I like writing my prayers, God, because those composed are
not like the ones that keep me up at night,
that seem to lead me astray into wondering and wandering
and feel like repeated words and syllables.
Writing my prayers has an intentionality about it,
still spontaneous, to a degree, but more focused and, frankly, honest.
I find that, the more I write-pray, the more words
seem to do prayer justice, and the less anxious I get about searching
for what to say because, I can pause and look beneath
this portion of the heart, that portion of the mind, this intention,
that motive and feel less rushed about what to say.
Writing my prayers, God, feels like
finding the right aisle in the supermarket and the
right shelf at just the right time: there sits the right word,
the proper word, the fitting word. It’s like
catching a glimpse of the sunset from just the right angle
and knowing just the right way to describe it.
When I touch the keyboard, the words rise from my fingers
to the screen and, as I read them, it’s like I’m praying
a second time. They rise from the screen to my
heart-mind and from there to you—written prayers
like incense, rising sweetly and pleasingly you.
That’s my hope anyway. But I do, wonder:
Do you read my prayers? Do you like reading? Because,
I like writing my prayers, God.