At 10 o’clock a.m. on Sunday, I am going to be praying. You will find me on my knees. Praying for them.

Ten o’clock. Because of 10 victims. Ten precious souls. Ten battered children, and probably more.

You might have already heard about it. It happened in the county next to mine. In Bibb County, Alabama. A few days ago, seven adults were arrested for operating a child-sex ring. I am weeping as I write this.

It was an underground bunker. A filthy basement. A bare mattress. At least 10 child victims were tied down, repeatedly abused, and kept imprisoned. And in our state’s own backyard. There are probably more victims.

These are babies. Children between ages 3 and 15 were raped. For roughly $200 per appointment. The kids were drugged. Punished with canine shock collars. They were harmed beyond comprehension. I can’t breathe.

I can’t get them off my mind. Those children of God. Those innocent souls. Those parents. Those shattered families.

I am one man, God. But I’m setting aside Sunday in prayer. I’ve never prayed for an entire day before. I’ve never really done anything of note. Heck, I can’t even consistently empty the dishwasher.

But I’m going to pray for those families. And I’m not going to stop after 10 a.m., either. I will pray all day. All week. Always. I don’t know the children’s names, God. But You do. You know them all.

Namely, because You formed them in the womb. You engineered their personalities. You gave them gifts and talents and quirks. And You’re with them now.

But if I’m being honest right now, I don’t understand You, God.

How could You could let this happen? Sometimes, I can’t figure You out. And if I’m being doubly honest, it is hard for me to believe in Your goodness today.

Where is this sacred mercy everyone so often talks about? Where was that mercy when those children were suffering? Where were You? Please God, help me understand. Help my unbelief.

Because I’m angry. I’m upset. I’m angry with You, God. These are Your children.

Still. Although I am upset, although I grieve for those families, I don’t know who else to pray to. I don’t know who else to trust. You’re all I have. I don’t know where else to go.

So I’m asking You now: Please help those children. Help their moms and dads. Help the peace officers, the law officials, the county employees, the social workers, the emergency workers, help the entire state of Alabama, God.

I know my feeble words don’t affect much change. But I’m going to ask as many people as I can to join me in prayer, God. I’m telling everyone I know.

Maybe, if I can get a few in Alabama join me in prayer, maybe those people will get other people to join them. Then, maybe THOSE people will ask EVEN MORE people to pray. Maybe entire churches will pray, and temples, and mosques, and synagogues, and schools, and community groups; maybe whole cities will pray.

Maybe news will spread like bacteria. Maybe those prayers will spiderweb outward from Alabama all the way to Georgia, Tennessee, Oklahoma, Kansas, Utah, Maine, California, Canada, China, Mozambique, New Zealand.

Maybe all those prayers will rise upward to Heaven like incense, and all that healing energy from everyone’s souls will find its way to those battered babies in Bibb County, and into the hearts of those precious wounded families.

Maybe.

I don’t know, God. But I’m still going to try.

Ten o’clock. Sunday. I’ll see you there.