Sometimes the wisest words we can speak are the ones we borrow. I as sit here struggling with the reality of fire in Santa Barbara and my often singed prayer life I have wrapped myself in the words of this poem. May they keep you warm and safe.
Praying by Mary Oliver
It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.
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