On this wind-swept day
my prayer is a kite
rising from outstretched arms
stringing taut and fast
up with sailing clouds
up with soaring hawks
my kite swoops
in the high blue
writing thank-you
thank-you.
A loved one’s heart attack is like a closed door;
he is on that side and we are on this side.
The door opens with the sudden collapse.
Ambulance attendants act as ushers.
Now we are in the waiting room waiting
and he is on the other side of the door
in ICU having a heart attack.
The waiting room is suspended in time….
For the starry host of heaven
for the velvet black of night
for the moon a brilliant circle
for the clouds reflecting light
for the land in silence resting
for the stillness everywhere
for the dew like grace descending
for the fragrance in the air;
for God is in the evening
for Christ is drawing near
for the Spirit now is longing
to make beauty’s presence clear.
We love our friends,
we think the best of them until
their actions bring us up short.
The fall from high regard
leaves us dizzy and disoriented.
Esteem and trust plummet
as deep disappointment blossoms.
God, can you fathom the human heart?
Is our dismay a faint echo of your own?…
Hear now, God, the prayer of hostages!
Prayers spoken through teeth clenched in fear,
prayers courageously floating on a tide of despair,
prayers that are a slender thread of hope.
Lord, we join our voices with all captives,
crying for freedom and return.
We cry for an end to the nightmare
of each soul in captivity….
When I am beside myself with grief–
Jesus, you are there beside me.
When my mind reels and I feel like I’m falling—
Jesus, you are the fixed point that does not move.
When grief’s bands tighten around my chest—
Jesus, you are the oxygen I breathe.
When the ache in my heart is the only thing I feel—
Jesus, save me.
You who wept with sorrow and with fear,
thank you for staying with me in this hour,
this hour of grief.
At the last kiss,
at the final true laugh,
at the bottom of the body’s decline,
at the mind’s last conscious thought,
at the moment when love vanishes,
at the end of all remembering,
be the God at the last.
Be the God of wrinkled bodies and stooped shoulders,
the God of vacant eyes and open mouths,
the God of incontinence and shaking.
Be the God who holds the hand,
the God who soothes the brow,
the God who whispers words of comfort
and the God who hums a lullaby
until the last sleep falls.
There’s a swamp of secrets here
stretching as far as the eye can see.
Secrets, crossed over with lies, half-submerged,
the muck of deception clings close
and there is something rotten in the state of grace.
You speak about your life, lightly,
and politely comment on the weather.
Your eyes tell a different story.
You are mired here, bone-mired,
in mud that will not let you go.
You are trapped and alone
God, I have entered the irritation zone.
In the irritation zone,
conversations always rub me the wrong way,
nothing is where I left it,
everyone is being inconsiderate to me
and it is all taking too much time.
In the irritation zone,
my skin feels like its crawling,
my stomach is a tight ball,…
I am a Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario. I’ve served congregations in Ontario and most recently, Alberta.
I love to write and to lead worship! If you are finding my writing helpful, I would love to hear from you! Feel free to use or adapt the material here, it is all written by me. If printing material, please credit “Copyright Carol Penner www.leadinginworship.com” (and say whether you modified it). If publishing, please contact me for permission. Contact me at carol@leadinginworship.com
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