Last night I continued to ponder
what to talk to the children about
in worship this morning.
I have been doing that
pondering all week
with no ideas coming.
As I prepared for rest,
I wondered if prayer might
be a good subject.
These young boys and I
pray to Jesus. I have come
to love those tender moments
and it is true that children
can lead us just like Jesus said.
Later I dream of my father,
who passed many years ago.
He is intently stitching
a place in my mouth,
like tending to a wound.
For some reason
I am between the seats of
a car, and I find myself
slipping more and more
into a space that feels
much too small.
I fear I am stuck.
I finally cry out,
"Daddy! Help me!"
He extends a hand
and easily lifts me.
I think of the phrase,
"sets me right."
This morning I think
such a fervent cry is seldom
the tone of my prayers,
but many have cried
out to Jesus
in full panic
and the hand has always been there
to set them right.
Maybe we will talk about prayer
and pray this morning.
I know that is always ok with Jesus.
Images of children at the border surface. May our nation hear and be lead into a new time of responding to the cries of children who are hungry, lost, and afraid. Jesus, we are failing to be stirred by their plight. This morning I weep. Perhaps my wailing should be louder?
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