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2 Kings 5:1–15a

In our reading this week, a King called Naaman wants to be healed, but he has a particular idea of how that healing should happen. He expects the prophet Elisha to come out, perform a dramatic gesture, and make his illness disappear. Instead, Elisha sends a simple instruction: wash seven times in the Jordan River.

Naaman is offended. The solution seems too ordinary, too simple, and not at all what he expected. He nearly walks away from the very thing he needs because it doesn’t happen the way he imagined. It takes the wisdom of his servants to help him reconsider. Eventually, Naaman takes the steps he was asked to take, and his life is changed.

How often do we find ourselves doing something similar? We long for a difficult situation to change, a relationship to heal, or a new direction to become clear. We may wait for a breakthrough, a perfect opportunity, or a sign that everything is going to work out. In the meantime, we can overlook the small steps already within our reach.

Faith doesn’t always give us the whole path. Sometimes it simply invites us to take the next step.

For our spiritual practice, each day this week, take a few quiet moments to consider something in your life where you are longing for change, healing, or growth.

Ask yourself:

What is one small step I can take today?

Maybe it’s making a phone call you’ve been putting off, offering an apology, asking someone for help, spending five minutes in prayer, or simply giving yourself permission to rest.

Don’t worry about solving the whole problem. You don’t need to know exactly where the path will lead. Choose one small, realistic step and take it with intention.

As you begin, you might pray:

“God, I cannot see the whole way forward. Help me take the next faithful step.”

At the end of the day, take a moment to notice what happened. You may not see an immediate change, and that’s okay. The purpose isn’t to measure your success by how much has changed, but to practise trusting that small acts of faithfulness matter.

Let’s pray:

God of healing and hope, we often long for big answers and clear directions. Help us recognize the small steps before us. Give us courage to begin, patience when change comes slowly, and faith to keep walking when we cannot see the whole way forward. May each step draw us closer to your love and the life you invite us to live. Amen.

1 Kings 3:4-15

There is a particular kind of discomfort that comes with not knowing.

We want to know what comes next. We want to understand why things happen the way they do. We want to make the right decision, offer the right advice, and feel confident that we are heading in the right direction. Uncertainty can leave us feeling vulnerable, especially when others are looking to us for answers.

We often assume that wisdom means knowing what to do. But the story of Solomon reminds us that wisdom may begin somewhere else entirely: with the willingness to admit that we don’t know.

In 1 Kings 3, Solomon has just become king of Israel. He is young, his responsibilities are enormous, and the decisions before him will affect an entire people. When God appears to him in a dream and invites him to ask for whatever he desires, Solomon does not ask for riches, a long life, or victory over his enemies. Instead, he acknowledges his inexperience and asks for an understanding heart so that he can govern the people well and discern between good and evil. Before Solomon asks for wisdom, he admits that he needs it.

Solomon doesn’t pretend to have everything figured out. He doesn’t mistake the authority of his position for the certainty of his knowledge. He recognizes that the task before him is greater than his own experience and understanding.

And maybe that is where wisdom begins for us, too.

We live in a world that often rewards confidence more than humility. We’re encouraged to have an opinion, take a position, and defend it. Changing our minds can be seen as weakness, and admitting that we don’t know something can feel like failure. Even in the church, we can fall into the temptation of believing that faith should give us all the answers.

But faith does not eliminate uncertainty. More often than not, faith gives us the courage to live honestly within it.

There are questions we cannot answer easily. Why does suffering fall upon some people and not others? What is the right response when good people disagree? How do we faithfully navigate a changing world, especially when the familiar ways of doing things no longer seem to fit? What does God ask of us when the way forward is unclear?

We may be tempted to reach quickly for an answer, particularly one that confirms what we already believe. But there are times when the most faithful response is to pause, listen, and acknowledge that we have more to learn.

Not knowing does not mean we have failed. It means we are human. And when we approach that uncertainty with humility, curiosity, and a willingness to listen, it can become the beginning of deeper understanding.

Notice, too, that Solomon doesn’t ask for wisdom to feel more secure or to prove himself capable. He asks for it because others are depending on him. His wisdom is meant to serve the people entrusted to his care. The point is to become someone who can listen carefully, judge fairly, and act with compassion.

