There was a season in life when my prayers included asking God to hold me—physically. I wanted to feel arms around me, keeping me safe and helping me not feel lonely in the nighttime hours, once the day quieted and the distractions faded with the sun.
I am a creature of habit, and most nights my routine was the same: read, turn off my lamp, pray, feel alone, pray again, wait, resign and eventually float off to a restless sleep. My twin-sized bed was as big as the ocean, and I was lost in the middle of it. Even in Tennessee’s summer heat, I rolled myself into as many blankets as I could stand so I would feel something—anything—surrounding me.
My prayers were not answered in the way I wanted, and I never understood why…
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