When you are very small and very resistant to sleeping when society says you should, I'll stand holding you in the dark and sing Bible camp songs I've forgotten I know. From the depths of my sleep-deprived desperation scripture set to music will pour out of me and become the fabric of your bedtime memories. Years after we've put this ritual behind us I will catch you humming these tunes under your breath as you create masterpieces with markers at the kitchen table and I will realize the magic of the psalms all over again.
Mama: O God of what we've forgotten we know
Children: Hear our prayer.
Anytime we hear sirens I'll remind you to pray for the helpers. We'll go through the list of first responders. We'll cover doctors and hospital staff. We'll pray for peace of mind and clarity in decision-making for families of victims and you'll ask questions about fire trucks and how accidents happen and I will answer you while silently thanking God that it wasn't us that called for sirens, it wasn't my babies needing the helpers.
Mama: O God of my selfish gratitude
Children: Hear our prayer.
There will be perfect moments when everyone is in a good mood and the perfect song is playing and you are stirring biscuit dough in a bowl that belonged to my grandmother and we'll have to stop stirring and join hands even though we are covered in flour just to sway sillily because dancing is how we celebrate perfect moments and it is darn sure how we pray.
Mama: O God of kitchen dancing
Children: Hear our prayer.
I will hike you up mountainsides and into deep forests. We will wade into rivers and plunge our bodies into the ocean. We will watch sunsets and howl at the full moon. You'll complain about the bug bites, the steep inclines, the temperature, the boredom, but onward and upward we'll go, exploring every nook and cranny of our spaceship home. We will learn how life works (in spiraling patterns), where beauty can be found (everywhere, if we look hard enough), how wonderfully and fearfully made it all truly is. You'll thank me for it someday. I'm thankful for it already.
Mama: O God of creation, of wonder, of all things great and small
Children: Hear our prayer.
I will cry. You will see me do it. It might be tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes when I listen to you sing along in the car to a song I love. It might be silent shoulder heaving at the kitchen counter because I am overwhelmed by all the things I fear I've failed to conquer in my life. You'll watch Papa hold me as my body laments all the world I cannot save. At least once in your life you will catch me screaming in the backyard, overcome by injustice and tragedy, as if all of humanity is mine alone to bear witness to. This is who I am. This is how I pray.
Mama: O God of the canaries in the coal mines,
Children: Hear our prayer.
I will fail you. I will forget to pack your lunch. I'll be late to pick you up from swim practice. I will yell at you for no other reason than I am tired and you are nearby. I will be sarcastic when you are seeking sweetness. I will misinterpret your emotions. Sometimes I won't even realize these shortcomings. Other times, I am embarrassed to admit, they will be intentional. My relationship with you will give me ample opportunity to practice asking forgiveness, making amends. This is how we love each other, this forgiveness and amend-making. This, too, is prayer.
Mama: O God of second chances, of mercies anew every morning
Children: Hear our prayer.
My body grew yours. We are connected in the way all things are connected. These gossamer threads of being link us backwards and forwards to the stardust we came from and the stardust we will be again. Your very existence is my connection to what is, what will be, what came before. The life in me honors the life in you. Uncle Walt reminds us we are verse contributors in this play of life. Let's make our verse beautiful together.
Mama: O me! O life! O God of poetry and stardust!
Children: Hear our prayer.
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