An Early Summer's Prayer

Father, one year ago, we mobilized to help rebuild homes in Nashville after the May flood.  Since then, we have become dizzy with disaster response and weary with compassion fatigue. I can almost no longer name the many tragedies. 

Hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, tornadoes, wildfires.  I’ve been asked when we are sending teams to help in Memphis, and I thought, “Don’t you mean Birmingham?” as I had forgotten the Mississippi flooding in light of the horrific tornado that razed Joplin, MO yesterday. 

Japan is still bruised, Haiti ravaged, and more storms are predicted for the middle of America tomorrow, before we have had a chance to get back up and catch our breath.

The Middle East is restless, and old wounds are being reopened. Surrounding countries have begun to flex their protest muscles in response to corrupt governments; Syria, Libya, Egypt, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Israel, the Palestinians are all aflush with conflict. Even lovely Spain’s streets are crammed with peaceful protest from people intent on change regarding their economic condition. 

A plague of cicadas sings at decibels approaching 120 in my town of Nashville, and I cannot get the words “eschatological signs of the times” from chanting through my head in a droning soundtrack just behind my thoughts.

Father the eerie apocalyptic flavor of the days is unsettling. I am losing track of the names of those in need and suffering, and a growing urgency about sharing the gospel is burning through my bones. Formal, informal, deed, word, here, there — God give me the vocabulary of a redeemed woman with a mission.

Help me use the influence I have wisely, and give me courage to try at the risk of failure. Ripen the tentative wisdom I have, and tune my ears to the wiser voices around me. Let me speak when it is fruitful to, serve with humility, be creative in living and loving, and all in an urgency driven by tears for those who have not been seized by your great affection.

I will lay my head down within a couple of hours, and ask you to clothe me with sleep, rest, trust. And I will draw the promised strength I need for morning breath when you wake me anew. By the power of your Word,  in the promise of your covenant, and for the hope of your glory, Amen.


Kim is a writer and painter, and is the Curate for The Village Chapel in Nashville, TN. You can visit her at

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