Someone's Playing the Piano

Small pudgy fingers carefully press one white key at a time, jumping and skipping from one to the next, but being careful never to land on more than one key at a time. Not always so careful, they've learned not to pound or hit all the keys at once, if they wish to keep playing. The rule of the house is to only hit one key at a time, except when the big kids that take lessons are there and their fingers fly across the keys, mixing notes in a beautiful song.

Prayer for Courage

1 Samuel 17:32 Let no one’s heart fail because of him (Goliath).

Amid giant fears and overwhelming tasks, give us strength of heart to press on. Give us courage to battle the giants that try to obstruct our way. When we feel small in the face of the challenges in our lives, remind us that you are bigger than Goliath and bigger than the obstacles in our lives. When we feel silenced by those in power, give us your voice to stand our ground.

The Earth's Psalm

The earth sings it's praises, slow and deep, but frighteningly powerful, like a determined old man. With a rumble the ground shakes as stones of the earth are clapped together in praise. The birds with their high and near constant songs are momentarily silenced, in awe of the effort this old man earth puts into his shaking song of praise. Then, as if strained by the effort of his singing, the earth falls still and silent again, and only after a silent amen does the rest of creation resume it's cacophony of praise.

Prompt: Write a psalm of praise about the earth or by the earth.

A Branch's Prayer

I stand alone, bare and naked against the harsh chill of winter. Waiting. But I'm not really alone. I am just one limb growing from a sturdy trunk. I am just part of the whole connected to roots reaching deep into the unknown of the earth. I reach to the sky as my tree's roots reach downward, lovingly gathering me sustenance from the earth. I give thanks I am not alone and in the spring I will blossom because I have my tree supporting me.


Prompt: John 15:4 Imagine yourself as a branch and write a prayer of thanks for the tree.

Wait for the Lord

It feels like I’m waiting forever just for my life to start. I’m stuck in a unhealthy place, looking for the reset button, and waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting for healing. Fighting for urgency in a painfully slow process. Take a step and wait, take a step and wait. When will the waiting end? When will I have the strength for more than merely surviving each day? When will I be joyful again? When will I feel whole again? If I can’t be fixed now can you at least give me the patience to get through the process?


Prompt: Isaiah 8:17 "I will wait for the LORD, who is hiding his face from the house of Jacob, and I will hope in God." In your prayer-writing, tell God about your waiting ... about your (im)patience ... about your hope.

Prayer

"Do not be afraid for God is with you."

I feel small and alone. Scared not at an awesome presence like the shepherds saw but at the nothing, at the feeling of being all alone in a tornado of life. Where are you when I feel alone? I know you're there somewhere, I know you're always present, but sometimes it's easy to forget, easy to feel alone. Help me remember your presence even when I feel lost and alone.

Praying Through the Fog

God,
I know this fog won't last forever, but right now it feels endless. I feel stuck and weighed down and lost in a near endless fog. Help me remember I'm loved through the fog. Guide me out of this darkness and give me strength to find life, to live again and to be your love for myself and others.

This is Not About...

This is not about you. It's about me. It's about me and where I'm going, where I'm stuck, what I need, and what I want. It's about trying to find what fits into my life and what I want to do. It's about being me without catering to preconceived ideas about who I am and what I'm supposed to be like.

I'm not who you think I am. It's all a lie, except more like I've just outgrown who you see me as and haven't yet had the courage to tell you who I am now. I've changed and grown, and I feel good about who I am and what I believe, yet it feels like a lie to keep my thoughts to myself.

I wonder sometimes if I should be more blunt to come out and say what I believe and feel. Often it's not really anybody else's business - what I believe, what I feel, how I meet God, my thoughts on this or that, who I happen to think is cute, or what I see as meaningless ritual is all a matter of who I am and really have nothing to do with you. Yet I can't help wonder... Would you see me differently if you knew the truth about me? Would you be bothered that I'm no longer the kid you think I am? Or would you still accept me, grown up and changed as I may be?

Untitled Prayer (righteousness and justice)

Let us live in righteousness,

not in belief we are right

and the other is wrong,

but in your grace,

doing what each of us is meant to do,

as best as we are able.

Let us seek justice,

not revenge.

Let us work towards wholeness,

fairness,

and authentically valuing

everyone's worth,

rather than fighting for recognition

of our own over-inflated "goodness."

Let you grace shine down and guide us,

when we fail to see the difference,

between righteousness and selfishness,

between justice and punishment,

between creating wholeness and creating division.

