Sola Gratia
Praise to you, Suffering Saviour,
you know my grief,
carry my sorrows.
You know that some days
are hard,
and others
are even harder,
I know that there is healing
in the passing of years,
but this grief-wound?
It still aches.
I still cry.
You know my sorrow.
And today,
that is enough.
Praise God for all things.
All things, God?
Barren trees with branches blown
down haphazard on dirty snow?
Skies of grey upon grey upon grey?
Leftovers for lunch and supper
and supper again?
Renovation dust populating
every. single. surface?
Cold hands, dry skin, tired eyes?
Relentless wind
and unanswered prayer?
It’s easy to praise you for every
blessing that feels like a blessing —
retune my heart to praise you
for all the things that don’t.
In the
fog, filth, and floundering
of a world weary of itself
there is yet hope
for you never grow tired.
You never
grow weary.
Thank you.
Light as a myriad of luminous dots
scattered like seeds across a fertile sky
coalesces into an orange red blue
glow low in the east,
pushes back night’s shutters,
releases day
glorious and bright,
points to the greater Light,
the True Light
that darkness cannot overcome.
All praise to you,
O Light of the world,
the Light of life.
How do I express gratitude enough
to You, the Joiner of two-into-one,
for the gift of a life-companion who
loves You,
loves Your word,
loves Your world,
and graciously loves me, too.
Thank you for shared laughter
and tears,
for iron-sharpening-iron
and peace-finding, problem-solving
commitment and forgiveness
and days and years
and months and minutes
of companionship,
of fellowship so precious.
Grace upon grace.
Praise God for the scampering sun
that plays Seek-and-Destroy Shadows
between the trees, behind bushes,
and sprawls across meadows to rest
on sunflowers and dandelions,
then flirts with the fluttering leaves
until they blush, twinkle, and glow.
Yes, from the rising of this sun
to the place where it always sets,
your name, O Lord, is to be praised.
Praise to the Creator of all—
You fill the skies with birds that sing
and swoop and dive and flit and swim,
but can’t sow or reap or build barns
yet feast on abundant goodness
because you care for each of them.
Of how much more value are we
who walk and work and till the ground,
we who live and move and have breath
because you breathed in us your life,
and ever mindful of us, you
set eternity in our hearts
that we might ever sing your praise
and feast at your table of grace.
To the One
Who brings snow in winter and spring—
and rain in due season
Who sees the sparrow, chickadee, and crow—
and our flutterings of joy and faltering fears
Who is not absent
Who is still Immanuel
—God With Us—
To Him be our humble and grateful Hosanna.
To the God who makes
resplendent white swans navigate
across skies cerulean blue,
soft grey collared doves preen and coo
in trees rough umber-brown,
rusty-yellow pine grosbeaks dress
in feathers impossibly delicate,
be all glory and majesty, praise and honour.
Amen.
