Dear God,
When that sparrow fell,
you know the one,
why didn’t I notice?
I’d like to think I was
simmering soup for the neighbor in need,
or laboring in the field of unfolded laundry,
or, at the very least,
distracted by fluttering light on autumn leaves.
But you,
and I,
know
that it is more likely
I was pouring myself a Coke in the garage.
You give me now, this little flock
and ask me to watch.
They are so busy,
and so small,
and so
many,
and dear.
And here I am,
unable to see them all at once.
My arms flail trying to find them.
I take these flapping arms
and draw them in,
tuck them tightly under my breast
and pray the prayer-before-the-prayer,
the one where I beg to know
the words I should say
My thoughts stray
and I tug them back,
pondering here in the morning light
how to word my requests.
Is it healing she needs - or peace in the journey?
Shall I pray for courage
to reach deep in the woods
and pull her out,
or whisper hope that she finds her own way?
Wouldn’t it just be easier to say,
you know, something like…
oh, I don’t know…
something like,
“You’ve got this God!”
I feel like that girl I was
in eighth grade pre-algebra,
trying to understand why in the world
I should have to figure out an equation
I would likely never use again.
My brain hurt from the trying,
and my heart would not own it.
But this,
this flock of sparrows -
my heart knows them,
and loves them.
Give me, please
the words to say,
those words to pray,
so you,
and I
can join our arms
in a circle
true enough
to hold them in.
