Tonight I add a fourth chapter to prayer.
I pray first for the ministries of priests
who serve me at our sacramental feasts
and showed a way back from my black despair.
I pray next for the sick, for I am one,
an aging man with badly injured shoulder
who hopped so nimbly once boulder to boulder,
though thank God I can still shoulder a gun.
Third, for my worthy friends who knew not God,
I hope they’ve passed the Gates. Arriving thence
may they behold Christ’s radiant countenance.
Ogling the angels may they all be awed.
Fourth, I shall pray that every farmer thrives,
beginning with the five audacious Millers,
masterful farmers all and skillful tillers
of land the Lord leases them for their lives.
As usual I route these prayers through Mary.
This death sentence I have received from cancer
to which doctors and shamans have no answer
is a small, final cross that I must carry.
Each of us has a rough-shod race to run.
Care for us, Lord, and let Thy will be done.
—Tim Murphy
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
An Important Civics Lesson, Well Taught
The permanent exhibit in the rotunda of the National Archives in Washington, D.C., includes original copies of…
Tyler Robinson and the Violence of Porn
Multiple media outlets have reported that Tyler Robinson, the alleged murderer of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, was…
Faith Returns to the Public Square
Pastors, pundits, and politicians gathered in Phoenix last Sunday to remember Charlie Kirk. Seventy thousand people filled…
