Prayer Poem

There's a synchroblog going on about prayer. A lot of the the posts are listed at the Emerging Women site.

I've struggled personally with prayer lately. Well, let me take that back...I've struggled with prayer for a long time. I grew up in a church where great prayers were prayed. Praying in tongues was preferred. If you were a good person, your prayers would result in Porsches, Jaguars, a big house and an affluent American lifestyle. (Too bad for my husband we don't still ascribe to that system...it would be a great excuse to go out today and finance a Porsche)!

When we left that church, I began questioning prayer. I began questioning how I use prayer.

More recently, when I try to talk to God, I hear voices. The voices tell that it's never long enough, I should do more, I should be more, I don't measure up to the lists of "right" and "wrong." Worst of all I cannot turn from the reality that my prayers don't seem to make much difference in my day to day choices. I still really stink at being a "good Christian."

In trying to express my struggle with prayer, I wrote the following poem. (Note: creative writing has never been my strength, but I've found some things are expressed so much better this way):

Prayer.
My hand reaching out
to touch Divine.
A soul entwined with breath, with hope, with life.

My spirit longs for this fulfillment,
then shies away.
What if I reach for God
and find not love, but proposition?
My fingers caress those of Creator and
acceptance fades away as an empty promise?
What if the life of freedom promised
becomes a cage, inextricable, inescapable?

I step back, frightened to
move forward.
A warm hand enfolds mine.

Freedom, love, peace touch me.