Tethered–a Poem/Prayer

Prayer at my desk over pasta
reminds me I’ve been away
from this place way too long.
This familiar pathway back 
to this quiet corner with Him–
like a trail worn through the woods
towards home 
or a boat returning to anchor
in the harbor.
 
It’s this Presence I remember,
the sweet rest of being held 
and being His.
~~~~~~
Sandra Heska King is hosting a book study group on Dave Harrity’s book “Making Manifest”.  She’s also had some great guest posting folks on her site of late. I haven’t been doing the study, but eavesdropping instead on the conversations.  
You should go visit!

Similar Posts

  • Juneteenth 2015

    Feeling the rain come cave-cool air, white and empty but for the breeze. Still water rushing the trees, sleepy birds sitting at rest call out the change while tone on tone chimes echo from far below. The drops fall – spare, invisible, too few. My dry, gray lawn is thirsty and longs for a drenching, healing…

  • Summertime

    Summertime is either noisy busy, with houses full of now-at-home children and the moms who want to make the most of the days, or, well….just plain busy. God is in all of it–the kidsounds and joy–and in the quiet, when we can coax it out of our day. Here are some shhhhhh…..thoughts for finding the…

  • Memories, Flora-wise, a Polysyllabic Poem

    Botanically speaking, the plant names trip on the tongue with some effort (mine) but once murmured, sound like the tune to an old song I’ve known all my life, the words rolling off in chunks of meaning as I pass by a rainbow of familiar flora – oleander–-pinnate, poisonous, softened by pink and purple eucalyptus–fragrance in crushed wood, leaving the warmth…

  • The Path {a #poem}

    “I don’t know what to do, Lord.” Me–buried, brain full of tasks and to do’s, worried there’s a Right Way to Go. I SO don’t want to miss it. As if. As if God had an opinion on closet cleaning versus photo organizing versus gardening or muffin making or Bible reading. As soon as the…

  • Planting Prayers

      Scattered seeds, scattered me   strewn across the landscape   like the leftovers of an exploded fruit.   Full of me, I dropped the pieces here and there   along the way   without the time to STOP and listen.   Father, retrieve my prayers.   Draw around them the frame of your love….

Leave a Reply