Max Lucado's Blog: Do It Again, Lord!

By Boaz Wadel

 

Dear Lord,

We're still hoping we'll wake up. We're still hoping we'll open a sleepy eye and think, What a hor­rible dream.

But we won't, will we, Father? What we saw was not a dream. Planes did gouge towers. Flames did consume our fortress. People did perish. It was no dream and, dear Father, we are sad.

There is a ballet dancer who will no longer dance and a doctor who will no longer heal. A church has lost her priest, a classroom is minus a teacher. Cora ran a food pantry. Paige was a counselor and Dana, dearest Father, Dana was only three years old. (Who held her in those final moments?)

 

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