A word interlude.

If this is the time of Time itself, it's a mean and lean season. Reason and hope find little to say in the jingle jangle news of the day. Patience with unanswered prayer runs out. Maybe even God prefers a little peace and quiet. But before it's too dark, too sad or too late, teach us to pray. A haze of holiday habit conceals the bottom line. Holy absence makes a heart grow hard, then harder, without a purpose or design. Teach us to pray, lest we who know the story best become accustomed to this restless season. Teach us to pray for a sign.



Scatter proud powers that refuse to imagine. Shatter the loud towers of Hate, the high walls of Forget. Lift the homeless whisper, the sigh that says, "Alone?" Fill the hungry emptiness that echoes in the marrow of our bones. When times are tough, a rumor of angels is never enough. We need holy terror to startle expectations, and altar/alter us with outrageous grace. Wreck our rational designs with celestial encounters. Let us hear the rustle of wings as we take out the trash. Teach us to pray.


A small essay  from my friend Carole DuBois, an amazing writer and thinker. I am honored to call her my friend.