I cannot fly,
O God of the soaring eagle;
I cannot even leap with a dancer’s grace.
But today I can wake and I can rise, and perhaps
the strong wind will remind me not to be so rooted in fear.

I cannot measure up,
O God of the starry heavens;
I cannot even pretend to humble-brag.
But today I can admire the trees, the sky, the river,
and perhaps the stars will teach me to love myself too.

I cannot heal,
O God of the brokenhearted;
I cannot even imagine my wounds closing.
But today I can sigh and I can sing, so perhaps
love will not be powerless in the face of brokenness.

I cannot hide,
O God beyond measure;
I cannot even escape the sun.
But today I can meet my own gaze, so perhaps
tomorrow I will not mind so much if I am finally found.