As Saints we pray, and God hears us, but our prayers are much more than sound waves that rush outward, growing weaker and smaller, like the ripples of a stone cast into a pond, losing their momentum as they go until at last they lap like tiny ineffective kisses on some distant shore. No, our prayers are powerful, have substance, and are joined with incense before the throne of God. They are offered to Him, carried upward in Holy smoke that rises from a Golden censer… an offering made to God. Even the most insignificant of these becoming mighty as they precede the sounding of the seven trumpets, and protect the Saints from what follows.