Father, someone I love is starting to ask the old questions again.
Quietly. Not announcing it. Not posting about it. Just texting me at strange hours with a verse, or asking what church I go to, or admitting that the years they spent away did not deliver what they were promised.
Receive them gently.
Do not let me be the awkward usher who makes the return feel like a performance. Do not let me say the wrong eager thing.
Let me be the still place they can keep asking from. The friend who answers honestly without sounding like a brochure.
Use whatever is drawing them — the loneliness, the longing, the loss — to bring them all the way back. Not to a building. To You.
The angels are already getting ready to celebrate. Help me hold the door open without crowding the doorway.
In Jesus' name we pray. Amen.