Mockery Turned Prayer

      The funeral was today, the funeral I did not end up going to--it was family gathering, and I was not family, only a distant friend. So I stayed home and did homework (most of it is done), and watched the 1960s Robin Hood, something that made me laugh with delight. I had one more, on the disk, one more twenty minute laughing, dancing, joyous session, and God said no, I think. So I prayed for help, and picked up my homework, exited out of the DVD on my computer.
    And I worked, and played on Facebook, and then, gradually, heard my mother talking to my pastor. My younger sister, one of them, is cutting herself again, and a razor is downstairs in her bedroom. Mom's trying to help, but my sister lies, a lot, and my mother says use has no idea when my sister is telling the truth or not; my sister says she wants to stop cutting, but cannot give the reason for the temptation, and only comes to seek help after she has already been cutting.
   This same sister who helps a family with a newborn with half a heart, giving three or four night a week, till ten at night, babysitting, cleaning, and working and playing with them. My sister who is going to the funeral, for she is a close friend, close to family, my sister who is getting great grades in her overloaded high school load (two more classes than should be possible), my sister who loves fun and friends, my sister who does not open up to anyone I know.
   And thus my laughter turned to mockery, at the true grief of a broken world; my laughter was illusion, my laughter was made of the dreams that should inspire, not replace, reality. And with my laughter gone I sit and wonder what I should do, for I am not let into my sister's mind and heart even less than my mother is. I am okay with an empty mouth, and stricken heart, because I will the focus not to be on me, but on my sister's blood running down her skin, and on the dark that's at the root of it--and I ask for God's eyes to see and heal and strike and hold.
    I turned my music up, wondering if my mother's conversation was mine to hear, wondering if I should close the door, knowing that it will be harder to consistently pray for my sister otherwise, wondering if my sister does not want me to know, knowing that she doesn't want me to mention it, knowing that our family loves to hide. "For such a time as this, I placed upon upon the earth, to hear the voice of God, and do His will, whatever it is" my music is singing--and I cannot hear, and I do not know what to do, but pray.
     God, I have knelt in front of you so may times, asking for help, begging and crumbling and pleading sobbing, curled around my knees as I try to pray through pain and rebellion...Father, I have knelt to beg for others, my heart speechless and bewildered by the pain I see. God, it's like that now--for her, please, oh God, for her! For a daughter of yours that you love, who you have promised is more than a conqueror in Christ, who acts as your hands and feet, who is an immortal soul walking wounded, who might laugh at my language, who I cannot see into--who is not hidden from your eyes. God, send your help, God, only you, you, King of Kings and God of Spirit, Creator of Flesh and physical reality, who has complete knowledge of how they intertwine and and depend on each other, who knows her, God, and who knows the battles she faces, and the retreats, the failures, the temptations, the sin that covers her life (and mine, every sinful child of yours), who knows the end of us, the victory already won, and who knows that we have such trouble seeing it, God, for her, grant her eyes will see the truth, and that the truth will set her free, that grief and pain and disappointment and temptation, anything, Father, anything, are interwoven in a plan that would leave her breathless if she could see it, if she could see how you weep over your children's marks and scars and disease. God, grant her will to act as your child, God, coming back after giving in is so hard, and I'm fallen, I know that, I've fallen so hard right now (listening to Could You Believe), and it is so hard to climb back up that mountain when I can't see the top, when I have to take on faith that it exists, when I'm not even sure I can imagine what it looks like, when I could be content right now with rest and freedom from sin in my own world...God, forgive my small dreams, please, grant all of your children in this house the passion and steady, light-bringing fire that burns away the dark and the lies, that makes us faithful, that grants us strength. God, place, for my sister, for my sister, for your daughter, for the child I have not prayed for as I ought, for the woman you are even now creating, for the warrior turned wounded, for the promises you have given her--because of your own faithfulness and righteousness, God, grant her the freedom only found you. (Empty My Hands)
     God, please, grant me to act your will in this, for all that I do not know if I know how to listen, for all the fear crowding me, for all the things that I have done wrong--even so, use me, Lord, as your child and your servant. Teach my sister and I both, through you using us, through transforming the valley of curses to the door of hope as Gomer/Israel did/will, that we also are changed. Please, Father, in the name of Christ, I ask this, amen.