Prayers are the arrows of the warrior,
Not aimed at the enemy’s heart,
But shot into the air.
Under attack from my enemy,
I fire arrows into God’s throne room,
Messages tied round the shafts.
They fall at His feet,
He picks them up and reads them,
He adds them to His collection.
Just as He saves our tears,
He saves our prayers,
They last for all time.
Stand against the enemy He says,
But don’t be mute like small-g gods,
Stand and pray in His image.
Fire round after round,
As many as it takes because,
He will never let your quiver go empty.
Drawing by Mark Zechin
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