Lord God,
You remember.
When the earth was drowned in judgment,
when silence hung over the deep,
when the ark floated on endless waters
You did not forget Noah.
You remembered.
And You remember me.
Even when I feel adrift,
even when I see no land in sight,
even when the waters of grief or trial seem endless
You remember.
Your eyes are on me.
Your covenant is not forgotten.
You sent the wind,
and the waters began to recede.
Little by little,
what once overwhelmed
was drawn back by Your hand.
Lord, do that in me.
Send Your wind
Your Spirit.
Dry the floodwaters of fear,
grief, guilt, and doubt.
Let the ground of my heart be uncovered again.
Let hope rise like dry land appearing.
I confess
I don’t like the waiting.
I want instant rescue.
But Noah waited.
He opened the window,
released the raven,
sent the dove.
He looked for signs of life
while still locked inside.
Help me wait with faith.
To open the window of prayer.
To send out hope even before I see change.
To trust that the olive branch is coming.
And when the door finally opened
it was not because Noah forced it.
It was because You said, “Come out.”
I want to wait for Your voice.
Not rushing ahead,
not breaking down what You have sealed,
but listening
and stepping out when You call.
Noah built an altar.
The first thing on dry ground
was worship.
Not a house, not a vineyard
but a place to give thanks.
Teach me to respond like that.
Let gratitude be my first act
after the storm.
Let praise rise up
from a heart that remembers
how You preserved me
when all else gave way.
And You, Lord,
You smelled the offering
and made a promise
never again.
Never again to destroy like this.
Never again to wipe out what You had begun.
You placed rhythms in motion
seedtime and harvest,
summer and winter,
day and night.
You are not done with us.
You are not done with me.
So I wait with hope.
I walk out of the ark with worship.
I look at the sky and know
You remember.
You redeem.
You renew.
In the name of Jesus,
the One who walked into death
so I could walk onto dry ground
Amen.