Our Father,
We are tired. And we hurt. And we twist inwardly. In the evening, before bed; while we sleep and dream or stay awake alone; while we wake in the morning, eat, shower, arrive; and even now as we gather in your Name: there is this Something and this Something Else. And if I pay attention I can feel them moving. I worry and I fear and I plot and I fight and I grow bored and I complain and I doubt and I gossip and I eat too much and I desire and I grow proud and I hide and I agree with my disappointments and I hope and I trust: apart from the Name. I understand that I want you and I do not know how to want you. I fear you and I go on being afraid. I return to you and I continue in my exile. I am foolish. I am your beloved.
So I am tired—but I wear myself out; and I am hurt—but I am hurtful; and I twist inwardly—but it’s my own shame I’m trying to escape.
And I find, after years and years—I regret myself.
Still, you have come—you, voice of creation; you, Passover lamb; you, Bread in the desert; you, Messiah. You wash my feet. You break yourself open. You pour yourself out.
Because of you—even while we do not know ourselves, even while we do not know what we are doing, even while we fumble around like badly told jokes—even so, we gather in your Name. You say, This is my body. You say, This is my blood. You say, Remember me. So we try. We do what we can. —But give us your Spirit; help us do what we cannot do. Chase us. Bug us. Haunt us. Woo us. Help us love, and trust, and pray—according to the Name.
Carlos Antonio Delgado 
I had that last sentence written on my hand all day yesterday. I needed it.
You should post more. You have a talent. Inspiring