The Art of Praying
When you don’t like the person you’re praying for
At the local church,
the fireplace and lights
are constructed for Christmas.
Anxiously awaiting the birth
of the king, the redeemer, the savior.
But this scene predicts a bleak
backdrop to the December where
for some unknown reason I’ve
chosen to pray for those I don’t like.
My morning prayer:
God, your son never hated anyone
just hypocrisy and made up rules.
It’s a start. The next part is harder.
I’m a human who has held on too long to things that wounded me. Help me to forgive like he did.
The challenge comes after church:
setting aside moments of each day
to ask God to bless, heal, restore
people I’ve wanted nothing more
than to see go down to the depths.
Each day I feel anger lifted,
I don’t have the right words to say
but maybe that’s what makes it so
right. Maybe that’s where I’m
helped.
End of the month: my heart feels
scrubbed clean of hatred. Ready to
embrace the new decade and get
more mud on the boots, more dirt
on the slate.
So I can do it all again, the next year
