God of the flood, we feel like your promises have all gone mute.
We feel like you’ve forgotten to never cut the land with harsh rain.
We feel like you’ve created a flood but neglected to call an Ark builder.
And it’s not us we’re so worried about, but them.
Those we love.
Those we speak of and ache for.
Those we’ve shared table time with.
We need to know you care about them.
We ache for them and need to remember you do too.
Teach us to remember your ache.
Remind us of the curtain that split.
Remind us of the aching Jesus that stayed.
Remind us of your heart – a dad’s heart – the best dad’s heart.
Remind us and forgive us.
We’ve doubted you care as much.
We construct actions you certainly would take if you cared.
But you are a patient lover.
And we are concerned about today.
Let us trust you with our others.
Let us trust you with the in-between days of their lives.
Let us trust you to roll away the tomb door like you’ve always done.
Remind us that you do not send rain without intent.
Remind us that you care about beautiful things and beautiful fruit.
Remind us that you are growing and tending and watering and in our soil.