Wisdom is not about winning arguments or demonstrating that we are right. It is about becoming more attentive to the needs of others, more thoughtful in our decisions, and more willing to recognize when our own perspective is incomplete.

Maybe the next time we face a difficult decision, we might begin with a different prayer. Rather than asking God to confirm that we are right, we might ask God to help us see what we are missing. Rather than asking for certainty, we might ask for the courage to take the next faithful step. Rather than rushing to speak, we might ask for the patience to listen.

We don’t need to know everything to move forward faithfully. We need enough humility to recognize our limitations, enough openness to learn, and enough trust to believe that God can meet us even in our uncertainty.

Sometimes, the first sign of wisdom is not knowing the answer, rather it is being willing to ask the question.

Take some time to sit with the 1 Kings 3 reading and as you do, I invite you to use the following questions to guide your reflections:

• Where in your life are you feeling pressure to have all the answers?
• When was the last time you changed your mind because you listened to someone else’s perspective?
• Is there a question or situation where you might benefit from approaching it with greater humility and openness?
• What might change if, instead of asking God to give you certainty, you asked for the wisdom to take the next faithful step?

You don’t need to answer every question. Sometimes, noticing which one stays with you is a place to begin.

Let’s pray:

God of wisdom and wonder, help us to be honest about what we do not know. Give us open hearts to listen, humble spirits to learn, and courage to move forward when the way is unclear. May our search for wisdom help us care more deeply for one another and live more faithfully in your world. AMEN

1 Kings 3:4-15

When God invites Solomon to ask for whatever he desires, Solomon could have asked for wealth, power, or a long life. Instead, he asks for wisdom, a discerning heart that will help him lead well and recognize the difference between right and wrong.

Solomon’s request invites us to look beneath the surface of our own desires. We spend much of our lives asking for things: more time, more security, fewer worries, or for a difficult situation to change. These are often genuine needs. But sometimes, beneath what we think we want, there is something deeper. Beneath our desire for control, maybe we are longing for peace. Beneath our need to be right, maybe we are longing to be understood. Beneath our wish for certainty, maybe we are longing for courage.

This week, we’re invited to slow down and listen for that deeper longing. Rather than rushing to ask God to change our circumstances, what might happen if we asked God to help us understand what we truly need?

Once each day, take a few quiet moments to think about something you are hoping for, worrying about, or asking God to change.

Pause and gently ask yourself:

What is the deeper need beneath this desire?

Maybe you’re wishing for a difficult person to change. Is the deeper need peace, understanding, or a sense of safety? Maybe you are longing for life to feel less overwhelming. Is the deeper need rest, support, or permission to let something go?

There is no need to judge your answer or dismiss what you want. Just make room to notice what lies beneath it.

Then offer that deeper need to God. You might ask for wisdom, patience, courage, connection, or peace. You may not receive an immediate answer, but the act of paying attention can help you recognize what matters most, and how you might take one small step toward it.

Let’s pray:

God of wisdom, help us look beneath the surface of our wants and worries. Give us the courage to name what we truly need and the humility to seek your wisdom along the way. May our hearts become more discerning, our choices more loving, and our lives more open to your grace. AMEN

1 Kings 8:1-11, 22-30

There’s something comforting about having a place to go when life becomes overwhelming. A familiar chair. A quiet room. A sanctuary where the candles are lit, the prayers are spoken, and for a little while, the noise of the world seems farther away.

For many of us, the church has been that kind of place. It’s where we’ve celebrated life’s joys, grieved our losses, found friendship, and been reminded that we are not alone.

And those things matter.

In 1 Kings, Solomon dedicates the temple, a place built for the people to gather and turn their hearts toward God. As the presence of God fills the temple, Solomon offers a prayer of gratitude and humility. He recognizes the significance of this sacred place, but he also acknowledges something remarkable: even the highest heavens cannot contain God, much less the temple he has built.

The temple is a place to encounter God, but God is not confined to its walls. That’s an important reminder for us, too.

We need places where we can rest, pray, and find strength. We need communities that will hold us when life becomes difficult. Faith offers us comfort when we are grieving, hope when we are discouraged, and companionship when the road feels lonely.

But faith is not a place we go to hide from the world. It is a place where we find the strength to face it.

The world outside our doors isn’t always an easy place to live. There’s suffering we cannot fix, injustice we cannot ignore, and uncertainty that can leave us afraid. Sometimes it is tempting to retreat into what is familiar, to keep our faith safely within the walls of our churches and hope that the troubles beyond them will somehow pass.

