March 20, 2014
God of our dreams,
God of our hopes,
God of our inner space,
It is toward You we turn our faces.
We lift our eyes to rest on Your face,
and, perhaps, to rest a while.
We are a people of many whispered desires and unspoken longings.
We believe, and yet we dare not anticipate.
We crave, and yet we dare not expect.
And these thoughts that come to us late,
You know, the ones that come in the dark,
in the quiet,
and remind us how fragile we are
and how unconvincing are our words of aspiration.
The words are "not possible,"
But we have. We have imagined.
And we come to You with watery eyes and timid faith
asking that You would imagine it possible, too.
Be the God of words made flesh
and promises kept;
the God of dreams in daylight
and hushed ambition spoken without a shaking voice.
Be Your daring Self toward us again today.
We pray in the name of Hope Himself,
Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.
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