A PRAYER FOR THE WEEK: Coming Home Again
A Prayer for the Fourth Week of Lent (Year C)
Loving Father,
Here I am again. Another week, another chance to begin again. I bring You all of me—my faith and my fears, my hopes and my heaviness, my prayers and my silence. I come home to You—not because I’ve earned it, but because You’ve never stopped waiting for me.
Like the prodigal son, I’ve had moments when I’ve walked away—chasing my own way, believing I knew better. And yet, You still run toward me with open arms. No shame. No scolding. Just love that never gives up. Help me believe I’m never too far gone for Your mercy.
You are always doing something new, even when I can’t see it. Even when life feels stuck or slow, You’re planting seeds beneath the surface. Teach me to trust that You’re not finished with me. That my story is still unfolding. That the hard parts aren’t the end—they’re part of the growth.
Some days I feel tired, Lord—spiritually dry, worn thin. Let Your grace be the river that flows through my soul, refreshing what feels lifeless. Soften the places I’ve closed off. Heal the places I’ve neglected. Breathe life into me again.
And when I feel forgotten, when it seems like no one sees me or understands, remind me that You do. You know me better than I know myself. I’m not lost to You. I’m not overlooked. I’m held.
When I feel tempted to give up on others—or myself—help me choose mercy instead of judgment. Remind me that You don’t give up on anyone. Not me. Not them. Let me be someone who reflects that kind of love.
And when truth feels costly, when doing what’s right feels lonely, give me the strength to stay the course. Help me live with honesty and humility—not needing to impress, just longing to be faithful.
This week, I want to come home again—to grace, to purpose, to You. Help me listen. Help me love. Help me grow.
I’m Yours, Lord. Today. This week. Always.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Here I am again. Another week, another chance to begin again. I bring You all of me—my faith and my fears, my hopes and my heaviness, my prayers and my silence. I come home to You—not because I’ve earned it, but because You’ve never stopped waiting for me.
Like the prodigal son, I’ve had moments when I’ve walked away—chasing my own way, believing I knew better. And yet, You still run toward me with open arms. No shame. No scolding. Just love that never gives up. Help me believe I’m never too far gone for Your mercy.
You are always doing something new, even when I can’t see it. Even when life feels stuck or slow, You’re planting seeds beneath the surface. Teach me to trust that You’re not finished with me. That my story is still unfolding. That the hard parts aren’t the end—they’re part of the growth.
Some days I feel tired, Lord—spiritually dry, worn thin. Let Your grace be the river that flows through my soul, refreshing what feels lifeless. Soften the places I’ve closed off. Heal the places I’ve neglected. Breathe life into me again.
And when I feel forgotten, when it seems like no one sees me or understands, remind me that You do. You know me better than I know myself. I’m not lost to You. I’m not overlooked. I’m held.
When I feel tempted to give up on others—or myself—help me choose mercy instead of judgment. Remind me that You don’t give up on anyone. Not me. Not them. Let me be someone who reflects that kind of love.
And when truth feels costly, when doing what’s right feels lonely, give me the strength to stay the course. Help me live with honesty and humility—not needing to impress, just longing to be faithful.
This week, I want to come home again—to grace, to purpose, to You. Help me listen. Help me love. Help me grow.
I’m Yours, Lord. Today. This week. Always.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
A WEEK OF POWERFUL PRAYER – FOURTH WEEK OF LENT (YEAR C)
SUNDAY, MARCH 30, 2025 – COMING HOME
“While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion.” (Luke 15:20)
Prayer:
Lord, I know what it feels like to wander—To drift from You slowly, not with defiance, but with distraction.To chase the illusion of freedom, only to end up empty,Alone in a far-off place, hungry for something real.
I’ve taken Your blessings for granted.I’ve tried to write my own story,Only to find myself lost in the middle of it, unsure of the next page.
But today, You remind me of who You are.You are the Father who watches the road.Not with folded arms and disappointment,But with open arms and eyes filled with hope.You wait—not to scold, but to embrace.You don’t demand explanations.You run to me.You call me son, daughter, beloved,Even when I feel unworthy to be called anything at all.
Your mercy doesn’t wait for me to have it all together.Your grace meets me right where I am—In the mess, in the shame, in the silence after I’ve run out of words.
Lord, help me believe—deep in my soul—that I am never too far gone.That no matter how far I’ve wandered,Your love is still stronger than my sin,And Your joy at my return is greater than my regret.
Help me trust in Your goodness more than I fear my failures.Help me to come home—not just once, but again and again,With honesty, with humility, and with hope.
And as I receive that mercy, teach me to extend it.To be the one who watches the road for others.To run, not judge. To embrace, not lecture.To celebrate when the lost are found,Even when the story didn’t go the way I expected.
Because that’s what love does.That’s what You do.
Thank You, Father, for not giving up on me.Thank You for preparing a feast, even after all I’ve wasted.Thank You for being a home I can always return to.
Amen.
Lord, I know what it feels like to wander—To drift from You slowly, not with defiance, but with distraction.To chase the illusion of freedom, only to end up empty,Alone in a far-off place, hungry for something real.
