I held my child in my lap late one afternoon
By rocking in the chair together we were in communion
She was restless and feverish.
I was hot and sticky and tired.
I dozed and her words slipped around me.
Startled I realized that my lack of attentiveness was a sickness
How could I not be attentive to the words of my child?
What illness overtook me?
If I could not pay attention to the small things, how could I trust myself to the large?
What communion could I enjoy if I could not listen?
And I remembered the last communion I took
Tripping over the small things in life, the mundane, the tedious
I traveled up the aisle, with the luggage of worry pulling me back.
The body dissolved, the blood evaporated on the heat of my tongue.
Where was the grace? Where was the peace?
With my baggage arranged around me,
I knelt at the altar to pray but anxiety crowded my prayers.
I could just kneel and stare into the distance.
I was so concerned by my lack of words
I forgot to be concerned with my lack of listening.
But He knows and He prays for me when I cannot pray for myself.
Grace is given and the luggage taken away even though I will take it back
One day it will be gone forever.
He will weep when I cannot.
He will forgive when my heart is hard.
He will attend to me when I cannot attend to Him.