Morning

The raspberries are full and red, hung with
the coolness of last night's rain.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.
His love endures forever.

Wet, the kale bows in long arcs, heavy
with golden fingers of seed pods.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.
His love endures forever.

Zucchini puts forth yellow flowers, cucumber
does so too, turning water into flesh, green.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.
His love endures forever.

Black-eyed susans and blueberries flank
the garden, pert, sun-hopeful.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.
His love endures forever.

And the catbird, grey, presides over all,
considering what will make his breakfast.

Give thanks, give thanks.
To the Lord. For He is good.
Yellow-fluted, blue-fringed, red-fatted,
grey-arched, sprung with crystal upon
crystal, His Love. Endures.
Forever.

Cry

Oh, God.

God!

Why do the wicked prosper?

In Him all things hold together...

Oh, Lord.

Lord!

Why do the wicked prosper?

In Him all things hold together...

Oh, Emmanuel.

Emmanuel!

Why do the wicked prosper?

And a star arose...

The wicked...

A star...

Hold me, then, while I cry.

In Him all things...

Prayer to the Moon God

Ran last night. Up the street, around the corner. Under the black tree branches, which were stark against a misty sky. I like running in the dark. Moist air, night air. Silence.

Back home, couldn't make myself go into the house, so I made my way down the side path, to the little yard. Took the red sled and lay under the pine tree. Moist air, night air. Smell of dead leaves. And the moon above, presiding over silence.

When I finally went to leave, the moon had risen, a full orb cradled between the arms of the maples. Silent night. And I thought of all the people through all the ages who have prayed to the moon, or the stars, the sun or the crops, the earth and its creatures.

I understood the mistake. Understood the urge. There, as I stood under the beautiful moon, red sled in hand. Silent night. Yes, holy night.

How lovely are the things you have made, my God of the moon. My God over the moon.

"Bless the LORD, O my soul...
you stretch out the heavens like a tent...
you ride on the wings of the wind...
O LORD, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures." (from Psalm 104)

Twice Given

I talked to Charity yesterday. So, so good to hear her voice. What could I say? We chatted about all things physical— the pain of her cancer, the never-ending complications. We talked about my book. (God bless her, she wanted to talk about me.) I wanted to give something to her. A snippet of prayer.

The night before, I'd been reading A Sacred Sorrow, reading the Davidic Laments section. This is where I took my little thread of prayer from, the little raggedy bit of hope that I wanted to extend across all the miles between us.

Then this morning, I came downstairs and my bible was open on the table. It was open and the little prayer snippets I'd seen in Card's book were there, underlined and staring up at me from the page. So now, these are the prayers, twice given to me and shared yesterday with Charity... and I turn them back to you, Yahweh, Mighty God...

Into your hand I commit my spirit;
you have redeemed me, O LORD, faithful God....

But I trust in you, O LORD;
I say, "You are my God."
My times are in your hand..." (Psalm 31:5, 14-15)