More than Dust
Sometimes prayer is simply my soul reminding my material self who she is, why she is here, and her deepest hopes and intentions for this earthly adventure. A return to the truth to live the truth.
Humbly I stand before You,
More than a collection of dust,
I am Your luminous spirit
Braving the human adventure.
There is a sacred reality here on earth
which although I cannot see perfectly in my mortality,
My soul knows as The Truth.
Faith, for me
is living in trust and in anticipation of all that You might have me see, experience and love in the length of a breath,
Please, many breaths.
One day I will walk off into the sunset, hand in Hand
The promise of a new adventure ahead.
In the meantime, I will endeavor the fullest experience here as possible.
Spying the divine and the sacred.
Suffering and Rising,
Loving to my fullest capacity,
Living hope to hope.
May I never forget,
It is all a gift.
A most grateful Amen.
Read and reflect on my favorite scripture, Psalm 139.
“Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all of my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it. Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your Presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as day, for darkness is light to you. For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! I try to count them-they are more than the sand; I come to the end-I am still with you.”
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