Waken in Me a Sense of Joy

 

O extravagant God,

in this ripening, red-tinged autumn,

waken in me a sense of joy

                in just being alive,

joy for nothing in general

                except everything in particular;

joy in sun and rain

                mating with earth to birth a harvest;

joy in soft light

                through shyly disrobing trees;

joy in the acolyte moon

                setting haloes around processing clouds;

joy in the beating of a thousand wings

                mysteriously knowing which way is warm;

joy in wagging tails and kids’ smiles

                and in this spunky old city;

joy in the taste of bread and wine,

      the smell of dawn,

              a touch,

                       a song,

                               a presence;

joy in having what I cannot live without —

                other people to hold and cry and laugh with;

joy in love,

                in you;

and that all at first and last

is grace.

 

 

- from Guerrillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle

by Ted Loder