I Pray--But Not in Words

In the shade of the magnolia tree,

surrounded by the music of humming bees

that shower the ground with a storm

of pollen as they dive in—headfirst—into

each bloom and swim in its sweetness—

here, Lord, I find not Eden, not a wondrous

forbidden place to seek escape to,

but rather, Gethsemane, a place where

I can find You, Lord, and speak without words.

Here, Lord, I can pray, not in words,

but in breath, in the great, deep sighing

of my soul, a spirit starved of strength

by the suffering of a world, struggling

through its own Lenten season.

Here, Lord, I can pray, not in words,

but in tears, with confidence that You

count each one, that You hold out Your hand

and collect each one, that not one tear hits

the ground, not one tear is wasted.

Here, Lord, I pray, not in words,

but with offerings, as I stand before You,

hands raised, eyes closed, and give

everything to You, Lord, all my fears,

all my worries, all my hopes for the day.

I give them to You, Lord.

I give it all to You.

And when I have given everything,

when I have prayed until I am empty,

only then, do I find, buried, but now awake

and breathing easy … my faith and my hope

both nestled close with Your eternal love.

Amen.

Psalm 56:8