Monday, February 23, 2015

Writing to God: Day 4 & 5

As I figured, I got behind in my posting.  This will not be the last time I'll be behind.  I will also admit, that as I write these prayers, I get nervous about sharing them on here.  They feel too raw and too serious!  But, I made the commitment.  So for whoever is out there, here is Day 4 & Day 5 of Writing to God.

Day 4 (Saturday February 21):  Psalm 46
God, so much of our earth is frozen - and you tell us to be still.  So many of us feel as though the walls of our homes are closing in on us - that's how long we've been inside them, without much chance or courage to venture outward.  And you whisper - be still and know.

How still can one get before the crazy settles in?

A man died in Louisville a few nights ago.  He was found frozen on the steps of the homeless shelter.   The shelter had closed for the night.  The man's name was Kenneth.  God - you knew his name.  God - you knew him well.

How can we be still and know - when our shivering is too strong; too consuming?

How can we be still when our hearts become so closed up and cold - and our concerns and energies are spent on finger-pointing, name-calling, and the fear-based need to be right in our inclinations - that we miss the profound dysfunction of a human being dying in the bitter cold night because there was no room in the inn - in the land of dreams and opportunity?

God - when the world is cold and frozen shut, it is so hard to be still.  And so help us God - at the very least - to know.  To know that you are God.  To know that there is more love than indifference to go around.  And perhaps our knowing can lead to the stillness that you call us to.  The stillness of finding our place, knowing our place, seeking our place as listeners, peacemakers, as people of love.  People who can do our part of warming a cold world.

Help us, then, Lord, to be still.  To be still and know.  To be still and know that you are.  To be still and know that you are God.

Day 5 (Monday February 23):  Ecclesiastes 3: 1-20; Ashes to Ashes Confession
Cold reminds us of what it means to be human, to be fully alive, to hurt and to rejoice.  And darn-it if it still isn't a winter mess outside!  I'm going to look back on these prayers and wonder if there was just nothing else to talk about.  For a week now, our days, decisions, actions, and inactions have all depended upon what-is-it-going-to-do-next?  Snow?  Ice?  Freeze?  Rain?  Flood?  Nothing?  Remind us of our humanity and our limitations.

I search, God, for a way to be at peace with my brokenness.  I do not want to be so content that I stop trying to be whole.  But I want to find the peace and security that comes with knowing and accepting that I never will be whole.  Not until death, I suppose.  Is wholeness just out of reach?  I work on my spirit.  I strain my ear in morning darkness to listen for your voice.  Where are you?  What are you saying?  What are you not saying?

O Lord - don't you see the brokenness of your people?  Don't you see the fear and violence and the false security we have placed our lives in?  Your children are killing your children.  And so many of us turn the other way.  What do we do when our brokenness is in too many pieces, with too sharp of edges, that we bleed trying to find our role in living and creating a different way?

There is so much possibility.  And there is so much pain.
How do we even know where to begin?

God, don't leave our side.


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