“Seek the LORD; seek God’s presence continually” (Psalm 105:4, adapted). Today, pay attention to the presence of God in the “ordinary” moments of life. Write a prayer at the end of the day, with thanksgiving for the joy of seeking (and finding!) God in all things.
Ah, there you are!
Mixed in with the eggs and flour and milk,
hot on the griddle and soggy under syrup:
God in pancakes!
God in the work of cooking,
in the act of serving,
in the delight of waking sleepyheads with warm food.
There you are for me every morning:
in the simplest purpose and function,
in the one necessary task that trumps
all other tasks for that moment.
Nothing else do I need,
nothing else must I do,
than attend to God
Who knows how brightly the sun might shine this day?
Who knows how paths might cross and God-encounters unfold?
Who knows what adventure might begin, or what mischief
might startle me into laughter? God alone! Yes, God alone!
So I set my heart at ease and I give praise for this new day.
Prayer-writing prompt: “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; God’s mercies never come to an end — they are new every morning. Great is God’s faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23, adapted from NRSV). God’s mercy is new to you today! Write a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of a new day, full of new graces.
You know me, God: I like journeys where the destination is goooood, restful for the body and rejuvenating for the soul, with food and fellowship to satisfy my spirit and encourage me for days to come. That’s not exactly how the Lenten journey is typically understood, but oh! that’s the journey I’d like for this season. I want to reach Easter with a dance and an “Amen!” celebrating that God has been good all the way … not to collapse on that Easter morning out of relief to find Living Water again because Lent has been so arid. Really, I can’t imagine that Jesus was miserable for every one of those forty days in the wilderness. Didn’t he sometimes splash about in a stream and laugh at the frogs hopping out of the way? Did he lie flat on the ground to study the expanse of the sky at sunset, and breathe deeply with joy for each sunrise? Let me have that kind of Lenten journey, I pray. Excite and enliven my spirit, O Adventurous Spirit!
Noah’s rainbow might be too perfect for how I experience you. Instead I’d say your covenant is a tie-dyed blast of color: a joyous, brilliant mess of “I’m here for you and I’m delighted by you … and life is going to be hard, but walk with me and you just might be surprised.” Yes, your covenant is a holy splatter that highlights and accents all the days of my life!
The wind of your Spirit howls at the world and threatens our complacency. I watch the sycamores bend before you; the traffic light poles bounce and quiver; litter dances on the highway; people scurry for shelter with coats held tightly against the blustery Spirit that seeks to undo us all. We are fools to think that we can stand before you, childish if we do not see that nothing is stable or safe when you are stirred up. I want to pray, “Yes! Uproot us and topple us by the force of your breath…but please leave me my coat,” but I suspect that I cannot have it both ways. Blow, Spirit, blow! Come and turn us around!