A College Kid's Prayer

Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child's prayer?  Some say that Heaven isn't just far away, but doesn't even exist. And there are times you aren't quite as close when I pray.

Heavenly Father, I remember now, something that Jesus told disciples long ago. "Suffer the children to come to me" ...Father am I still pure enough to come now to thee?

I often feel I know too much. Or do I know too little? Of all the subjects, grades, and credits Heavenly Father, will you teach me?

From the genius of thou who put molecules and planets into orbit, wilt though help me find my center?

From He who numbers the sands of the sea and the hairs of my head wilt thou open my mind so that I may add the positive and subtract the negative. That the tears of frustration that stain my path from the testing center may become ones of joy on the path to victory.

From the great musician who orchestrates the harmonies of birds on a sunny day and the percussion of rain on cloudy ones, wilt thou show me how to use my whole lungs and sing with the varied key of each new day a song of praise.

From the master record-keeper and historian who has heard the drums of war and tasted the fear of every soldier wilt thou show me the significance of my own battles? My own history which lies not in illustrated text but in a scribbled notebook.

From the creator of art who painted the sunsets and carved the mountains, remind me that I and those around me were molded by thy masterful hands and that such a mold was never intended to create duplicates. To beautify the lives of others as you have so bountifully beautified mine.

Because, now that I've opened my eyes, you have. I thank you for your miracles. For the fact that I can function on the lack of sleep that I do. For extending time somehow, Father, because how else would I fit all that I do into one day? For strengthening my legs as I race from class to class and softening my chair as I do pile after pile of homework.

I thank you that the taste of sandwiches and granola bars has yet to grow old. That there are nice people who not only fix my car battery but accept my lousy cookies--because we both know they were lousy. I thank you for thrift stores, sewing kits, and nearby ice cream shops. For therapy like friends, dishes, dances, walks, and free tutoring sessions. For the concourses of angels, seen and unseen. For this stillness.

And with these thoughts, Father, I see now that you are here.

That you are listening. To every compliment and every complaint.

That I am your child. As are all those I pass by every day.

I realize your love has surrounded me, whether I've initially felt it or not.

You hear every prayer.

You love every child.

And of such love--love that can make me pure--is the Kingdom. The Kingdom of Heaven.