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.
My Writing Life 