You are Lord over late nights and missed deadlines. You reign on high and yet see conversations without resolutions and decisions shakily explored. You are the Mother, the hen who gathers us in and shelters us beneath Her wide, warm wings, despite the fact that we are all just clucking and shrieking and fruitlessly sprinting because we don’t know what else to do. Thank you, Holy Spirit, for giving us playful prods in the ribs to remind us that we are, in fact, human and are therefore, in all honesty, a mess. But you are Lord of the Mess. You are the friend to end all friends. And You are nice. I know that you are loving and grand and holy, but You are also nice. Thank you for the kind hand that You rub, full palm, across our hunched backs. As we enter today, give us the gumption to lift our heads, blow back against the ominous (and pathetic, when existing next to You) cloud of anxiety. We’re allowed to be human. Thank you for that. Again and again, thank you.
I lift this day to you with earnest realism. It’s not going to be perfect, it might not even be pretty (fair warning). Yet you delight in its receiving, You want to be here and You want me to be here and that is more than enough.