But that misses something important about why we gather in the first place. We come to pray so that we might find courage to act. We come to be reminded of God’s love so that we might offer that love to others. We come to hear words of hope so that we can carry hope into places where it seems in short supply.

The sanctuary can be a refuge, but it is not meant to become a hiding place. And the God we encounter within its walls is already at work beyond them, in our neighbourhoods, our workplaces, our homes, and in the lives of people whose struggles we may never fully understand.

The question we need to ask ourselves is not, “Do I find comfort in my faith?” but, “What does that faith give me the courage to do?”

Maybe it gives us the courage to have a difficult conversation, to stand alongside someone who is being treated unfairly, to reach out to a lonely neighbour, or to keep working for a more compassionate world when change feels painfully slow.

We won’t always get it right. We’ll still feel afraid. We’ll still need to return to those quiet places where we can pray, rest, and remember that we are not alone.

But when we leave those places, we carry something with us: a reminder that fear does’t get to have the final word, that hope is worth holding onto, and that we are called to be part of God’s work in the world. We gather to find strength. We leave to put that strength into practice.

And that is what makes a sacred space truly sacred: not only that we encounter God there, but that we are changed by the encounter and carry that change into the world.

Take some time to sit with the reading from 1 Kings, and use the following questions in the midst of your reflections:

• Where do you turn when life feels overwhelming, and what helps you find strength there?
• Has your faith ever given you the courage to face something you would rather avoid?
• What is one way you might carry the hope or compassion you find in worship into the world this week?

Let’s pray:

God of refuge and courage, meet us in the quiet places where we come to rest. Give us comfort when we are weary and courage when we are afraid. Then send us out with open hearts, ready to share your love, stand alongside those who suffer, and bring hope into the world. May the strength we find in you become a blessing to others. AMEN

1 Kings 8:1-11, 22-30

When Solomon dedicates the Temple in 1 Kings, something pretty amazing happens. A cloud fills the house of the Lord, and the people witness a sign of God’s presence among them. This is a special place, built and dedicated for worship, prayer, and encounter with the divine.

Yet in his prayer, Solomon recognizes something important: even the highest heavens cannot contain God. How much less can a building?

The Temple matters, but God is greater than the Temple. God’s presence cannot be confined to the walls we build or the places we set apart for worship.

Sometimes, though, we forget that. We may feel closest to God in a sanctuary, during a favourite hymn, or in a quiet chapel. Those moments and places are precious. But what about the kitchen where we prepare breakfast? The chair where we sit with our morning coffee? The path we walk each day? The ordinary places where we work, rest, laugh, worry, and care for one another?

What if those places, too, could become places of encounter with God?

Maybe finding sacred ground isn’t always about going somewhere special. Maybe it’s about learning to see the places we’re already in a little differently.

Each day this week, I invite you to choose one ordinary place where you spend time. It might be your kitchen, your garden, your workplace, a favourite chair, or a familiar walking route.

Take a moment to stop and really notice where you are. Pay attention to the light, the sounds, the people around you, or the small details you usually overlook.

Then ask yourself:

“What might it mean to recognize God’s presence here?”

You don’t need to feel anything extraordinary or receive a special message. Just allow the moment to become an opportunity to pause, give thanks, or rest in God’s presence.

You might offer a simple prayer:

“God, help me notice you here.”

Over the course of the week, see whether this practice changes how you experience the ordinary places of your life. The places themselves may not change, but maybe the way you see them will.

Sacred ground isn’t always somewhere we have to travel to find. Sometimes it is right where we are.

Let’s pray:

God who cannot be contained, open our eyes to your presence in the ordinary places of our lives. In our homes, our work, our journeys, and the quiet moments in between, help us discover the sacred in the everyday. May we walk through this world with open hearts, ready to notice you wherever we are. AMEN

Joshua 24:1-26
Before Joshua asks the people of Israel to make a choice about their future, he reminds them of their past.

He tells the story of Abraham, of Moses, of their escape from Egypt, and of their journey through the wilderness. He reminds them of the ways God has been present throughout their history, guiding them, sustaining them, and bringing them to where they are now.

Only after recounting this story does Joshua ask the people to decide whom they will serve. Before we can decide where we are going, it helps to remember what has brought us here.

