You told me
to cast all my cares
on You.
I did not know
that meant surrendering
the tension in my neck.
In most of my remembering,
I've carried knots
above my shoulder blades.
I cried, as a child, with cramps
between my knees
and ankles.
Today, in cold Chicago rain,
I lost my perfect
driving record.
Brought home:
the ticket, the fine, the report--
and I am remembering
that You
loved me before I loved You,
that nothing will change Your love,
and that it is not I,
after all, holding myself
in the world,
but You, holding both,
and filling up
the fearful, empty places.
I need not clutch
the guard rail quite so closely--
when I accept that You hold me.
Tonight, before going to bed, I read your four posts on prayer. I can only imagine what losing that "perfect record" meant to you. I hear the difficulty in this prayer. The prayer with prune fingers seemed easier to utter, and one I was glad to read from your pen - feeling God in your own life, the one with linorium floors and dish soap. I look forward to more prayers from you. And thank you for singing me to sleep with Christ all around me.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Newell. I am so glad the poem prayers blessed you.
ReplyDelete