The Ninth Prayer

First Prayer for the Ninth Chapter

I am just talking to You with my hands...

I sit on my bed in the least adorned of all my rooms, in the least expensive of all my buildings, in the least familiar of all my places and I wonder if I will find you at last, Allah. You have combed my life of its contents so that it is made of spaces between threads. I wanted a blanket and you gave me a net that I do not know how to throw. Now, teach me to sit still and close my eyes. Send a river through me.

I loved someone and let them go. I had a blank check and I came to an alley-way hostel. My trumpet is wrapped in bubble-wrap, my showers are cold. Yet, I thank you for making me more dependent on your strength than my happiness. I hear flutes and smell schwarma; I have no television but my bed is enormous. Oh God of my heart, I wish that I will know you better and finally be your clay because I closed my eyes and I felt that your will is like a strong river and I am a stone. You will take away every scale and chip until I am a smooth boulder. You use everything to inspire me – I wanted to compose but all I will ever do is arrange. I am streaming my consciousness to you.

Today I read about simplicity but I know I can be simpler – please uncover my eyes so I will see the elegance of your design. I still live many careers in my mind but will you show me the color of emptiness? Will you show me the outline of blue? Will you help me hear the edges of my transformation? Should I hush now? Do you mind if I sit and listen to Zen tracks and forget where they came from? Do you mind if I have hopes for a necklace, so long as I look up to You? Can I wonder aloud with my fingers on the keyboard? Will you intervene with sighs too deep?

Yes. I love you... but these are only words until You fill me. Fill me with fresh air – cool air. Remind me of my manitou. I forgot I had one.

Thank you for Jesus and other good examples. Draw my eyes to them.

Amen

The Second Prayer

The First Prayer for the Second Chapter:

Oh my Nurturer, I am crying out to you without reservation. I am not a super-hero and never have been. Even Jesus retreated to draw strength from you but I have dwelt close to the fire for too long. I am parched and there are so many miles and checkpoints between Bethlehem and the well in Nablus, where He offered your living water to the Samaritan woman. I miss the waters of my homeland, the contemplation of the Grand River and the comfort of Thumb Lake—even the cold invigoration of Lake Michigan.

I know that I have so many lessons to learn but I pray that you would give me the wisdom to submit and let go, even though I have forgotten the meaning of submission. I have grown as hard as the plains of اريحا [Jericho] because I live an existence of only resistance. At any moment, I will read about how your loved-ones are abused, disenfranchised, and defamed abroad. Whenever I move from one place to another, I am reminded that my relationship with Palestine can come to an end. Every time a jet flies over-head, I remember that I could be obliterated by Israel or its enemies.

Send a final wave of شباط rain, and teach me to appreciate my softening. Send شباط one time more and this time I will not blame you or the blessed month of شباط again since your waters have come to the land. Like the sting of disinfectant, you sent these times to prepare me for the healing to come. Bring the sweet scent back to اريحا . Give me الاريه الصيف to sustain me (I’m praying from my heart and that’s what came out) through this stormy weather that must occur to bring the harvest this Autumn.

But I confess that I do not know how; I am trying too hard under my own power. I need your gifts. I need time to recover. I need your very presence. I need to find a devotion that comes from affection, not piousness. I need to find a way to remember you in true worship, not with an end in mind. Draw my attention away from even the imperfections of my prayer. Bring me out of my over-thinking and help me to accept that I am beautiful even when I am imperfect and that I am responsible for my part, not for the outcomes. Most of all, comfort me during those count-intuitive moments where I feel like I have no reason to feel tired because I have not done enough.

I am so foolish Lord: I am tired from watching this conflict and NOT having something to do. I have the tiredness not of someone running but of someone on crutches, wondering when he will be able to do enough again. Please, take me away... please call me to the Sea. If there is any power in homelands, help me to find it this March in Ireland – and fill my heart with even more energy for this mission.