A Prayer Chair

 

There is my mother’s chair.

She opens her Bible,

A notebook and pen,

And spends hours sitting there,

She copies verse after verse,

To pray, to memorize,

To profess out loud,

But not rehearse.

She reads about healing.

She reads Psalms.

How God reached out for us,

Holding us in His palms.

She writes a prayer list,

Of people to pray for.

And reads and writes,

A little more,

His Word is power,

It is given to free us.

He’s there when we pray,

Though no one else may see us.

I like to think that Jesus is sitting there.

Listening to each prayer,

Whiling away the hours,

Resting, faithfully in the prayer chair.

Rebecca Jones

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.