We all live within stories. Some are stories we’ve inherited from our families, our communities, and our faith. Others are stories we have gathered through our own experiences: the moments that shaped us, the people who encouraged us, the challenges we survived, and the discoveries that changed how we see the world.

These stories help us understand who we are. They shape what we value, what we fear, what we hope for, and how we imagine the future.

But sometimes, in the busyness of everyday life, we forget our stories. We become so focused on what is happening now, or worried about what might happen next, that we lose sight of the journey that brought us here.

Joshua encourages the Israelites to remember, because remembering helps them recognize the faithfulness of God along the way.

I think we need that reminder, too.

When we look back over our lives, we may find moments of joy and gratitude, but also seasons of uncertainty, disappointment, and grief. Not every chapter has been easy, and not every experience makes sense. Yet as we look back, we may discover people who stood beside us, unexpected sources of strength, and moments when hope appeared just when we needed it.

Remembering doesn’t mean pretending everything was wonderful. It means looking honestly at our journey and asking what has shaped us, what we have learned, and what continues to sustain us.

And then comes the next question: What story do we want our lives to tell?

Joshua doesn’t invite the people to remember just for the sake of nostalgia. Their story calls them to make a choice about how they will live. They have inherited a history of faithfulness, and now they must decide how they will respond.

We face that same invitation. We can’t change every chapter that has come before us, but we can choose how we live the chapters still being written. We can decide what values we will carry forward, what relationships we will nurture, and what kind of faith we will embody in the world.

The question isn’t whether we believe in God, but whether our lives tell a story of compassion, generosity, courage, and love.

So take a moment this week to remember your story. Remember the people who helped shape you. Remember the experiences that deepened your faith. Remember the moments when you found strength to keep going.

And then ask yourself: What story am I living today, and what story do I want to help write tomorrow?

Our stories are still unfolding. And with every choice we make, we have an opportunity to carry something good forward.

For Reflection

• Who or what has helped shape the story of your faith?
• When you look back over your life, where do you recognize moments of unexpected strength, hope, or grace?
• What values from your past do you most want to carry into the future?
• If someone looked at the way you live, what story might they see?

Let’s pray:

God of our past, our present, and our future, thank you for the people and experiences that have shaped our stories. Help us to remember with gratitude, to learn with honesty, and to live with purpose. May the chapters still unwritten reflect your love, and may our lives help carry your story of hope into the world. AMEN

Joshua 24:1-26

In Joshua 24, Joshua challenges the people of Israel to choose whom they will serve. He calls them to put away the other gods that have claimed a place among them and to renew their commitment to God.

We might hear this passage and think that it doesn’t really apply to us. We don’t have little statues in our homes that we bow down to. We don’t imagine ourselves worshipping other gods. But maybe the things that claim our devotion aren’t always so obvious.

Sometimes they look like the need to be successful, the desire for approval, the fear of what others think, or the endless pursuit of more, more, more. Sometimes they are our worries, our resentments, our need to be in control, or even the busy schedules that leave us with no room to breathe.

These things aren’t necessarily bad in and of themselves. Work matters. Relationships matter. Planning for the future matters. But sometimes something that begins as a good and ordinary part of life slowly grows until it begins to shape our choices, consume our attention, and determine our sense of worth.

Before we realize it, we may be giving something more of ourselves than we intended.

The invitation of Joshua’s words isn’t simply to choose God once and for all. It’s to keep noticing what has claimed our hearts, and to ask whether it still deserves the place we’ve given it.

Sometimes making room for God begins with learning what we need to let go of.

For this week’s spiritual practice, take a few quiet minutes this week to consider this question:

“What has been claiming more of me than I want to give?”

It might be a habit, a worry, an expectation, a resentment, or something that constantly demands your attention. Don’t judge yourself for what comes to mind. Just acknowledge it.

Then ask yourself:

“What might I make room for if I loosened my grip on this?”

Choose one small, practical step toward letting go. Maybe you put your phone away for a while, release the need to have the last word, set aside time to rest, or stop giving so much energy to something you cannot control.

As you do, offer a simple prayer:

“God, help me let go of what claims too much of me, so I can make more room for you.”

Let this be an invitation. The goal isn’t to feel guilty about the things that matter to you. It is to become more aware of what is shaping your life, and to choose intentionally what deserves your attention, your energy, and your heart.

