My eyes are open
I am unawake
I see the violence and miss the call
In little arms outstretched I see a load to carry
When will I awaken to the pain of the violent
the unattended longing of my defiant son
When?
When will I be able to sit with my own pain
and not just be satisfied with the the work I have already done
When will I stop patting myself on the back for giving up a vice
while seizing a replacement with the other hand
When will my eyes tire of the blur of this way of living
and instead choose a stillness that brings things into focus
When will I exchange restless insomnia
for a more ordered rest and rising
Lord, these ways are well entrenched in me
I need more than forgiveness in order to turn
How can I prepare the way?
How can I be open to the preparation?
I have scattered moments of alertness
draw them together
I have a desire to know and be known more deeply
draw these together
I have a place, a community a home where I feel belonging
draw these together
There are places in my heart that are soft receptive soil
sow generously there, even as you continue to til the hard and rocky places
I offer you my feeble gestures, intentions, hope.
