Jesus, the sea just turned colors, swapping placid jade for a brooding grey. It feels angry, unstable, cold and dangerous for my little boat.
Spirit of God, the future just threatened me—grabbed me by the lapel and shook my head and made my heart pound like I was in grade three again. For a few moments, tomorrow looked an awful lot like a bully I can’t hope to beat.
My plate is too full, but the lunch lady keeps piling brawny dollops of beige mash onto my life and I can’t seem to pull my plate away.
Father, pace me. Help me to let go of the pace I can’t sustain.
Jesus, stand up in my little boat and tell the wind and the waves to be still.
Spirit of God, whup my future.
God, help me deal with the lunch lady.
Lying here, blogging my prayer, naming my nemeses, I feel the pace, the rhythm of your heart. I settle back into the graceful stride you want for me.
I embrace you in the boat, and the waves no longer matter.
I center myself in the moment, owning the joy and peace here, and the bully backs off.
I look at my plate again and smile. The mountain of mash is gone; my plate is only garnished with the goodness you put there.