The Prayer of the Weary

Dear God,

Midterms have tested me in great measures this past week. It has really tested my patience, and at the same time between struggling to study, I've struggled with comparison. It's during these times of walking on thin ice that I'm the most vulnerable and easily thrown off course. Help me not to compare myself to others. Just because I don't have patience, brain capacity, and can't endure long hardcore hours of studying doesn't mean that I am useless to you, and I have blinded myself to that fact over the course of the past few weeks. You love me through my weaknesses. You love me when I constantly lose and misplace things. You love me even when I forget things and have to write them down. You love me when I throw my book across the room after doing homework for two hours and decide to sleep instead of finishing it, and then you love my for making a bad grade on a quiz the next day because I didn't finish my homework. You love me when I'm not who I want to be or who you want me to be. You love me when I screw up and when I'm irresponsible, even when I pretend that I'm not. I yield my heart to you and ask you to forgive me, here in public so that when people hear me trying to compare myself again they'll punch me in the face (maybe something a little lighter than that, lol). Help me to spend more time with you and less time with myself. Help me to give more so that I can fulfill the calling and the plan you have for my life. Help me distort the mediocre, because even though I pretend to be like everyone else, I never will be. I accept that I'm different and that I won't fulfill the status quo because I was born for something more than trying to be like others. Help me define music in a new way. Put me in others' paths to cheer them onward to win the race. Put me at your feet because I've counted everything else as loss and have concluded that I'm useless for anything else other than living for you and worshipping you. Because when the door of eternity is standing wide open before our very eyes, it will be just you and I, and nothing else will matter. Form me in your way as the potter shapes the clay.

Love,
Hannah