I’ve taken Your blessings for granted.I’ve tried to write my own story,Only to find myself lost in the middle of it, unsure of the next page.
But today, You remind me of who You are.You are the Father who watches the road.Not with folded arms and disappointment,But with open arms and eyes filled with hope.You wait—not to scold, but to embrace.You don’t demand explanations.You run to me.You call me son, daughter, beloved,Even when I feel unworthy to be called anything at all.
Your mercy doesn’t wait for me to have it all together.Your grace meets me right where I am—In the mess, in the shame, in the silence after I’ve run out of words.
Lord, help me believe—deep in my soul—that I am never too far gone.That no matter how far I’ve wandered,Your love is still stronger than my sin,And Your joy at my return is greater than my regret.
Help me trust in Your goodness more than I fear my failures.Help me to come home—not just once, but again and again,With honesty, with humility, and with hope.
And as I receive that mercy, teach me to extend it.To be the one who watches the road for others.To run, not judge. To embrace, not lecture.To celebrate when the lost are found,Even when the story didn’t go the way I expected.
Because that’s what love does.That’s what You do.
Thank You, Father, for not giving up on me.Thank You for preparing a feast, even after all I’ve wasted.Thank You for being a home I can always return to.
Amen.
Monday, March 31, 2025Something New is Growing“Lo, I am about to create new heavens and a new earth.” (Isaiah 65:17)
Prayer:
Lord of beginnings and unseen growth,You are always doing something new—even when I can’t see it,even when I don’t feel it,even when everything around me looks unchanged.
Sometimes I live as though the past defines me—as though old wounds get the final word.I get stuck in familiar routines,tangled in regrets,weighed down by what used to be.And yet, You whisper: “I am making all things new.”Not patched-up or recycled—but new.Heaven-breaking-in kind of new.Resurrection-in-the-middle-of-the-winter kind of new.
So today, Lord, soften the soil of my heart.Uproot the lies I’ve believed about what’s possible.Pull out the weeds of fear, cynicism, and shame.Make space for the seeds You’re planting—seeds of joy, of healing, of courage I forgot I had.
Help me to release what has already died,so I can receive what is being born.Teach me to trust the slow work of grace—that holy things often begin in hidden places,in quiet acts of faithfulness,in the dark earth before the sprouting.
If all I see today is bare ground,give me the faith to believe it is not empty—but full of Your promise.Let me not miss the miraclebecause I was too focused on the mess.
Open my eyes to the small signs of life:a word of encouragement,a deeper breath,a moment of peace I didn’t expect.
Today, I choose hope.Not because everything makes sense,but because I believe You are still at work.Still creating.Still redeeming.Still making something beautiful grow—even here, even now, even in me.
Amen.
Prayer:
Lord of beginnings and unseen growth,You are always doing something new—even when I can’t see it,even when I don’t feel it,even when everything around me looks unchanged.
Sometimes I live as though the past defines me—as though old wounds get the final word.I get stuck in familiar routines,tangled in regrets,weighed down by what used to be.And yet, You whisper: “I am making all things new.”Not patched-up or recycled—but new.Heaven-breaking-in kind of new.Resurrection-in-the-middle-of-the-winter kind of new.
So today, Lord, soften the soil of my heart.Uproot the lies I’ve believed about what’s possible.Pull out the weeds of fear, cynicism, and shame.Make space for the seeds You’re planting—seeds of joy, of healing, of courage I forgot I had.
Help me to release what has already died,so I can receive what is being born.Teach me to trust the slow work of grace—that holy things often begin in hidden places,in quiet acts of faithfulness,in the dark earth before the sprouting.
If all I see today is bare ground,give me the faith to believe it is not empty—but full of Your promise.Let me not miss the miraclebecause I was too focused on the mess.
Open my eyes to the small signs of life:a word of encouragement,a deeper breath,a moment of peace I didn’t expect.
Today, I choose hope.Not because everything makes sense,but because I believe You are still at work.Still creating.Still redeeming.Still making something beautiful grow—even here, even now, even in me.
Amen.
Tuesday, April 1, 2025 – The River of Grace“Wherever the river flows, every sort of living creature… shall live.” (Ezekiel 47:9)
Prayer:Lord, some days my soul feels like a dried-up riverbed.I keep showing up—I go to church, I say my prayers, I smile at the right times—but inside, I feel worn thin.Tired. Disconnected. Like I’ve been running on empty for longer than I’d like to admit.There are parts of me that have grown hard or brittle—places where joy used to live, where hope used to bloom.Sometimes I wonder if those places can ever come back to life.
But then You remind me: there is a river.A river that flows from Your temple—not with a trickle of comfort, but with a flood of mercy.A river that reaches even the most barren places.A river that carries life, healing, restoration, and peace.
That river is You, Lord.Your Spirit.Your love.Your steady, patient grace that refuses to give up on me.
So today, I stop trying to water myself with my own strength.I stop pretending I have it all together.Instead, I open the gates of my heart.Let Your river flow in.
