I didn’t see change
through her eyes
until we were right
at the precipice.
Perhaps it’s a sign
of her age that she
cannot see beyond
tomorrow. Perhaps
it’s a sign of my age
that I believe I can.
In any event, this
change is upon us,
and to her it feels
like a keen death,
so I sing all of the
best lullabies I know:
of Winnie the Pooh
and starry windows
to heaven, and then
the one about crying
when you need to.
And so we do.

Sunday Prayer

O Blessed Mystery,
O Triune Puzzle,
grant us the wisdom
to be at peace with questions
rather than contriving explanations.

We strive to prove ourselves
with a show of truth,
but the glory of Wisdom —
of One who sang the distant stars into being
and who rocks the earth’s foundation
to sleep after its long nightmare —
the glory of Wisdom is yours,
without our vain desire for answers.

Now bless us, we pray,
in our uncertainties. Teach us
the peace of the ocean’s limitations.
We would strive to measure you as Three;
turn our calculating hearts instead to recognize
the immeasurable length of your grace.
We are yours by your delight,
and we are grateful!

Prayer cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals


“New things I now declare;
before they spring forth,
I tell you of them.”
(Isaiah 42:9)

Dear LORD,
please announce
those new things in
a clear and loud voice.
Amidst all of these packed boxes
and the unsettled dust of “former things,”
it can be quite difficult for me to spot
anything new, which is liable
to be efficiently sorted,
labeled in Sharpie,
and only found
at a later


Tonight we sleep
with the lights on
to keep our ancient enemy at bay:
white bulbs blue screens glowing
against the night.
There is no rhyme
& no reason, only
the certainty that the earth is against us,
that daily survival is our highest calling.
Amidst the dark nights and fierce winds,
let no one hint
that we caved
or shuddered.
No! Let them
call us heroes
when we claw out from rubble & dust.
Then they will praise the human spirit.
They will ask “How did you stay strong?”
and we will lie about our determination
when in fact we were scared shitless
and the only
choice when
you’re so very
terrified is to
live and wait
and breathe
to discover if
continued agony or miraculous joy awaits.
Oklahoma … Ivory Coast … Bangladesh …
people wait, barely breathing, crushed by
bricks & mortar & injury & death’s proximity.
Afterward, when the cameras look hungrily
for stories of faith & survival, don’t tell them
that God died under the rubble hours ago.

Pentecost Prayer

Rush upon us.
Overtake and consume us,
O Holy Fire,
until divisions turn to dusty ashes
and walls of pride collapse.

Spill out over us.
Surround and overwhelm us,
O Satisfying Fountain,
until we waste love’s richness
without measuring cost.

Dance among us.
Well up and erupt within us,
O Dynamic Word,
until our tongues know words of peace
and our souls speak reconciliation.

Cross-posted as the Sunday Prayer at RevGalBlogPals