My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Have Mercy

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A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

Oh, Lord of the broken and heartsick,
of the world weary and tumult tossed,
have mercy.
Oh, Lord of the fractured and failing,
of the wounded and flailing,
have mercy on us.

May our beliefs align with Your truths,
and may our weakness not hinder Your kingdom work
here in this battleground
between earth and heaven,
between the cross and the crown.

Oh, Lord of the blind and beleaguered,
the willing but wanting,
have mercy on us here below.

May our hearts break for the living lost
and our hands be quick to holy tasks
here on this hallowed ground
between world and wonder,
between sacrifice and song.

Oh, Lord, have mercy on us here below we pray.

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My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Once Again

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These witchy trees, bare and lifeless, cold and leafless:
One might wonder where life has gone and if all hope is gone,
receded into the dark earth. But
in one moment, that gifted second,
a nub of green sprouts, a speck of promise appears, and the sleeper rises,
stretches to the sky. Renewal happens once again—
from death to life.
That these dormant praises in me would rise again, unchained.
That these sleeping sermons once more would reach my mouth that I may speak of Your wonder,
once again.

 

My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Have Mercy

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Oh, Lord of the broken and heartsick,
of the world weary and tumult tossed,
have mercy.
Oh, Lord of the fractured and failing,
of the wounded and flailing,
have mercy on us.

May our beliefs align with Your truths,
and may our weakness not hinder Your kingdom work
here in this battleground
between earth and heaven,
between the cross and the crown.

Oh, Lord of the blind and beleaguered,
the willing but wanting,
have mercy on us here below.

May our hearts break for the living lost
and our hands be quick to holy tasks
here on this hallowed ground
between world and wonder,
between sacrifice and song.

Oh, Lord, have mercy on us here below, we pray.

 

Upside-down World

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When what was and now is not happens in a wisp of a moment,
when friends become foes, exchanging their trust for biting and isolating words,

then it is plain to see that we are living in an upside-down world.

When conversations meant to break down barriers instead erect the worst kind of walls,
when what I see and what you see suddenly are
oddly at odds
to the vision once shared,

then it is pain to see that we are as much a part of this upside-down world as everyone we have observed from afar. Tut, tut, what a shame it was. And is.
We are in it, of it, and yearning for all to be made right.

What makes it worse is that the reflection is somewhat like what we hope for; but
in its rippling distortion and ever-changing color, what’s hoped for seems like some cruel illusion.

Far off, unattainable, yet present enough to hunger the soul.
======================
Proverbs 13:12 (NLT)
Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

 

These Carnal Threads

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I look down at my hands and know that within those tissues and cells, blood is coursing,
coming from,
going to,
minute after minute, circuit upon circuit. But where is my soul in this pink, freckled flesh? Where is my spirit in this troubled, pondering life?

Is the soul hitching a ride on red blood cells as they careen by the white?
Is my spirit holed up in one of my vital organs? My brain, maybe? Concentrated in a command center, overseeing all my worldly cognition.
Perhaps soul and spirit share space, intertwined in the four chambers of my pulsing heart.

But when the soul is gone, the hands are still there, and even the blood; but what stops really when we say life is gone? As the flesh cools, lying motionless, is the me-part that is really me immediately absent,

or hovering, waiting for further instructions?

It is said to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, but I am wondering when the absent happens. What changes in that one fragile second to another when what was thought alive is now

dead
and these carnal threads release their hold?

 

 

Not Home Yet

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Walking in shadows, occasional whispers of light remind me I am
indeed
in Him
inadequate, but on the path to home.
The yearning, the longing, keeps doubt in check—
somewhat,
somehow, hoping that
someday what we partly know will be known in whole—
unbroken,
unfettered,
understanding.
The here seems material, the then so far off; and this shadowed world,                               so full of souls and stains would break even the strongest, if not for the
glimmers,
the gracelets,
the glimpses of the intangible, leading us from discomfort to discovery
and home.

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A Moment’s Yes

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

Glimmers,

slivers of light, blossoming blue-green and lavender

in rippling paths,

a wet veil of wonder, and I wander

in this place

in awe of what is seen–ever aware of the greater unseen.

Can I still stare at the miracles even if I don’t understand?

Can I still sigh glory even when I know reflection covers hidden darkness?

In this moment, I breathe many yeses,

and in this moment, it is enough.

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My Meta Metaphor

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

Well, now,

I have filled all your feeders, and I’ve cleaned up your messes.

I’ve protected you from rats, cats, and this and thats!

You pleasure me as I view from my prized place, my all-seeing window, but . . .

the question would arise:

Why do you scatter when I open my door to you,

open my life to you, fill your spaces with warm words full of love and provision?

Why must I view through a double-pane?  A double pain?

If I go out, you wait in the trees, holding aloof, half ignoring, wary,

willing to eat but not to come close,

willing to drink but not while I’m present—too much of me there, I suppose.

. . . I’m sorry, Lord, did You say something?

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I Caught the Wind Today

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

I caught the wind today.

It wrestled my hair, trapped in the tangles.

It rushed in my mouth, stealing my words, pressing the back of my dry throat,

then rushed out again on a squeal of joy and a breath of respect.

My coat wrapped tightly,

it snuck in the crannies, coloring cold my prickle skin,

but I hugged a tighter me, trapping it there,

warming it with my pressing.

I caught the wind today,

hair and hand and panting self;

but before I closed the door, I let it go

so to find wind still another day.

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