Tonight’s prayer period was miserable. My Father wasn’t there at all, and I was terribly restless. I tried a few of the Scripture passages, but couldn’t concentrate. After a while, I realized I had a knot of anger in me. I tried giving it to my Father to heal, but He still wasn’t there.

I realized I was angry with our new next-door neighbors. Eight-year–old Vernon had tried to use his new door key after school, but it wouldn’t work. He said his mother usually got home about 5 o’clock, so we took him in to wait. Six hours later, his grandmother finally picked him up! We had been trying to get a hold of all of his family members, but each thought one of the others had him when he didn’t answer the phone at home, and all had gone out to meetings, shopping, etc. Their casual assumptions got to me. Had we been another kind of people, Vernon could have disappeared without a trace.

My Father gave me one brief visual image, Mary and Joseph leaving Jesus behind in Jerusalem, and I know I was being judgmental. I tried asking for forgiveness, but I couldn’t seem to let go of the anger. I know that it’s my Father’s way to bring goodness out of evil, so I tried to make something constructive out of my anger. I used it to motivate a prayer for all the little latchkey children that He would keep them safe, as He had kept Vernon safe. I still feel angry, though, but I’ve put it into my Father’s hands to heal or use as He wills. I don’t know what else to do with it, and, at least there it’s beyond Satan’s reach.