I pray with all of my senses, O Living God.
I pray with my eyes smiling at the sight of a robin resting briefly on the branch outside my window.
I pray with my fingers kneading the warm fibers of the knitted hat that I snuggle onto my daughter’s head before sending her off to school.
I pray with my nose breathing deeply to catch the smell of mud rising with the morning dew.
I pray with my tongue savoring the heavy spices of morning tea, a taste both comforting and awakening.
I pray with my ears tuned to the radio’s news, catching words and phrases to lift up in prayer:
“Pakistan”
“Iraq”
“unemployment”
“Wall Street”
“gay marriage”
“insurance”
I pray with all of my senses when I cannot sense you at all:
when life’s affairs look bleak to my eyes,
when compassionate touch is absent,
when the putrid smell of war escapes the sterilized news,
when the taste of the day is bitter,
when my ears cannot catch even a whisper of your word.
I pray with all of my senses, O Living God.