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  • morning prayer

    morning prayer

    Last sad morning---of vacation… Open days of gently wandering from one intention to the next. Spacious, temporary freedom.

    These are my first thoughts while separating from my warm ever-so-lovely bed. Although I am not ancient, I am old enough to feel the pain of age creeping upon me. Old bones, overused joints aching with my first morning movements into my day.

    As I took my first steps out of bed in the darkness I saw glimpses of the confused life worn man with his dirty, callused fingers frozen, under a mound of trash-picked blankets shivering below the overpass.

    I saw a girl wrapped tight in a fetal position on the dirty mattress dimly lit by a barred window.

    I even saw the long forgotten mutt chained in the backyard in the sub zero cold.

    Although I savor my lovely bed, I think of those who slept out in the cold. I think of those who had a night of abuse and violence. I think of those who tried to sleep, yet the night gave way to that empty gaping hole in their heart from the loss of the one they loved.

    I think how thankful I am for such simple comforts of a warm bed and vacation days where I have time to ponder and reflect upon my gratitude for these luxurious blessings. Oh my bed is wonderful.

    Mostly I remember to offer up prayers for those who suffer. Strangely, their suffering makes my blessings more glaringly apparent. It’s cosmically mysterious how this works. Although I am not experiencing their particular injustices and suffering, and I have all the comforts I need, I experience an aching in my soul for the suffering in this physical world. I guess as long as there is pain and injustice it is felt by all in some manner, at least by those who are conscious.

    I do pray to a God I believe in—--who is LOVE, for the comfort of those suffering. I pray for those to be filled with warmth and light of LOVE... to be covered in peaceful grace... So as to gain some relief from their pain, and to know the light of hope, that the pain is fleeting, although I know when living it, the pain weighs physically eternal.

    I pray that I know for at least this minute I’m not overtaken by that semi filled with pain and heartache—but I know it could be just around the corner. I am thankful.