Friday after Ash Wednesday
Lord, in the morning you hear my voice;
in the morning I plead my case to you, and watch.
I remember a fourth of July years ago when my step-father purchased some “real” fireworks – nothing that exploded or shot into the air, of course, but some simple fountains that were far more exciting that our familiar sparklers. Then he nailed a pinwheel to a fence pole and lit it. We all stepped back and waited expectantly. We saw the fuse burn slowly towards the wheel and we watched, waiting to be rewarded with a wondrous display.
For the poet, prayer is like that fuse. Once lit, he waits and watches for God to act. What it will bring he does not know – only that it will be wondrous, for God is wondrous.