Inspired by 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
Dear God:
These days are long ones.
I feel the guilt of every task delayed one more day because previously undone tasks became urgent. It is the small things that feel big, the big things that I try to do too quickly and the unimportant things that I turn to too often because I can hide there looking busy as my anxiety flies around
(like a swarm of bees).
I swear that I can feel the weight of each new email as it drops into my inbox. I fool myself into thinking that if I don’t listen to a voicemail it doesn’t quite count.
And, then, these are the small things. Because, then, I read the paper or listen to the radio and people are killing each other and people are DECIDING TO LIGHT THE PLANET ON FIRE and people are protesting and people are indignant and people are trying to change things and I know I will join them
right after I catch up on email.
The diapers... These are a new thing. Yes, here is the stink of happiness and messy, wonderful reality. There is nothing more important than this happiness and this laugh and these new teeth.
Nothing. I will set everything aside for the smile that comes after this smile and too figure out what our boy needs when he can’t quite speak it, yet.
All those other things and people - however - already use their words. Frequently. Insistently.
These days are long ones and, sometimes, It feels like someone left the faucet and the tub is overflowing and I keep mopping trying to figure out why the mopping doesn’t take care of this flood.
(Deep breath..)
(and again...)
(and again...)
These days are long ones. They are full ones.
God, if I can’t turn off that faucet, would you mind parting the waters?
A little dry land would be lovely.
If not, could you help me find an island of dry land?
A little time alone would be lovely.
If not, might you send a boat my way?
A sailboat would be lovely.
If not, could you remind me how to float?
Taking a little time to stare at the stars would be lovely.
Let me try that again:
(Deep breath..)
(and again...)
(and again...)
(there is the sound of birds, now. the sound of my child waking, now. the sound of rain, now. the strangely comforting sound of the dishwasher, now. the sound of my breath... and my breath... and my breath... now.)
And the waters
part.
These things, these people, this family, this place, this day, these tasks...
They are lovely.
They might be a tapestry that grows things if I just nurture and pray and love
and pray and love and pray and love
and pray and love and pray and love
and pray and love and pray and love.....
Amen.
