Lord, we are tired

Lord, we are tired.

We look around and all that we see makes us profoundly weary…

Tear-filled eyes.  Shattered glass.  Screeching sirens.  Shivering bodies.  Harsh words.  Closed doors.  Cold hearts. 

Death, death, and more death.

We long for a day when our newsfeed wouldn’t fill up with stories of yet another massacre.  When pictures of blown-up buildings, dead children, and overcrowded shelters wouldn’t barrage us day after day after day.  When our mornings would be times to be thankful, and not times to be heartbroken and despairing. 

Today is not one of those days, Father. Today, we are hurting.  We are all hurting. 

And we don’t know how to handle that.

We are ashamed, ashamed to admit we are growing used to the violence, numb and silent to its piercing call.  Our only response is “not again”…

We are scared, scared that one day we too will suffer in our own homes.  So we respond by closing our doors and shuttering our windows.  Out of sight, out of mind…

We are angry, angry that people could commit such atrocities and we can’t do a thing to stop them.  We are angry enough to lash out, to hate, to condemn…

We are frustrated, frustrated in ways that keep us from taking deep breathes and finding the compassion in our hearts.  We want answers, we want solutions, and we want them now.  But we don’t get any…

But most of all, we are tired.  Bone weary tired.  The kind of tired that not even our dreams at night can help us escape.  The weight of the world bears heavily on our shoulders and keeps are feet buried in the sand, knees locked and legs shaking, sinking deeper and deeper. 

We can’t hold on much longer.

Lord, we want you to come.  Preferably now, if at all convenient.  We’ve quite suddenly reached the end of our supply of patience.  We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel and coming up dry.  There’s simply not enough to make this all right again… 

Please, come and restore the world before it gets much worse.

Please.

And thank you in advance.