Prayer is conversation for all seasons, and in the January season—when the cold and fog and grey have been stealthily trying to sneak into my soul despite my valiant efforts to evict them–my prayer-life becomes a child-like “gimme.”
Oh, pour your love into my heart, for on its own, it’s barren.
Oh, give me love for others, for I have none.
Oh, give me wisdom, for I am quite without it.
Oh, give me grace.
Oh, come into my heart.
Maranatha! Come Lord Jesus!