This season has been long

Psalms 6:9

“The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.”

This season has been long—long and heavy.

The weight of it settles deep, pressing into soul and the tears have come freely, an unrelenting river of sorrow, surrender, and silent pleas.

The prayers have not been tidy or polished;

they have spilled out, raw and unfiltered,

trembling with desperation, aching with longing.

Some have been whispered, others have broken like waves, rising in cries that words cannot contain.

They have not been eloquent. They have not followed perfect form.

But prayer was never meant to be pretty.

Even in Scripture, we see hearts poured out like water, words breaking open like alabaster jars,

sorrow and hope mingling in the most unvarnished of cries.

David himself, a man after God’s own heart,

was weary of groaning, exhausted by the weight of waiting.

He did not dress up his pain in pleasantries—

he all but said, “I’m sick of this Lord.”

It was not a neat, respectable prayer; it was raw, unfiltered anguish.

And yet, by the end of the psalm, victory had returned. Not because the circumstances had shifted in an instant, but because God had heard.

God is not moved by perfection; He is moved by honesty. He is near to the brokenhearted, tender toward the weary.

And though our words may falter, though our sobs may choke the sentences,

He hears.

He understands.

He holds every tear, every plea,

and He weaves them into something holy.

So let the prayers come—unfiltered, unmeasured.

Let the tears fall—they are never wasted.

For even in the mess, even in the breaking,

He is here.

Listening.

Gathering every whispered ache, every shattered hallelujah.

And even now, even here, victory is coming.