Prayer #101: Snow Down
Today's prayer inspired by 4 snow days, 2 blizzards, 1 trip to Vermont, and a tweet from my go-to Twitter Buddhist -- all in 11 days.
Prayer #101: Snow Down
You shellacked the roads with ice. You tossed snow like monochrome confetti. You poured slush and mush and incompetent plowing in my path, but still ... still I would not slow down.
You begged me to listen to the flakes falling. You nudged me to bask in the winter sun when it finally broke through my bedroom window. You pushed me to curl up, and rest, and contemplate, but still ... still I would not slow down.
You put my friends in front of me and said, "Spend time with them." You gave me mountains and trails to romp on in the sharp winter air. You sat me in cozy parlors with a good book in my lap and public radio playing and someone else cooking dinner.
Then -- only then -- did I start to slow down. Yet then -- even then -- I didn't stop completely.
Instead, I telegraphed the same unspoken response to You: "Don't force the issue. I'll stop when I damn well please."
Your tireless, emphatic reply: "But stopping will please you more."
So I gave in. I stopped. I looked around. I inhaled. And exhaled. And I can say with great confidence ... sometimes I hate it when You're right.
Amen, and thanks for the break.
Prayer #101: Snow Down
You shellacked the roads with ice. You tossed snow like monochrome confetti. You poured slush and mush and incompetent plowing in my path, but still ... still I would not slow down.
You begged me to listen to the flakes falling. You nudged me to bask in the winter sun when it finally broke through my bedroom window. You pushed me to curl up, and rest, and contemplate, but still ... still I would not slow down.
You put my friends in front of me and said, "Spend time with them." You gave me mountains and trails to romp on in the sharp winter air. You sat me in cozy parlors with a good book in my lap and public radio playing and someone else cooking dinner.
Then -- only then -- did I start to slow down. Yet then -- even then -- I didn't stop completely.
Instead, I telegraphed the same unspoken response to You: "Don't force the issue. I'll stop when I damn well please."
Your tireless, emphatic reply: "But stopping will please you more."
So I gave in. I stopped. I looked around. I inhaled. And exhaled. And I can say with great confidence ... sometimes I hate it when You're right.
Amen, and thanks for the break.