My Words Can’t Carry All the Praise

Glorious God,

how curious
and what a confession

that we should set aside one day a year

and call it Thanksgiving.

I smile at the presumption,
and hope you smile, too.

But the truth is,
Holy Friend,

that my words can’t carry all the praise

I want them to,

or that they should,

no matter how many trips they make.

So this day,
all is praise and thanks

for all my days.

I breathe and it is your breath that fills me.
I look and it is your light by which I see.

I move and it is your energy moving in me.

I listen and even the stones speak of you.
I touch and you are between finger and skin.

I think and the thoughts are but sparks

from the fire of your truth.

I love and the throb is your presence.
I laugh and it is the rustle of your passing.

I weep and your Spirit broods over me.

I long and it is the tug of your kingdom.

I praise you, Glorious One,

for what has been, and is and will ever be:

for galaxy upon galaxy, mass and energy,
earth and air, sun and night,

sea and shore, mountain and valley,

root and branch, male and female,

creature upon creature in a thousand ingenious ways,
two-legged, hundred-legged, smooth, furry, and feathery,

bull-frogs and platypuses, peacocks and preachers,

and the giggle of it –
and turkeys (especially, this day, the roasted kind, not the flops) –

and families gathered, and the thanking;

the brave, lonely one, and the asking;

the growling, hungry ones, and the sharing.

I praise you, Glorious One,

for this color splashed, memory haunted,
hope filled, justice seeking,

love grown country

and the labors that birthed it,
the dreams that nurtured it,

the riches that sometimes misguide it,

the sacrifices that await it,

the destiny that summons it

to become a blessing to the whole human family!

O Glorious One,

for this curious day,
for the impulses that have designated it,

for the gifts that grace it,

for the gladness that accompanies it,

for my life,
for those through whom I came to be,

for friends through whom I hear and see

greater worlds than otherwise I would,

for all the doors of words and music and worship
through which I pass to larger worlds,

and for the One who brought a kingdom to me,

I pause to praise and thank you
with this one more trip of words

which leaves too much uncarried,

but not unfelt,

unlived,

unloved.

Thank you!

From Guerrillas Of Grace: Prayers For the Battle (Augsburg Fortress, 2005). Used by permission.