It’s me again, God—
You know, the one with the tangled thoughts
and the hope that keeps limping forward like it’s missing a shoe.

Some days I read the news
and it feels like the world is shattering in pieces
I can’t pick up,
not in Palestine, not in Israel,
not in Ukraine or Russia,
or any of those other places where fear
has built its walls so high you can’t see the sun.

It’s heavy here, too—
right in my own country,
where skin and love and politics
seem to be labels we use to make fences
instead of bridges.
Where hurt hides in quiet corners
of hunger,
and in the eyes of people who
walk past me with more stories
than I will ever know.

And then there’s my own heart—
a neighborhood that could use repairs.
It’s full of potholes
where confusion and doubt live,
debating what’s right
in a world where noise often outshouts truth.

So, God—
would You teach us peace?
Not the kind we only post about,
but the everyday kind
that shows up carrying groceries for a stranger,
that sits down across the table from someone we’ve
never tried to understand,
that kneels,
listens,
and keeps listening.

Hold the broken places,
the war zones far away
and the ones inside my chest.
Remind me that You are not lost in the chaos,
that You are still here,
with hands big enough to gather
the whole, messy world—
and hold it
like a mother holds her child
until the shaking stops.

Amen.