a blessing for when you want to wake up to wonder

I stand, stone still, at the edge of disheartenment.
I have nothing but this certainty:
nothing changes, nothing lasts.
I feel hollow.

God, this world you made is full.
Warm earth pushing up new seedlings,
unfathomable oceans teeming with mystery,
and the miracle that our clay bodies
bear even the possibility of creating new life.

We are all swimming in wonder
so, God, why can’t I feel it?

I feel my own blood turning cold
with each tiring loss.
Good things, beautiful loves,
pried from my fingers
make them seem empty to me now.

But still.

Even if, today, I am sure
that hope is not knocking at my door
let the lights at the neighbor’s house
glow like a Jack-o-lantern.
Let the sounds, wafting through the window –
someone’s barking dog and kids running amok,
the buzz of someone’s television
rehearsing the day’s calamities –
remind me that we persist somehow
under a distant shadow but happy anyway.

Let the sun come down the sky and touch me,
and I will walk out to greet it
feeling the low murmur of the ground beneath my feet.

And as the earth makes its creaky turns toward night
let the day fall in behind us
“What next?” we will say to the night sky,
before we close the door and consider its answer
tomorrow.

This blessing was inspired by my conversation with Fred Penner on the Everything Happens podcast. Click here to listen.