A prayer holds children, high but secure
in hands open and strengthened by practice
up in the sky, above where giraffes forage
to the place where it seems God’s vision rests.
The hands are silent, but their voice calls out
“See here! See these
children of your own making!
See their parents, siblings, friends, neighbors.”
At this altitude, air is thin and breathing measured;
trade-off for the solid security of sea-level;
but there are alternative forms of oxygenation:
rainbow breaths that infuse spirits, fuel imagination;
screens where dreams can replay over and over,
feeding on prayers, promises, power.
The silent voice of uplifted hands demands more than vision;
memory, too, and covenant are part of the plaintive call.
“This is not the ‘Do not be afraid.’ of your surprise
intrusion;
it is the antithesis: the summons for you to boldly arrive
into
the midst of the fear, anger, and confusion;
the plea from all who are aware, to sense your presence,
feel your comfort, especially here amidst the chaos.”
“Answers seem to be what we want,
but seldom what we receive.
Take what spills from our deep places:
rage, fright, disbelief, despair;
know that we direct it toward you because
you are the one who already knows–
one whose love for us cannot be diminished by it.
Give us what we need: strength for the hour’s tasks,
courage not to flinch in anguish’s face,
hope that darkness will not– cannot – overcome,
light to show at least the next step on the journey,
attentiveness to the joy of each moment,
peace that passes understanding,
new breath to fill us in these thin places. Amen.”
© 2012 Todd Jenkins
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