When the tank reads empty

You don't have what this minute needs. Good. Nobody asked you to. The craving is loud, your tank is empty, and part of you is waiting to feel strong before you hold on. You were never meant to run this on your own tank.

The cigarette posed as your strength. The thing you leaned on when the day got heavy. All along it was draining the tank it claimed to fill. Real strength works the other way. It gets handed to you, sized to the moment. Not for the whole imagined future. Just for the next few minutes.

Kneel where you are, or sit and open your hands on your knees. Palms up, like you're waiting to be handed something, because you are. Let the prayer be as small as you feel. I can't on my own. With You, I can wait.

You've seen a parent carry a sleeping kid in from the car and all the way up the stairs. The kid doesn't climb a single step. Weak and willing is enough for God. Keep your palms open through the next few minutes. When you look back on them, you'll find they were carried, not climbed.