Prayer for Wandering in the Desert

I have not sought this desert,

nor have I chosen to travel alone

in scorching heat by day, in sudden freeze at night.

How long must I walk this barren place?

Old desires shimmer in the distance, only to disappear. 

Nothing is what it seems.

Voices echo, silenced by shifting sand,

and I carry the silence within me. 

Is this your voice now in the wind, in the shadows of evening,

in pale streaks of morning?  Is this your hand that moves over

this place, carving shelter from rock? 

Here find water, hidden away,

flowers blooming bright red:

tiny flames in the wilderness.

See, I am to be found even here, in heat shimmer,

cacti, seas of sand.  I am the cloud by day, cooling you, weary traveler.

At night, I gather the darkness and breathe upon it.  There!  I am the fire by night!

Someday I will flood this place with water.  Trees will grow by the river. 

Flowers will unfurl from hidden seeds.  You will see.

But now, you must walk in this place.  

--Text this week:  Luke 4.  Jesus wandering in the desert.  I love the beauty of the desert but I have NEVER liked the idea of wandering there, like our church mothers and fathers, and I hate the idea of hiking by myself in a desert.  It sounds terrifying, especially because I feel like depression and sadness create such deserts for us--and those are hard places to walk patiently.  I love the image of God appearing in a cloud by day and a fire by night--this comfort in such a stark place by day, this hope and sense of direction by night.

God, I am a tiny speck on your palm--

Blow me into the soil, just turned today
still damp from children's careless hose spray,
warmed by noonday sun.

When I fall, feeling loam rise,
smelling leaf decay and welcoming
the dark space of becoming,
I think I will find that you are there, too,
and that you are water, sun, and soil,
and I am never without you.

Prayer: Do You Weary of Us

Today it seemed you cut the mountains from blue construction paper,
smacked them up on the horizon, added a zigzag of snow. 

Sometimes I wonder: do you weary of us--
sigh, turn your attention to crafting easier, prettier things,
the narcissus trumpeting against the fence post, velvet-petaled primroses,
the blackbird high in the blue spruce, whose whole body shook with its call.

Still, what about the two old people who passed me this morning in the park
as I stopped to gaze out on smooth grey water? 
I noted their easy companionship, their small worlds of idiosyncrasies:
the hatted woman's purse bouncing against her thigh as she walked laps,
the man always one step behind.  Down in the dog park, a cluster of three men
watched labradors, threw balls, laughed.  And at the corner, two women
on a break from work smoking cigarettes, smiling as I walked by.

I imagined that you shared the morning with us,
threw a ball for a dog, hurried to catch up with the couple,
swapped jokes with the women at the corner.
Did you fall into step beside me as I paused to take in the mountains
and the water?  Was yours the song in the blackbird's mouth,
the delight that bent his black feathered body to singing?
  

On My Walk Home, I Compare Myself to a Stellar's Jay

photo: Alan D. Wilson, natures pics_wikipedia

There is a place where the blackberry bushes (in summer flush with fruit)
flatten into dense bramble.  Here the birds live, robins, finches, sparrows,
chickadees.  Their songs, rapid and varied, fill the thicket.  They make sense
of the tangled, thorny mess, flattened by too much winter rain;
ducking in and out, they chase one another, feathers lush with spring.

Just last week as the first primroses bloomed,
these birds left behind their silent winter huddling,
threaded through the still-bare branches of the apple tree,
called to each another, or to the earth, or sky, or to whatever birds sing.
Then they dove in and out of the blackberry hedges, mad with joy.

The Stellar's Jay perches above in an evergreen, squawks
like a fog horn blowing tuneless during a symphony.
Too big and awkward to join the dance below,
he tosses his head in seeming annoyance.
His feathers gleam blue-black.
Then I watch him spread wings--
his blues are as startling as a cloudless sky.

--klc

Keep Speaking

road from Raab Park, Poulsbo

God I saw you today
in the man at the park
walking in the rain
beside his black dog.
I heard you when he said
Her and I gained some weight last holiday
and I laughed and answered, It's easy to do.

Too I saw you in the woman
throwing an old tennis ball
for her dog, when she laughed
with joy as he bounded after it.

I knew you in the quiet of the gnarled apple trees
glistening in gathering evening;
I pulled off my hood and the cold rain wet my hair
and I think that was you, too.

I heard your voice as I walked past my neighbor's house
Telling me to knock on her door
but there were others waiting for me at home
so I walked on by.  Still,

keep speaking, God.  

--klc
 

Prayer: Throw Me Into Being

God, what am I asking of you?

Remake me as you once did

when you hefted a shovelful of clay from a garden

and threw me into being.

Knead me with your knuckles

Smooth me with your palms

Sprinkle water on my stiff, dry edges

Love me again as a creator loves.

God, this is what I ask:

Charge me with the anticipation

of being created, of falling and rising

under your hands, turning as in a dance

until I am new.

Prayer: What I Want Today is Silence

What I'm asking for today is silence,
a respite from cacophony:
You are not good enough
Just try harder
Try harder
Do better
You need to do more

God, blow each voice away like withered seeds from your palm.
Do not let them lie there in my soul.  Do not let them spread roots of hatred inside me.

Instead, empty me.
But do not hollow me and leave me aching.

Instead, clear me as the wind clears a summer sky;
Let me feel your breeze in every hot, stifled corner.

Smooth me empty as the grey sea before dawn, waiting for the first shot of daylight.
Let me feel the sun rise and spread; let me glitter with a hundred points of light.

What I want today is silence,
To be a stone in your palm,
so that when you speak, I will hear.

--klc

 --Thanks to Ken Cockroft for the photo: 'Stones of Puget Sound'