I am not a morning person. The shades on the windows of my soul don’t snap right open first thing. But in the wait for hope to dawn, I find a lot of truth.
Sometimes when I wake,
If You’re there.
I feel the weight of limitation-
I cannot prove your goodness
To myself or to the world
In the way we’re trained to know.
So, sitting in the silence to listen
With windows open to let the outside in,
I hover in that detached
Place between expectant and resigned.
Not thirty heartbeats pound
Before a cheer-filled refrain
Spills in with the sunshine,
And I hear the chant.
I hear the song of it.
I hear the noisy evidence
Chirpy little song birds whistle it
Atop a tree that sleeps in winter rest.
Dainty breeze dancing through palm fronds
Whispers of it.
In the sky, atop the ground,
Clambering up stalk, fence and vine-
Winsome shades of color burst to celebrate it.
In inexhaustible precision,
The glorious sun counts it aloud
Morning and night,
Like a massive metronome
The eyes, the smiles, the trusting heart
Of children everywhere reflect it-
This song of Something More.
Yes, I contend
We can measure and observe
We do it every day.
We plow our way
Through a crowded room of glory
Every single day.
The oxygen that inflates our lungs
And the waves that carry
Sights and sounds to eyes and ears,
The taste and touch
Of all the wonder
And even all the pain,
Yes, even all the pain screams out,
There must be something more.
An abyss cannot create such intent.
Hope cannot emerge from a void.
And so, I cup my hands
And receive this hope.
I give thanks that You too
Saw a need for evidence
And granted our request
Before we even asked.
Oh God who creates,
Redeems and sustains
With quiet but sovereign hand,
Help us to wonder,
Help us to listen,
Help us to see and understand
Revelations of your glory all around,
I know for some, it is a jump from the miraculous to a Person. But even this bears pondering. Contemplation, so important to spiritual well-being, needs to be cultivated, yes?