What I Know: A Reflective Prayer

Over the years, Jesus, I’ve gotten to know you.

I know that you hate my sin but love me dearly.

You have a penchant for rewriting stories.

You have scars on your hands, feet, and side.

You enjoy fresh bread with your catch of fish.

Sandals are your preferred footwear. I know

hymns and songs are your musical go-to. You

want and need your solitude. You are honest,

even when it hurts, even when it’ll cost you.

I know that, when toxic people invade your space,

you have no qualms with walking away.

You enjoy few things more than a good metaphor.

You aren’t a stranger to sarcasm and I’ve

never known you to get seasick, even in storms.

Sometimes you address your mother with the

title “Woman,” which has always been curious.

You know what it is to be abandoned and

you are a polyglot, dabbling in Hebrew, Aramaic,

Greek, Latin, among other things. You were

baptized, preached, served, and falsely accused.

You’ve tasted death and resurrection and ascension.

I also know that, despite my failure to show it

sometimes, I love you. You are loved by me.