Holy One,
You came in the heat of the day
not with thunder,
but with footsteps.
Not in a whirlwind,
but in the shade of trees.
You visited Abraham
as a guest,
as a friend.
And he ran to meet You.
Lord, let me be that ready.
That responsive.
That reverent in my welcome.
So often, I rush past You
in the heat of my own busyness,
in the clutter of my schedule.
But You still appear.
You still knock.
You still sit beneath the oaks,
waiting for me to recognize
that heaven has drawn near.
Abraham served You with haste
bread, meat, milk, and reverence.
Not knowing fully who You were,
but sensing You were worthy.
Teach me to host Your presence, Lord.
To make space in my day
for Your voice,
Your nearness,
Your whispers.
And then
You asked,
“Where is Sarah?”
You weren’t asking for information.
You were calling her into promise.
She was listening from the tent
just close enough to hear,
just hidden enough to doubt.
And when You spoke of joy to come,
she laughed.
Not the laughter of delight
but of disbelief.
Can a woman worn by time
still hold a promise in her arms?
“Is anything too hard for the Lord?”
Lord, that question pierces my soul.
Because I, too, have laughed.
At healing that seemed impossible.
At restoration I stopped praying for.
At dreams I buried long ago.
But You see through my doubt.
You speak into my disbelief.
You reaffirm what I dared to grieve.
So speak again.
Speak over the things I’ve dismissed as “too late.”
Reignite what I’ve labeled “never.”
Breathe into what I thought had expired.
And then You stayed.
You shared Your heart with Abraham.
You let him hear Your plan,
feel the weight of judgment coming to Sodom.
And Abraham did what few would dare
he prayed.
“Will You indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?”
He didn’t plead because he was worthy
he pleaded because You are just.
Because he knew Your mercy.
Lord, teach me to intercede like that
not timid, but bold.
Not demanding, but daring.
To draw near,
to speak up,
to plead for cities,
for neighbors,
for those who have no voice.
You listened.
Not because Abraham argued,
but because You love when Your children
care about the world like You do.
So here I am, Lord
welcoming Your presence,
receiving Your promises,
and standing in the gap.
Is anything too hard for You?
Not healing.
Not revival.
Not mercy over judgment.
Not laughter after barrenness.
You are the God of impossible joy.
In the name of Jesus,
the One who also wept over cities
and rose to fulfill every promise
Amen.