I hear the silence pop out of nothing.
The baby gulps his water with determined breath
beside me on the floor.
He eats only my breakfast from my plate
resting on my lap when I finally spread the blanket
and bring my coffee to the ground.
I listen to the crunch of toasted rye
and watch the caraway seeds drop,
see the bacon’s burnt edges coat his hands.
In a world where everything is within reach,
solitude and quiet float like monarchs in late spring,
bright, startling, luxurious, allusive.
I forget to look for them, yet am always scrambling to find them,
and here on this blanket we are alone together with only the sounds of our living.
Sip. Gulp. Chew. Swallow.
You scootch close so that our legs touch, rest your hand on my thigh, press your head to my side.
You’ve been with me twenty-three months though I feel you are visiting, flashing a rascal’s smile as you turn the bend.
I am guard, guide, confidant and safe-keeper, and you are charge, protegé, secret-teller and limit-pusher.
I search for the counterweight to the days.
One brick balancing fifty pebbles.
A shovel-full of time lifting a multitude of moments.
Lord of miracles,
Open my eyes that I might see
the beauty and goodness of your world,
and open my eyes to the ways we have marred its beauty.
Open my eyes to the beauty and goodness of all your people,
and open my eyes to all the ways we exploit, wound, and kill each other.
Open my eyes to my own sinfulness,
that I may repent and live your life of compassion
and forgiveness a bit more deeply.
Open my eyes to the needs of the people around me.
Open my eyes to all the ways you come to me today.
Open my eyes to all the signs of love and kindness
others give to me today.
Open my eyes to all the signs of your coming in this Advent season.
Open my eyes to all the ways
I can be a sign of your coming in my work today.
Open my life, Lord, to this wonderful, graced world,
and the signs of your coming kingdom.
Open my eyes always, Lord, to your presence around me and in me.
~Reposted from livingwithchrist.us.
(A prayer for today from an Orthodox Hymn to Saint Nicholas.)
The glass door is decorated with nose-smudges,
tongue-presses, and who-knows-what kinds of fingerprints
while the Christmas window-clings lie sparkling on the floor.
Advent has popped upon the top of me,
quick on the heels of a slow-in-coming Autumn,
a Thanksgiving whose late appearance leaves me rattling.
Our hand-made turkeys still hang on the wall,
probable witnesses to the Epiphany this year:
oxen, sheep, turkey.
Even on these cloudiest and darkest December days
the mess sparkles: strewn toy villages, soggy napkins,
crumpled tissues, packed bedrooms, loose bath towels, squabbling voices.
In the attic, the wreath and four candles wait for me to find them.