato salad.

Tonight at sunset walking on the snowy road, my shoes crunching on the frozen gravel, first through the woods, then out into the open fields past a couple of trailers and some pickup trucks, I stop and look at the sky. Suddenly: orange, red, pink, blue, green, purple, yellow, gray, all at once and everywhere. I pause in this moment at the beginning of my old age and I say a prayer of gratitude for getting to this evening a prayer for being here, today, now, alive in this life, in this evening, under this sky. "Winter: Tonight: Sunset