It’s no accident that praying for boldness immediately follows putting on the armor of God.  Paul urges the Ephesians: “With every prayer and petition, pray at all times in the Spirit, and to this end be alert, with all perseverance and requests for all the saints. Pray for me also, that I may be given the message when I begin to speak—that I may confidently make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may be able to speak boldly as I ought to speak” (Ephesians 6:18-20).

Last week we looked into the face of evil, yet people who knew the Boston Bombers were clueless. Why? The first time I came face to face with raw evil was on a prison ministry trip to the largest women’s penitentiary in west Texas--It was August, no air conditioning, in Block C, known to house the worst trouble-makers. When entering a prison day room, one looks for a friendly face. Usually many smiles greet you, inviting a visit. Most incarcerated women are not evil women. The majority have made horrific choices, with many former alcohol or drugs addicts. But no one smiled back in Block C that day.

             Ever wondered what to say when you pray? Sometimes it can help to see what examples of prayer we are given in Scripture. in Acts 4, the believers prayed for boldness: “And now, Lord, pay attention to their threats, and grant to your servants to speak your message with great courage, while you extend your hand to heal, and to bring about miraculous signs and wonders through the name of your holy servant Jesus” (Acts 4:29-30).

Two years ago I traded my 60-hour work weeks for a spot in my upstairs loft. From the desk that sits up there, I work as a freelance writer. But it’s not a 9-to-5 job. Shortly before making the career transition, I also married a football coach. And while we don’t have kids yet, we spend plenty of time getting our parental practice.
 

My two-year-old babbled giddily about the “lightning, Mommy! One, two, three, LIGHTNING!” Relentless streaks of white light made brilliant scabs in an ominously thick sky. The streaks would not stop cutting, and rain seemed to pour out of the sky’s wounds, first at a slow trickle, then a steady stream, and now, a violent deluge that overwhelmed my windshield wipers and drowned my tires.
 
I hate driving in storms. 
 
Unable to do anything but drive with the keen awareness of my own mortality, I feel vulnerable. Inadequate to protect my firstborn and unborn children. I get so angry, I want to shout. 
 
How’d I get here? How do I get out of here?
 
I feel out of control.
 
And then, there it is, clear as my speedometer: the truth. I’m not. I’m not in control. 

The problem of why a good God would allow evil and suffering is probably the biggest problem people have with Christianity. It certainly rises-or perhaps roars-to the surface after horrific events such as last week's bombings in Boston.

In the city that is home to Harvard, MIT, Tufts, Boston College, Northeastern, U Mass—some of the world’s greatest Universities—the broken bones, broken lives we’ve seen play out in Boston this week rile up something deep within—something that challenges sophisticated, academic ideas of relative truth and tolerance: the longing for justice.

Hos 5:13-14 When Ephraim saw his sickness, and Judah his wound, then Ephraim went to Assyria, and sent to the great king [or “King Jareb”]. But he is not able to cure you or heal your wound. For I will be like a lion to Ephraim, and like a young lion to the house of Judah. I, even I, will tear and go away; I will carry off, and no one shall rescue.