I was tucking Ben in last night, Rick Riordan’s Throne of Fire on his nightstand and Harry the Big Bear nestled behind his head.
Our brief bedtime prayer routine usually begins with, “What would you like to thank God for, today?”
But last night, I was more directive.
“Tonight we need to pray for people in a city far, far away called Aleppo. Many, many people are dying there because of all the fighting.”
“Why is there fighting?”
“Because different groups want to control the city and the land. But the people who actually live there are dying. And there’s nothing we can do right now. Except pray.”
Ben was silent.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“I’m thinking about war.” And he began to cry.
I joined him.
(Way to go Mom, my inner critic voiced. Nice, peaceful bedtime routine.)
“Let’s pray for them by imagining blankets of light covering all of them.”
We closed our eyes together.
“Let’s pray for them by picturing angel’s wings … can you see them? … great big wings made of Light … wrapping up each one of them … and carrying everyone Home … where pain and suffering are no more … neither sighing but life everlasting ….”
We closed our eyes, and prayed and imagined, together. We held each other, snuggled tight, safe and warm, together.
My mind drifted to other women and children in a city far, far away.
And then to another woman and child, long, long ago. A child whose birth we will celebrate and remember, with Christians around the world, in just 10 days.
Into such a world as this … as ours … our Saviour was born.
Cristina