1/31/12 Tuesday-ish Prayer

Dear God:

It’s easier to pray some times more than others.

There are those times that it feels as though the world is screaming in my ear.  I try and listen or try and speak and both feel fruitless in the echo chamber my mind becomes.

There are those times it feels as though my soul is pacing back and forth like a leopard in its cage.  My heart will not settle down.  My jaw clenches.  I feel so nervous I’m ill.

There are those times I’m holding on to some things too tightly; these things have sharp edges or no edges at all (like water or oil or air).  The one hurts and the other is endlessly frustrating.

Sometimes I am just

too

damn

tired.

Jesus had it right.  He’d go away and pray. 

(Part of me likes to think he was hiding, too, because I want hiding to be at least a little holy.)

I imagine him on that hill top staring out and seeking perspective; or down by the water seeking renewal; or lying on his back in the high grass under an early afternoon sun…

drifting…

off…

to sleep…

(From http://debsgarden.squarespace.com/)

I imagine those deep sighs.  I imagine that deal-making time with God and all that questioning.  I imagine the prayers seeking empathy and comfort and then…

the calming…

and, then, those deep breaths…

The sounds of wind and that sun and those clouds and the birds of the air and the lilies swaying in the field…

(Eventually, I know that those disciples come find Jesus to remind him of the work that needs to be done but, God, if its all the same with you I’d rather not imagine that

quite

yet.)

Amen.

1/17/12 Tuesday Prayer

Dear God:

You are mysterious and unknowable;

Found in vastness and smallness;

Specific and vague…

Yet, sometimes I feel like I know and understand you so much better than I know people.

(And sometimes I have to remind myself – in the oddness of my silly brain that forgets to honor and forgive - “I am ‘people.’”  )

The fact that you are, somehow, all these things makes you, somehow, more predictable.  The unpredictability of calls and resurrections; of nature and creation; of the seen and unseen; the miracles and miracles and miracles and more…

These are the things of which you are.  They may be surprising but not really surprises.  We expect these things from you.

But, people…

The colleague who is so much more than you knew…

The friend who has hidden so much…

The neighbor you were just sure you didn’t like…

The brilliant family member who chooses so poorly…

The evil a good person does…

The sacrifice a stranger makes…

The moment you look in the mirror and see in to the heart of the person standing there…

(“I do not understand my own actions. 

For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

It’s not always - sometimes not - a good day when some things make sense. 

There are the days that compliments shine like stars out of our eyes and the days they bead on the surface, repelled.)

Love us.  Please, love us.

Open our eyes to it…

And after the teeth-grinding, stomach-churning, soul-exhausting agony of it all

Help us

Laugh

Our

Way

Into something like…

A miracle.  Something like…

An amazed…

Amen.

Tuesday Prayer for 1/10/12

And still...

We start our conversations in the middle like this. It can have been days, weeks, months and then, there it is. We're praying again.

Yes, we are praying again; the common ground where we meet. Not just me subjecting you to my infernal blathering or you subjecting me to your eternal silence, we meet there.

You've heard my best days and my worst days; been invited in to hopeful conspiracies; been the target of my wrath; tossed me in to fearful waters. You've made me laugh.

You know me and, some days, this does not feel good or pleasant. I've lived such an imperfect life and tried to construct amazingly intricate camouflage (that I will deny, to most, is there).

You roll your eyes. And you stay. You know me better than any other, and yet, you stay.

Thank you. All these ways you love...
They are more than the sand...
I come to the days end and...
I am still here, with you and...
You are still here with me and everything is quiet,

and still...

Tuesday Prayer for 1/03/12

Thank you, God, for happiness
but, thank you for not having to be happy all the time.

Thank you for those rainy days of pensiveness tinged with numbness;
Those breaks from presence and vividness and the exhausting attempts to sustain something like joy.

Thank you for the melancholy that asks the "whys" and "what fors;"
that rubs away at placidness like hands concussively kneading dough.

Thank you for that pounding heartbeat of anger that rises up like a tide and leaves clarity in its scoured ebb.

Thank you for the sadness that tells the other truths about change;
where cheerleading hope is calmed and the losses - the costs - are counted and honored.

Thank you even for fear but, frankly, not as much.  May it expose threats but not create them; help us react proportionally but not overreact; may it save lives and not end them.

Thank you even for loneliness, I think.  It does seem to help me find you, know you, seek you, trust you...

Thank you for these gifts.

Thank you, God, for happiness
but, thank you for not having to be happy all the time.
Amen.