Evening Prayer for a Difficult Tomorrow

Lord, I'm lying here and all I can think about is tomorrow. And not in a good way. There's something ahead of me that I don't want to face. A conversation. An appointment. A decision. Something that's been building and tomorrow it arrives. I've been carrying it all week. Rehearsing it. Gaming out every possible outcome. Trying to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. And now it's the night before and the weight of it is pressing me into this mattress. I'm scared, God. Not the kind of scared I can logic my way out of. The kind that sits in my stomach. The kind that makes sleep feel impossible because my body thinks it needs to stay alert. Like resting would be irresponsible. But I know somewhere beneath the fear that you already see tomorrow. You've already been there. You know how the conversation goes. You know what the news will be. You know what I can't see from here. And you're not panicking. So help me borrow your peace tonight. Not understanding. I don't need to understand what's coming. I need to trust the one who's already there. I can't face it tonight. I shouldn't have to. Tonight is for resting. Tomorrow is for courage. Help me keep those separate. You've been the help of the anxious since the beginning. Psalm 121 says He will not let your foot slip. He who watches over you will not slumber. You don't slumber. Which means while I'm lying here wide-eyed and afraid you're wide-eyed too but not afraid. You're watching. Not worrying. Watching. I'm going to choose to close my eyes now. Not because the fear is gone. But because the one who holds tomorrow is telling me it's okay to rest. Whatever happens tomorrow you will be in it. Before I arrive, you'll be there. In the middle of it, you'll be there. After it's over, you'll still be there. I release what I cannot control. I release the outcomes. The words. The results. Hold them for me overnight. I'll pick up what I need to carry in the morning. But not tonight. In the name of Jesus, I pray.

Amen.