How is it that when I lift my eyes to you
so often all I see is that splat of daily chaos...
my old kitchen, my trusted utensils, the gas stove, the baking grill.
I want to do glorious deeds –
but now I have to iron white shirts, water my garden, polish my shoes, struggle with my laundry
and boil my daily oatmeal.
I want to be a saint today – one of the architects of your good world—
but you know my story better than anyone else,
and I am considerably less than a saint.
And yet somehow, the most honest meditation I have had with you is happening over this ironing board...
this honest sort of meditation can be stirred into a perfect ironed shirt...
or a rummaging for You !
I don’t really see visions or see you in the sky... yet I am aware of thy nearness.
as cool water drip from my garden hose over my geraniums,
they gently whisper your warmth!
I don’t really have to achieve saintliness to know your love...
I don’t really have to be someone I am not.
Help me worship you the way I know...
Help me worship you in my garden, in my kitchen, in my study,
in all my going outs and in all my coming ins.
So be it Lord!