I snuggle close, safely swaddled. It’s warm here, and safe. These arms are my whole world, and whatever might be going on outside them is, to me, a distant dream. The one who carries me will take care of all that. Lub-dub, lub-dub: the heartbeat against which I’m held soothes me with its steady lullaby, and I feel myself move as the chest to which I’m swaddled rises and falls, my secure world—my Rock—rocking me. I drift between waking and sleep, held.
Shout for joy, o heavens; rejoice, O earth;
Burst into song, O mountains!
For the LORD comforts his people
And will have compassion on his afflicted ones.
But Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me,
The Lord has forgotten me.”
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget, I will not forget you!”—Isaiah 49:13-15
Ted Loder's words once again become my prayer:
“. . . Come, find me, Lord.
Be with me exactly as I am.
Help me find me, Lord.
Help me accept what I am,
so I can begin to be yours.
Make of me something small enough to snuggle,
young enough to question
simple enough to giggle,
old enough to forget,
foolish enough to act for peace;
skeptical enough to doubt
the sufficiency of anything but you,
and attentive enough to listen
as you call me out of the tomb of my timidity
into the chancy glory of my possibilities
and the power of your presence.”
—Ted Loder, Guerrillas of Grace, p. 32
Title of this blog post borrowed from a line in Ted Loder's prayer-poem, "It Would Be Easier to Pray if I Were Clear," quoted in part above. I am loving his book, Guerrillas of Grace.