I love hot water. I am unceasingly grateful for hot water that kills bacteria in my dishwasher, washing machine and kitchen sink, and I am profoundly grateful for hot showers. Really. I thank God on a regular basis for the gift of being born in this century. In this place. With something as luxurious as a hot shower here for the taking.
And I pray for them.
The ones He loves that haven't had a hot shower in years because they're rotting in a dictator's prison. I remember.
I sweat as I do a simple outdoor task in the middle of a summer heat wave.
And I pray for them. The ones left in metal shipping containers for months. What do I have to complain about?
I shiver on a winter morning when the heat doesn't work properly.
And I pray for them. Those brothers and sisters whose names I do not know. Freezing in a prison cell with no blanket, no hot tea, no end in sight.
Remember the prisoners as if chained with them—those who are mistreated—since you yourselves are in the body also.