Do You Love Me?

Father,

Sighings and groanings. These are what seem to be manageable this morning. These are the words in my spirit that can’t seem to articulate past my dry tongue. This morning I feel the inadequacy of words. Often I depend way too much on the ability to string them together like a strand of pearls—one beautiful right word after another.

This morning, Father, I can’t even find the string. I’ve lost the end of it. Words are hollow. There are so many people hurting around me. So many who are suffering and struggling and fighting to breathe. To survive. To live. Literally and figuratively.

Father, I find myself searching for something, anything, to make it all better. To fix each situation. To comfort. To encourage. To bolster. Yet, I seem to fail.

I pray through blurred eyes—faces rising into my vision. Each face so precious. And I want so much for them to be healed, to be made whole. To be assured of who they are in you.

Yesterday, I asked you what you want. What do you want, Father? And I hear your Son’s conversation with Peter:

Peter, do you love me?

Yes, Lord I love you.

Then take care of my little sheep.

Peter, do you love me?

Yes, Lord I love you.

Then feed my sheep.

Tamera, do you love me?

Yes, Lord. You know all things. You know that I love you.

Feed my sheep.

I’m trying. Please show me how, Father. Please teach me how to be a good shepherd. Teach me how to care and watch and love this flock of yours. I am woefully inadequate. I am so lacking in wisdom. I have so little experience.

But you are the Good Shepherd. Please teach this little ewe-sheep, so that she might take care of your people.

Amen and amen.