Holy Ground

I walk a path unknown,

but really more familiar,

bare foot in the grass,

cold beneath my feet,

sneakers crunching over gravel,

in the heat of summer,

weathered paths,

pulling me,

away from the world,

and closer to God,

to holiness and wholeness.

Unexpecting

Isaiah 54:1* Sing, barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song and shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are your children than the children of her who has given birth.

When this scripture was read at my prayer writing group I couldn't help seeing a little of myself and where I'm at in life in it.

I have no children of my own. While to describe a woman as barren would generally indicate a more permanent and less voluntary state than I would presume or wish for myself (or anyone), the fact remains that I've never given birth. I've never experienced labor or held a baby in my arms knowing it came from me.

I don't have a family of my own to raise (though I hope to someday), yet I spend my days raising children. I've cared for enough families I've lost track of how many. I've had countless kids capture pieces of my heart, and to myself I call them my kids. Especially recently, now that I'm working for a single family instead of a preschool with dozens of kids, I've caught myself saying “my __ year old” and adding “that I watch” or “that I babysit” before telling something they did, to prevent confussion over why I talk about “my” kids but never have them with me. And so I have both many kids and no kids.

*I adapted from the New International Version

Prayer for Healing

Dear God,

Be with her in her pain,

help her know she is not alone,

grant her the wisdom to see,

more pain of another sort

is not the solution.

Wrap your arms around her,

hold her close,

when physical distance,

prevents a hug from a friend

Be with her when I can't,

when I don't know what to say,

or she pushes me away,

or I'm just not the person she needs.

Help the world to see,

her pain is not her making,

that the scars she gives herself,

are not the reason she hurts.

Surround her with the patience,

of listening ears,

and grant them the understanding,

to know talking about pain,

is better than ignoring it,

that shushing away,

her honest words of hurt,

only leads to scars,

that run far deeper,

than the marks we wince at.

The prayer prompt from this weeks Praying Through My Pen is: Read Numbers 12:13 and "write a prayer for healing for someone specific." Rather than write about a specific person I found myself writing about a specific need for healing which many people I've talked to or heard stories of have faced (and "her" can just as much be "his").

Praying Through My Pen

Through out Lent I participated in a small group called "Praying Through My Pen." The group was led by Rachel Hackenberg, author of Faith and Water, and focused on using creative writing as a form of prayer. Below are the creative writing and prayer prompts used in that group and links to most of what I wrote in the group.

February 20, 2010

Creative writing prompt: Close your eyes. Write about what you see.

Scripture: Mark 1:11-13

Prayer prompt: Write a prayer for the wilderness.

February 27, 2010

Creative writing prompt: Write about fireworks.

Scripture: Psalm 148

Prayer prompt: Pick a color in nature and write a psalm about God in nature.

March 6, 2010

Warm-up: Write a haiku about someone important to you.

Creative writing prompt: Write about someone who left.

Scripture: Luke 23:34

Prayer prompt: Write a prayer for forgiveness.

March 13, 2010

Creative writing prompt: Write about a longing.

Scripture: Psalm 114

Prayer prompt: You are my sanctuary.

March 20, 2010

Creative writing prompt: This is a map to where I live.

Scripture: Isaiah (I didn't get the chapter or verse written down) and Numbers 11

Prayer prompt: Think about images of God as mother or another non-traditional image of God, and write a prayer to God in that image.

March 27, 2010

Creative writing prompt: Write about memories underfoot.

Scripture: Jeremiah 32: 38-41

Prayer prompt: Write a prayer for discernment or call to action.

The creative writing prompts used were borrowed from A Writer's Book of Days. The prayer prompts were created to be used in this group.

Calling

Calling. I don't know what it means to me.

I was a teenager the first time I read Jeremiah 1 in church and it was overwhelming for me, as not much more than a child, to read Jeremiah's protests that he was only a child and therefore could not speak for a God. God called him anyway saying "I'll give you words" and that gave me the terrifying, fascinating sense that God has a purpose for me and I must find it.

To think there's a grand plan for me and yet I've been left out of the loop is scary. I want to be in control. I want to know what's going on and where I'm going. I know I've spent more than enough time praying to be shown the map, given the step by step directions, and allowed to read them backwards, so I don't have to guess at where I'm going, but really what I need is trust.

The people I trust are few and far between. I don't trust easily, but when I start to trust it's the turning point in my relationships with other people, and that is what I need with God far more than I need to see the end of the mystery before I open the cover.

Prompt: Write a prayer for discernment or call to action.

