God of the Night Watches,
You see me when I’m alone
when everyone else has crossed the river,
when silence presses in,
when the fears I ran from
are finally catching up.
Jacob was terrified.
He had run from Esau for years,
and now
he had to face him.
And the closer he got,
the more the past roared back to life.
Lord, I know that fear.
The fear of what I’ve left unresolved.
The dread of what I might lose.
The guilt I still carry.
The voices that say, “You’re still that same deceiver.”
But in the dark You came.
Not as an enemy.
Not as a judge.
But as One who wrestles.
You met Jacob where he was
not with a sword,
but with struggle.
You took him by the shoulders
and pulled him into a holy fight.
All night they wrestled
he held on,
he fought back,
he refused to let go.
Lord, I’ve wrestled too.
With doubt.
With fear.
With grief.
With You.
And I confess
there are nights I didn’t want You near
unless You came with answers.
But You came with presence.
You came to break what I couldn’t fix
and to bless what I didn’t earn.
You touched Jacob’s hip
and he limped for the rest of his life.
Lord, mark me like that.
Let me carry the limp of grace.
Let my scars sing of wrestling that ended in blessing.
Let my walk forever change
because I encountered You.
You asked him,
“What is your name?”
And for the first time,
he said it honestly
“Jacob.”
Deceiver. Heel grabber. Striver.
But You gave him a new name
“Israel.”
Because he had wrestled with God
and lived.
You rename in the struggle.
You re identify in the surrender.
You bless not the perfect,
but the persistent.
Not those who never fall,
but those who refuse to let go.
So I cling to You, God
not with clean hands,
but with desperate ones.
I won’t let go.
Not until You bless me.
Not until You speak again.
Not until You show me who I really am in You.
You are the God
who wrestles,
who wounds to heal,
who breaks to bless,
who meets us in the midnight hour
and never lets go.
In the name of Jesus,
the One who bore my wounds
and gave me a new name
Amen.