Sometimes faithfulness isn’t about adding one more thing to our lives.

Sometimes it’s about letting something go.

Let’s pray:

God of our hearts, help us recognize the things that have claimed too much of us. Give us courage to loosen our grip, wisdom to know what truly matters, and grace to make room for you. May our lives be shaped not by fear, the need for approval, or the endless pursuit of more, but by your love, your wisdom, and your peace. Amen.

Exodus 19:3-7; 20:1-17

When we hear the words “Ten Commandments,” many of us probably picture a stone tablet.

It makes sense. The story of Moses receiving the commandments is one of the most familiar stories in Scripture, and the commandments themselves are often presented as a list of rules: Do this. Don’t do that. Follow these instructions.

But there is something easy to miss when we focus only on the rules. Before God gives Israel a single commandment, God reminds them of their relationship:

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt.”

That comes first. Before the rules, there is relationship.

God isn’t saying, “Follow these commandments and then I will become your God.” God has already claimed them. God has already heard their cries. God has already brought them out of slavery. The commandments come afterward, not as the price of belonging, but as a way of living together as people who already belong to God.

That changes how we might hear them. We sometimes think of rules as restrictions. They tell us what we can’t do and limit our freedom. But the commandments are also about protecting relationships.

• Don’t steal because your neighbour matters.
• Don’t lie about someone because their reputation matters.
• Don’t murder because life matters.
• Honour your parents because relationships across generations matter.
• Keep Sabbath because you matter too, you are more than what you produce.

Even the commandments about worship are ultimately about relationship: remember who you belong to, and don’t allow anything else to take God’s place in your life.

Seen this way, the Ten Commandments aren’t just a list of things God wants us to avoid. They are a framework for living in relationship, with God, with one another, and with ourselves.

And maybe that’s something worth remembering in our own lives. Healthy relationships have boundaries. Families, friendships, communities, and churches all need some understanding of how we will treat one another. Those boundaries aren’t signs that love is absent. Often, they are what allow love to flourish.

The question, then, isn’t just “What are the rules?”

Perhaps the better question is: “What kind of people are we becoming through the way we live with one another?”

That question moves us beyond checking boxes. We can follow every rule and still miss the heart of the relationship. Jesus himself would later remind his followers that the heart of God’s law is love: love of God and love of neighbour.

The commandments begin with a relationship, and they point us toward relationships. That is what makes them more than rules. They are an invitation to live as people who remember that we belong to God, and that the people around us belong to God too.

Take some time to sit with the reading from Exodus, and as you do, use the following reflective questions to guide you.

• When you think about faith, do you tend to think more about rules or relationships?
• What boundaries or practices help the important relationships in your life flourish?
• How might you live this week in a way that strengthens your relationship with God or with someone else?
• What kind of community are your everyday choices helping to create?

Let’s pray:

God of covenant and relationship, thank you for claiming us as your own before we ever know how to follow your ways.Help us to see your commandments not just as rules to obey, but as invitations to love you, to care for one another, and to live faithfully together. Shape us into people whose lives reflect the love at the heart of your covenant. AMEN

Exodus 19:3-7; 20:1-17

We live in a world that is very good at capturing our attention. Our phones buzz. The news demands our response. Advertisements tell us what we need. Other people’s opinions compete for our thoughts. Worries about the future can occupy our minds before the day has even begun.

And yet, attention is more than simply noticing something. What we repeatedly give our attention to begins to shape us.

In Exodus, God calls the people into a covenant and gives them commandments that help them remember what – and who – is at the centre of their lives. The first commandment begins with God: “You shall have no other gods before me.”

Maybe that can invite us to ask a different question:

What has my attention?

Not just during worship or prayer, but throughout the ordinary rhythms of the day.

• What do I think about when I first wake up?
• What do I reach for when I have a spare moment?
• What worries occupy my mind?
• What voices influence the way I see the world?
• What do I give my time, energy, and emotional attention to?

This isn’t about deciding that everything other than God is bad. We have responsibilities, relationships, work, hobbies, and countless things that deserve our attention.

It is about noticing whether God has any of ours.

So once each day, I invite you to stop for a few quiet minutes and ask:

“What has been holding my attention today?”

