Dec 25
Icestorm's picture

Prayer of Inheritance

dear God, this is a hymn; I sing it with my throat still fresh. dear God, this is a prayer; I recite it
with my head bowed and the arrow nocked. irony coalesces in the strangest
of places, Father, this I am learning from the lack of arks in these polished oak arches.

when I was seven, knit stockings and Velcro-ed Mary Janes, they said God was always with me. childhood
misconception heard I would never escape. that when I made a steeple with my chubby fingers for Children’s Moment prayer, the doors of my thumbs locked. God, You were trapped between my palms, and I still haven’t found a key.

faith is so alluring we forget angels haunt too. though I used to think You played the organ, its sweet soliloquy
explainable only by divine omniscience, the notes were ominous. something so grand deserves presentability, deserves
silk stools & silver. so my thoughts filter through stained glass to create melancholy mosaics. lack of sin, lack of self.

teenage years found me drawing pictures on backs of Confession cards & into velvet choir chairs, pointedly
avoiding the Sermon. ever since Leviticus, God, betrayal curls in my stomach like Eve’s constant
companion. with You rattling in my skull, there are things I cannot think, much less say outloud.

oh, to be baptized twice: first by the velvet Crown Royal ghosts in my blood, & again by Holy
water. watery eyes all around. my father made a manger of a hotel parking lot last autumn. the bloody birth
of an unspoken goodbye. nicotine incense of today’s Camels juxtaposed with Wise Men & myrrh.

God, thank you for the Holy spirit & spirits & scripts like this one. God, thank you for what
I’ve been taught by people I want to be nothing like, ‘cause the world ain’t all glass bottles an’ cicadas. God, I
think you are a form of curiosity:  the Big Bang & Easter morning, Second Law of Thermodynamics & mourning.

my mind, the singularity. in fifteen years I’ve learned who killed Abel but not why I should see You in
blooming daffodils. yesterday I watched spiral galaxies collide, tendrils of gas uncanny from Isaiah’s
six-winged Seraphim. maybe You, God, are not the act but the inexplicable. angels & quasars.

this is how to make worth of a decade of spiteful silence. this is how to recognize Jesus
taught forgiveness because he knew he would need it. because the Parable of Talents sets us up
as the slave only to lead us to the cross as the master. Revelations & rejected resolutions.

I am starting
to forgive.
dear God, in Jesus' name, Amen.