halfway

It's just after midnight on the sixth of August, and I've just typed out five more names to add to what one prayer warrior, Heather, has called a "concert of prayer." Those five have pushed us over the halfway mark.

304. More than half of the sheets now have a little black dot in the upper right hand corner, the signal to myself that all is well, that this one has been taken care of, taken in, taken to heart by one of you.

Please, don't stop. I'm going to admit that I'm tired. It's emotionally exhausting to sit in front of my computers for hours and hours, reading through all these sheets, seeing entire life stories spelled out in just a few words and knowing all too well what lies ahead for some of them. My neck is aching from staring back and forth between the screen and the piles of papers, but I wouldn't trade this for the world.

Because I get to pray, too. Each one of these that I type out and send to you is another one that is more than just a name on a sheet of paper to me. I look at the boxes holding the different piles for the different types of surgeries, and I can go to sleep knowing that I've read more than half of the stories in them. I feel like I'm connecting with my own work in a way I never have before, and I wish I could find words to explain how right it feels.

So don't stop e-mailing me and commenting. Tell your friends. Post on Facebook and Twitter and whatever other newfangled technology I've missed in the last couple of years. Because there are still 296 pink sheets, two hundred and ninety-six of God's children who need to be lifted up to His throne again.

And while we're on the subject of prayer, can I add one more name to all of your lists?

Tim is one of my best friends on the ship, part of a group that's become family to me over the past few years. Just recently, we got to meet his parents and brother and sister when they came to visit the ship. Yesterday, Tim's dad passed away at a hospital in Iceland, where he and Tim's mum were on vacation. It was sudden, and there was no way for Tim to be there in time, so instead he's trying to figure out how to get back to Australia to be with his sister, who also wasn't able to be there.

Please pray for Tim and for his family. They're scattered across the world and their lives have just been shattered. While you're praying for the patients on your pink sheets, please pray for Tim, too.