Who will pray for them
when the echo of your faith grows faint,
when your knees no longer bend to the unseen?
Who will lift their voices to heaven,
carrying the cries of the weary
when your own heart is heavy
and your lips fall silent?
Who will be their example of the Lord
if the light you carried dims,
if the spark of belief flickers in shadow?
Who will be their steadfast lighthouse
when storms rage and you are adrift?
Who will comfort your loved ones,
wipe the tears from their cheeks,
greet them with arms wide open
when you turn inward,
your spirit folding under the weight of doubt?
Who will love them,
not in fleeting words
but in the fire of eternal grace
when your own love falters?
Who will meet them in their wilderness,
their desolate nights,
when your faith stands still
at the edge of unbelief?
Who will walk beside them
when their burdens are heavy
and the road stretches endlessly before them?
Who will believe in them
when your own hope unravels,
when the thread of your faith
breaks beneath the strain?
Who will rise to fight
the battles you no longer see,
against the spirits cloaked in shadow,
unseen yet ever-present?
Who will meet them in your time of unbelief,
when your eyes look inward,
and your soul becomes a stranger to its own longing?
Who will carry their questions to the altar,
who will kneel beside their doubt
when your own knees falter?
Will you stand?
Will you rekindle the flame?
Will you remember the call
that pulls you beyond your own despair?
For it is you—
it has always been you.
Rise,
not perfect, but willing.
Rise,
not unbroken, but mended in love.
Rise,
and let the Lord be with you again.
For who will pray for them,
if not you?
