I try to pray, Lord, but I get in my own way.
Like a clumsy dancer
Or a tongue-tied poet.
Because I want to feel your presence,
Sense and touch you.
I want you to appear,
Like Jacob’s ladder
Or Moses’ burning bush.
I want to hear you speak,
As if my mere desire could
Summon or command your voice.
I know it doesn’t work that way,
Yet when I do not feel your face on me,
I turn my face away from you,
Like a spoiled child, Stamping my soul and heart
In anger at your seeming absence.
But the problem is with me, Lord, not with you.
You are not absent,
You are there whenever I am,
And even when I’m not.
Patiently waiting, desiring my presence,
Inviting me to dance, two left feet and all,
If only I would take your hand in trust,
And let you lead me.
I do not need to see you, Lord,
Or feel my hand in yours,
Or even hear the music very well.
It is enough for me to simply show up,
And join the dance. AMEN
Mercy Center, Burlingame, CA