I love talking with him, Father.
He lies on my legs,
raised up, so we can look at each other.
Then I tell him about my day—
He makes eye contact,
Then he tells me about his day—
what he did,
where he went,
what he saw and heard.
That’s what I hear him say.
Other people just hear
‘He’s only six months old,’ they say.
But we understand each other.
I understand his unformed words,
He understands my thoughts,
And through our communicating,
we both feel better.
Is that how it is with you and me, Father?
Sometimes I am inarticulate in your presence.
My joy and gratitude,
My struggles and fears,
Sound to me like baby gurgles—
But you understand.
Thank you that you don’t need fancy words
To know what’s in my heart.
In the same way the Spirit also comes to help us, weak as we are. For we do not know how we ought to pray; the Spirit himself pleads with God for us in groans that words cannot express. And God, who sees into our hearts, knows what the thought of the Spirit is; because the Spirit pleads with God on behalf of his people and in accordance with his will. (Romans 8: 26–27, GNT)