Quote (again, from John Graber's Thanksgiving Dawn)
Tonight, As Always, It Is Hard to Die
Low on the horizon the crescent moon
rolls over on its back and laughs,
like a happy child rocking
with its feet in the air,
nesting in a soft ring of thick light
that glows through a loose cradle
of winter-woven black walnut branches.
Light snows slowly on pale dry grass.
Lord, let my last breath be big enough
to hold all this and you.
Psalm 100
Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.
Worship the Lord with gladness; come into his presence with singing.
Know that the Lord is God. It is he that made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise. Give thanks to him, bless his name.
For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.
Today, I am praying the Psalm. Sometimes, even as I read the text and proclaim that it is God who holds us and not we who hold God, I forget that the text has the capacity to hold my hopes and dreams, my fears and anxieties, stilling me enough so that I can learn how to listen, once again.
I pray the Psalm,
not as a way to talk, but as a way to listen.
Listening to not only the words, but beyond the words.
Allowing it to speak not only to my mind and my body, but also to my soul.
To remember by Whom I am held,
Promises that bring me to life.
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