Pray always. Without drowsiness or questions. Weary not. A poor widow lifts her prayer from the dust. From emptiness she knows how to depend on God.
She wept on the privileged ground of the judge. She pierced his bloated conscience. Her truth crushed his unwillingness to listen to her.
Prayer without ceasing finds God. God’s chosen rise from poverty. Their fame rises from dry mouth and grit under their nails. Justice is born from her tears in darkness and authentic cries in daylight.
Pray always. The widow knows and teaches. She is still nameless. Her identity speaks volumes to us. We are filled up. We know our blistered egos. We must empty if we are to pray. Faith on the earth will fill the ears of the Son of Man. Hope will win in our day. Our persistent prayers fall into the lap of God who lifts us from the ground of our dusty despair. Faith on earth will flourish in red delight.