Let This Be Our Prayer

I whisper it sometimes in the quiet of the night, when the weight of the day is too much and I feel small beneath the vast sky. I whisper it when the road ahead feels uncertain, when my strength feels thin, and when I can’t quite see what’s around the bend.

I pray you’ll be our eyes.

That you’ll see what we cannot. That when fear clouds our vision, or weariness dims the light, you’ll still see us clearly—still guide us gently. There are days I walk forward blindly, trusting something beyond myself to carry us through. And on those days, I ask for your eyes to watch over us… to see the dangers we cannot see, the mercy we didn’t expect, the hope still hiding in shadow.

And I pray you’ll help us to be wise.

Wisdom doesn’t always shout; sometimes it comes in stillness. In knowing when to speak and when to simply hold space. In knowing when to fight and when to surrender. In moments of not knowing what to do next, may grace step in. May we choose compassion over fear. May we choose trust when the world says panic. May we remember who we are, even when we feel lost.

Let this be our prayer, when we lose our way.

Because we do. We lose our way. Sometimes in grief. Sometimes in fatigue. Sometimes in the maze of decisions and burdens and broken dreams. But even when we wander, I believe something sacred holds the map. Something bigger than our doubt. Something more constant than chaos. Let this be the prayer that echoes when words fail: Please don’t let go of us.

Lead us to a place.

Not a perfect place, but a place where we can breathe again. Where our hearts are not clenched tight with worry. Where joy is not a stranger, but a guest who stays. Lead us to the quiet waters, to the shade of trees we didn’t plant, to rest we forgot we deserved.

Guide us with your grace.

Grace—the kind that covers what we missed, heals what we’ve broken, and meets us in the in-between. May it be the hand on our shoulder when we’re too tired to take another step. May it be the voice that says, “You’ve done enough for today.” May it be the shelter when the storm rolls in again.

To a place where we’ll be safe.

Safety doesn’t mean nothing hard ever touches us. It means we are held through it. It means we are not alone. It means the deepest part of us remains unshaken even when the world around us trembles. That’s the place I pray for—not just for me, but for those I love. For those I carry. For those I weep for. For those I walk beside in this fragile, beautiful life.

Let this be our prayer.

Let it rise above the noise. Let it echo through every weary heart. Let it carry us forward when we have no strength left to walk.