A Soul’s Final Plea: In the Twilight of Life, Let Heaven Answer

 

By: Isaac Christopher Lubogo

 

> “Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides You.” — Psalm 73:25

 

Dear God,

 

There is no doubt that You are alive.

 

The stars still bow to You in silent choreography. The rivers murmur Your name in restless praise. The sun still rises each morning not because of cosmic rhythm, but because You, O Eternal One, whispered “let there be day.”

 

And here I am—dust and breath—standing at the far side of youth, leaning heavily on the cane of time. The vigor of my beginning has been spent in tears and toil, in pleading with men, in knocking on locked doors and smiling through rejection. And if I have one petition left before the curtain draws, it is this:

 

Let me not die without seeing the fullness of Your grace.

 

This is not the plea of one seeking silver or applause—no. I have long stopped chasing crowns that tarnish. I have no desire to please men who change with the wind. This is the cry of a soul wearied by begging, weary of performing worthiness before mortals while my heart bleeds silently in midnight prayers.

 

My God, if I have found favor in Your eyes—not because I am righteous but because You are merciful—then let the remainder of my days speak loudly that You, O God, are with me.

 

Let every enemy who mocked me know that it was You all along who held me when they pushed. Let those who forgot me remember that You remembered me. Let the tables turn not so I may boast, but so I may fall on my face and say: “Look what the Lord has done!”

 

I do not ask to be lifted above men, I ask that You be lifted higher—even as I go lower.

 

But even in this lowest, may glory descend. Let my pain preach. Let my scars shine. Let my suffering become the sacred text of Your faithfulness. I want no revenge—only revelation. That in the presence of those who knew me at my weakest, Your power may be made perfect.

 

Let not my years pass in silence. Let not my grave be dug without the sound of answered prayer. Let the story of my life conclude with a crescendo of divine affirmation:

 

> “This one—though forgotten by men—was remembered by God.”

 

 

 

Dear God, the oil is running low. But I still have enough to weep at Your feet.

 

Let the heavens bear witness—my soul is tired, but it is not faithless.

I have no résumé to show, only this desperate heart that still believes.

 

In the twilight of my earthly breath,

let the dawn of Your promise rise.

 

 

🕊️ “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” — Isaiah 46:4

 

Amen.

 

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