Child with a thousand thoughts, a thousand worries, a thousand dreams,
I was in the beginning, before all of it.
Before there were roses or reasons, daisies or daylight, there was us.
And our Spirit hovered over the waters like a story teller,
Waiting to bring the greatest tale into time,
To break through the black, churning waters wielding words,
And through them, through our Son, the best Word,
To call to attention the attentionless.
We willed to bring into being what we had in our mind.
And then . . . we said. In language beyond light itself,
We spoke illumination. We spoke brightness. We spoke beauty.
And we called it, “Day.” And the shadow—that we called “night.”
The first day was our speech, and every day after.
Do you hear us, little imager? Are you listening?
Yes . . . yes, I hear. My ears are open.
It’s hard for me to believe that you speak,
That you spoke to create,
That you spoke to make the day and night,
That you set the world turning with words.
Please, help my unbelief (Mark 9:24).
Help me to trust in you, my speaker.
Help me to listen well,
To hear your voice in every corner of the day,
So that I can grow closer to you
And etch the sound of your voice on my heart.
Protect me from the thought that you’re mute,
That your quietness is silence,
Since I know I’m hard of hearing.
Keep my ears open.
Let me seek what you say.