Flow into the places I’ve sealed off because they hurt too much.Flow into the memories I avoid, the habits I hide, the doubts I pretend I don’t have.Soften what has grown cold. Wash away what no longer belongs.Nourish what is still quietly alive under the surface.
I don’t want to just survive, Lord.I want to live. Really live.
Let Your living water fill me so completely that I become a stream of grace for others—a source of comfort to the weary, hope to the discouraged, and joy to those who are parched in spirit.
Thank You for meeting me in my dryness and not leaving me there.Thank You for being the river that never runs dry.
Amen.
📖 Today’s Readings:Ezekiel 47:1–9, 12Psalm 46:2–3, 5–6, 8–9John 5:1–16
Prayer:Lord, some days my soul feels like a dried-up riverbed.I keep showing up—I go to church, I say my prayers, I smile at the right times—but inside, I feel worn thin.Tired. Disconnected. Like I’ve been running on empty for longer than I’d like to admit.There are parts of me that have grown hard or brittle—places where joy used to live, where hope used to bloom.Sometimes I wonder if those places can ever come back to life.
But then You remind me: there is a river.A river that flows from Your temple—not with a trickle of comfort, but with a flood of mercy.A river that reaches even the most barren places.A river that carries life, healing, restoration, and peace.
That river is You, Lord.Your Spirit.Your love.Your steady, patient grace that refuses to give up on me.
So today, I stop trying to water myself with my own strength.I stop pretending I have it all together.Instead, I open the gates of my heart.Let Your river flow in.
Flow into the places I’ve sealed off because they hurt too much.Flow into the memories I avoid, the habits I hide, the doubts I pretend I don’t have.Soften what has grown cold. Wash away what no longer belongs.Nourish what is still quietly alive under the surface.
I don’t want to just survive, Lord.I want to live. Really live.
Let Your living water fill me so completely that I become a stream of grace for others—a source of comfort to the weary, hope to the discouraged, and joy to those who are parched in spirit.
Thank You for meeting me in my dryness and not leaving me there.Thank You for being the river that never runs dry.
Amen.
📖 Today’s Readings:Ezekiel 47:1–9, 12Psalm 46:2–3, 5–6, 8–9John 5:1–16
Wednesday, April 2, 2025 – Never Forgotten“Even should she forget, I will never forget you.” (Isaiah 49:15)
Prayer:
Lord,You know how easily I start to doubt when life grows quiet—when prayers go unanswered, when doors stay shut, when the weight I carry feels invisible to everyone but me. I wonder if You’ve turned away, or if I somehow slipped through the cracks of Your attention.
But then You speak with tenderness beyond my imagination:“Even if a mother could forget her child—a child she carried, nursed, held close—I will not forget you.”You remind me that Your love is not fickle, not fragile, not based on how I’m doing today or whether I’ve done enough to deserve it.You see me.You know me.You remember me—completely and forever.
Even when others don’t notice.Even when I feel forgotten in a crowd.Even when I forget myself—who I am, who I’m called to be—You never lose sight of me.
You’ve written my name not on paper, but on the palms of Your hands.Not with ink, but with love—sacred, enduring, and real.
So when fear whispers, “You’re alone,”and doubt says, “You’re not worth remembering,”help me hear Your steady voice say,“I will never forget you.”Not today. Not ever.
Hold my heart in that promise, Lord.When the night feels long and hope feels far, let me lean into Your memory of me.Let me rest in the truth that You are closer than my breath, more faithful than my own thoughts,and far more loving than I can grasp.
Thank You for remembering me when I forget who I am.Thank You for holding me even when I feel lost.And thank You for the mercy that keeps writing my name into Your story,day after day.
Amen.
Prayer:
Lord,You know how easily I start to doubt when life grows quiet—when prayers go unanswered, when doors stay shut, when the weight I carry feels invisible to everyone but me. I wonder if You’ve turned away, or if I somehow slipped through the cracks of Your attention.
But then You speak with tenderness beyond my imagination:“Even if a mother could forget her child—a child she carried, nursed, held close—I will not forget you.”You remind me that Your love is not fickle, not fragile, not based on how I’m doing today or whether I’ve done enough to deserve it.You see me.You know me.You remember me—completely and forever.
Even when others don’t notice.Even when I feel forgotten in a crowd.Even when I forget myself—who I am, who I’m called to be—You never lose sight of me.
You’ve written my name not on paper, but on the palms of Your hands.Not with ink, but with love—sacred, enduring, and real.
So when fear whispers, “You’re alone,”and doubt says, “You’re not worth remembering,”help me hear Your steady voice say,“I will never forget you.”Not today. Not ever.
Hold my heart in that promise, Lord.When the night feels long and hope feels far, let me lean into Your memory of me.Let me rest in the truth that You are closer than my breath, more faithful than my own thoughts,and far more loving than I can grasp.
Thank You for remembering me when I forget who I am.Thank You for holding me even when I feel lost.And thank You for the mercy that keeps writing my name into Your story,day after day.
Amen.
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