Prayer is the mortar that holds our house together.
Leathery wrinkled skin outlined in the bones of my father’s face. He sat slumped in the chair in my living room and stared out the window. I feared this man. He could make me cower with one stabbing angry glare.
As I stood in the shadows, a part of me wanted to walk away, give up, resign. Another part of me wanted to try one more time. I prayed, “God, I want a better relationship with my father and time is running out. It would be a miracle if he changed.” Something deep inside opened up and I added, “God, if it be Your will, use me as an instrument to bring my Dad back to You.”
Quietly I walked over and sat down in the chair across from my father. He seemed unaware of my presence. I swallowed hard and reached across to rest my hand on his lizard-like one……….
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