Words matter. They matter because our own stories begin with words. They take the form of fables and lullabies and prayers whispered over us in the blurry hush of morning hours and the inky, dark of night-time stillness. They break and mold us, shape and hold us. When repeated often enough, they continue to reverberate in us with the steadiness of a strong heartbeat and a constant ebb and flow of blood nourishing us from within.
There has never been a shortage of words in my life. But when I ask myself, which words have influenced me the most, I mostly think of words from the Bible. They have been read to me, spoken over me, and prayed for me before I knew how to do any of it for myself or others. From verses no more than two words long to entire chapters and books, I have meditated on and prayed the words of the Bible and hung onto them for dear life in dire straits. I have also wrapped myself in their comfort, hope, and promises while gathering those near to me, especially my children, under them.
I cannot remember exactly when the desire to write prayers for every chapter of every book in the Bible was first born in me. I don’t even know how or when all of it will be done. I only know that the urgency to simply start bears down stronger now than it has ever done before. So I begin. I offer back nothing more than what was freely given to me as a gift and a guide, as a lamp and a light. The burden of doing it perfectly lifts slowly as I realize that there is no one perfect but Jesus alone. Everything else points to His perfection and declares His glory. EVERYTHING from the single-celled amoeba to the Andromeda galaxy, and so… with this work, so do I!
