THERE IS SOMETHING

Holy One,
there is something I wanted to tell you
but there have been errands to run,
bills to pay,
arrangements to make,
meetings to attend,
friends to entertain,
washing to do…
and I forget what it is I wanted to say to you,
and mostly I forget what I’m about,
or why.
O God,
don’t forget me, please,
for the sake of Jesus Christ….

O Father in Heaven,
perhaps you’ve already heard what I wanted to tell you.
What I wanted to ask is
forgive me,
heal me,
increase my courage, please.
Renew in me a little of love and faith,
and a sense of confidence,
and a vision of what it might mean
to live as though you were real,
and I mattered,
and everyone was sister and brother.

What I wanted to ask in my blundering way is
don’t give up on me,
don’t become too sad about me,
but laugh with me,
and try again with me,
and I will with you, too.

What I wanted to ask is
for peace enough to want and work for more,
for joy enough to share,
and for awareness that is keen enough to sense your presence
here,
now,
there,
then,
always.

Ted Loder 
Guerrilas of Grace
Adapted and reprinted in Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton

IDENTITY AS DEEPLY LOVED BY GOD

God’s love for you has nothing to do with your behavior. Neither our faithfulness nor your unfaithfulness alters Divine love in the slightest degree.

Whether we realize it or not, our being is grounded in God’s love, the generative love of God is our origin.

Love is our identity and calling, for we are children of Love. Created from love, of love and for love, our existence makes no sense apart from Divine love.

Our identity is who we experience ourselves to be - the I each of us carries within. An identity grounded in God would mean that when we thank of who we are, the first thing that would come to mind is our status as someone who is deeply loved by God.

David Benner
The Gift of Being Yourself

BLESSING FOR THE BROKENHEARTED

Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.

Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound,
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.

Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—

as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,

as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,

as if it trusts
that its own
persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.

Jan Richardson