To the Tree of Life

God of the woods,

God of nature,

you are the tree of life.

Your roots sink deep into the earth,

spreading to support our feet

even as we avoid your shadow of comfort.

You are the bright green beauty

of new leaves that catch our eyes,

if only we look up from our over busied lives.

You are the rough bark

taking on the scars of the world,

offering a love more permanent

than anything represented

in hearts and initials,

carefully scratched,

by reckless flighty lovers.

You are the branches reaching out,

bigger than life,

holding us carefully

as we try to climb higher,

reaching for the sky

with our fragile dreams.

You are the infinite complexity

of roots and branches and twigs,

leaves and veins in leaves,

far more intricately complex

than anyone could see from the ground.

This is a map to where I live.

This is a map to where I live.

didn't I write that for school last semester?

or something like that...

I think I live in confusion.

If there was a map of my head,

it would make life easier.

I live on the edge of school,

where one step to the left

means my life depends on getting good grades,

but half a step to the right

means I could just not care,

because none of it is really, about real life anyway.

At the crossroad of work,

where I love my job,

and I love my kids,

and I have fun with my coworkers,

but I hate the values,

and can't believe the lack of parenting

some of my kids get,

and I want so bad to do what I feel is right,

but have to fit the system,

and hate it when I can't

even speak my mind to coworkers

because to really speak out

could cost me my job

or at best cost me,

any respect I've earned there.

I can't afford to lose that respect,

not when I need it to continue

to advance my career,

but sometimes I wonder,

if even that is worth it.

I live across the street from the ideal social life,

from some sort of popular in crowd,

that invites me into their circle,

and welcomes me as I am.

I live on the edge of town,

within earshot of the church bells ringing

with calls to tradition and conformity,

and within sight of the woods

calling new songs,

and even older songs,

a different winding path to faith.

Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: This is a map to where I live.

You are my sanctuary.

God you are my sanctuary,

my safe place,

my space to rest,

the arms I long to hold me,

the voice of love

in a friend reaching out to me.

You are my sanctuary.

You make me a sanctuary.

You hold me close,

when I feel alone.

You are everything I long for

even when I don't know it.

You are my comfort and teacher.

You are the hand that guides me,

the friend that comforts me,

and the spirit in me

when it's my turn to be a comfort.

You prepare me to be a sanctuary

and you are my sanctuary.

You are my voice and guide in the silence.

You are my strength.

You lift me up when I fall

and hold my hand

when I feel like I'm floating away.

Forgive

Forgive them.

Forgive me.

Forgive us.

Forgive until it hurts.

Forgive them, the companies, nations, politics and powers, that rape the world, create policies of hurt, and take until they get ahead.

Forgive me, for ignoring the hurt, not crying out at the pain, for letting my wants get in the way of others needs

Forgive us, every time we cast lots and argue for things we don't need, while robbing the ones with nothing worth stealing.

Forgive until the hurt is washed away.

God of the Rainbow

How can I write about God in a single color?

God is the deep murky blue green

of the Chesapeake Bay.

The refreshing wholeness

of living, dirty, fish and algae filled water.

The movement of different pieces of life crossing.

The clear breath

of wind across your skin

and the crystal clear water

where the zebra muscles live.

God is the red brown and gray pebbles

under twenty feet of clear water.

God is the dancing red spark

of a campfire.

I imagine God laughs

at being described

as hot like a spark.

God is the orange glow

of the setting sun.

The pale white shimmer

of the full moon.

God's smile is a rainbow

arching gracefully across the sky.

God lives in the pinks and purples and yellows

of flowers and butterflies on a summer day.

God is the lush green

of soft grass in the spring time

and the dry brown

of dust under foot.

Prompt: Pick a color in nature and write a psalm about God in nature.

A prayer for the wilderness

My god lives in the wilderness.

I meet God under the stars,

sitting by a campfire,

or rocking on a boat

with the rythmic clanking of a line

bumped against the mast,

by the breath of God.

To me the wilderness

is not devoid of God

but intimately tied to God.

It's where God hugs me in the arms

of damp woodsy air

and takes my breath away

with red and purple painted sky.

It's where the still and quiet

meets my busy mind

and calls me to slow down.

It's where no matter how big my worries are

they shrink against the back drop

of trees and sky and clouds and stars,

The God of the wilderness comforts me

when the walls of a church feel claustrophobic.

The piece of God in the trees

and the rocks

and the moonlight

invite me to be

who I am

when no one else

has the patients to wait

for the real me

to come out

of hiding.