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This

We sleep in fits. We pray in dreams.

We cannot seem to find our way

this year. You have returned to us simplicity

and quiet praise of long charades. It is December

and we go through motions of an automatic dance.

We cling to the lungs of faith, a faith we have not given

breath. Help us, Lord, to find our thankfulness as a warm

repose, as a reminder that this solitude, while stark,

can rewire our attention spans for You. A candle burning

cinnamon, remembrance of friends’ laughter and the multitudes of stepping among crowds and gathering in front of shops and trees

and altars, of passing babies and sharing food. I hold these thoughts close to me this season. I do not welcome evening dark, but neither will I shun her lessons to me. In this stillness, Your presence

shines so real to me, Lord. For this I am thankful.

By smalltownbiglife

Poetry is my thing!

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