Don’t judge your answer. Just notice. Then take a few slow breaths and intentionally turn your attention toward God.

You might pray:

“God, help me pay attention to what matters. Help me notice your presence in the midst of everything competing for my attention.”

Then spend a few moments simply being present with God. The point isn’t to accomplish anything, or to solve a problem. Just pay attention. Because one of the ways we become more attentive to God is by first becoming more honest about what has our attention.

And over time, we may discover that what we choose to notice, listen to, and dwell upon is quietly shaping the people we are becoming.

Let’s pray:

God of all our days, there are so many voices competing for our attention. Help us notice what is shaping us, and make room in the noise to notice you. Teach us to pay attention to what brings life, to listen for your voice, and to recognize your presence in the ordinary moments of our days. AMEN

Exodus 14:5-7, 10-14, 21-29

There is something about ourselves that we can see in the Israelites’ reaction at the edge of the Red Sea.

They’ve left Egypt. They’ve escaped slavery. They’ve seen God’s power at work. And yet, when they look before them and see the impassable Red Sea and behind them and see Pharaoh’s army approaching, fear takes over.

Suddenly, Egypt doesn’t seem so bad. They say to Moses, in essence, “Why did you bring us out here? Wouldn’t it have been better to stay in Egypt?”

It might be easy to criticize them for this, since their faith in God and belief and Moses had carried them this far, but maybe we understand them more than we realize.

When the future is uncertain, the past can begin to look very comfortable. We do this in our own lives. We remember earlier seasons and think, “If only we could go back.” We remember a time when life seemed simpler, when our families were younger, when our work was different, when the church was fuller, when the world seemed to make more sense.

And sometimes we remember those things with good reason. There is much in our past worth celebrating and cherishing. But there is a difference between remembering the past and returning to it.

Israel could not go back to Egypt. Even if they had wanted to, Egypt was not really the place they remembered. It was the place from which they had cried out to God for deliverance. It was familiar, but it was also a place of suffering.

We do the same thing with the past. We remember the beautiful parts while forgetting what made us long for something different in the first place.

This is especially true when we think about the church. It’s easy to remember the years when churches were full, Sunday schools were busy, choirs were large, and the church held a more central place in our communities. There’s nothing wrong with remembering those years. They shaped us. They gave us traditions, friendships, stories, and faith that are still part of who we are.

But we cannot go back. Not because those years were bad. Not because everything about today is better. Simply because the world in which the church lives has changed.

The temptation is to spend all our energy trying to recreate what once was. But God’s invitation is something different.

What if our task is not to rebuild the church of the past, but to discover what it means to be the church here, now, in this particular moment? We don’t have to leave everything behind. Israel carried something with them out of Egypt. They carried their stories. Their faith. Their identity. Their memories. They carried the knowledge of what God had done.

We can do the same. We can carry forward the hymns and prayers that have shaped us. We can carry the stories of those who taught us faith. We can carry traditions that still speak life. We can carry the values of generosity, welcome, community, compassion, and service. But we don’t have to recreate the circumstances of the past in order to remain faithful to the God who was present there.

The God who met Israel in Egypt was also the God who met them at the sea. And that is the hope for us as well. God is not only the God of where we have been. God is also the God of where we are going, the path we have yet to walk.

The Israelites couldn’t yet see what lay ahead. They could only see the sea in front of them and Pharaoh behind them. But their inability to see the way forward didn’t mean there was no way forward.

Faith sometimes means trusting God when we cannot yet see what comes next. So we can honour the past without living in it. We can grieve what has been lost without believing that everything good is behind us. We can carry forward what matters while remaining open to what God might be doing next.

Because faith isn’t always about finding our way back to what was. Faith is trusting God enough to walk toward what comes next.

Take some time and sit with the reading from Exodus. As you do reflect on the following questions.

• What parts of your past do you find yourself longing for? What made those times meaningful?
• What might you want to carry forward from the past without trying to recreate it?
• Where might you be tempted to cling to what is familiar simply because the future feels uncertain?
• What would it look like to trust God with whatever comes next?

Let’s pray:

God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, we give thanks for all that has shaped us and for the people and traditions we carry with us. Help us to honour the past without becoming trapped in it. Give us courage to release what we cannot recover, wisdom to carry forward what matters, and faith to walk toward the future even when we cannot yet see the way. Remind us that you are already there. AMEN