There are moments in life when prayer feels like the last thing we can do. Not because we do not believe or love God, but because our hearts are too heavy to lift the words. Crisis steals our language. Grief sits in the chest like a stone. Fear clouds our thoughts. Anger rises quietly, and sadness wraps itself around our spirit until even whispering “Lord” feels like too much.

The slow cadence of small, white-capped waves slides against the sand, rolls over beach wood, and washed-up stones. Between horizon and water, there isn’t much difference between the blues. Wisps of clouds hang in the azure sky, mirroring the sparkle of the lake with a shimmer of its own. My legs stretch, weight shifting on a driftwood log lodged with sand as I take my time exhaling a long-kept breath

Sisters, abiding is not passive. It is a powerful posture of trust. It’s a lifestyle of staying near, being nourished by God, and allowing His life to flow through ours.