To witness fuschia streak across the sky
and tangerine clouds outlined in gold
To notice sparrows singing
To savor hot coffee without interruption
To breathe
To untangle a thicket of thoughts on paper
before the day unfolds
To thank God for another spin
around the sun
To remember that, as the sky evolves,
I can too
To dwell in light — and possibility
Tag Archives: blessing
Blessing for Election Day
Bless this ballot, God, I pray,
keep peace on Election Day.
Let it be a source of light,
dissolving hate with love so bright.
Let it be a seed of hope
multiplied with every vote,
rising toward a future verdant,
merciful, just & unburdened
by racism, misogyny, pride, greed.
The truth is, we have all we need.
Bless this tired, broken nation,
embolden us to care for creation—
oceans, lakes, mountains, plains.
Rouse us to our neighbors’ pains,
soften hearts if tension mounts.
Bless the people called to count.
Impress your wisdom on our leaders.
Comfort, comfort all believers:
“God is our refuge and our strength,”
the One to whom we release angst.
Bless these ballots, God, I pray,
keep peace on Election Day.
Evening prayer
God, you sculpted the heavens and the earth,
you painted the sea and the stars.
You made everything and said it was good.
Still, I have to ask…
Why did you make hurricanes? And tornadoes?
Why cancer? Why weapons? Why war?
Perhaps the question I should be praying is,
Why do humans hurt each other
— and our planet?
How do we fix what’s broken?
How do we care for raging waters and hearts?
How do we engender peace?
How do we stay afloat amid such heavy issues?
What will this world become?
And God, I have other, albeit lesser, queries:
Why does my two-year-old always resist sleep? When will the bedtime battles and tantrums end?
Also, why are groceries so dang expensive? And houses? Why wrinkles? Why neurodiversity?
Why depression?
How come I’m still in pain, even months after that trauma? Will these scars ever disappear?
O God, despite the sin and muck in my life
and in creation, why do you keep blessing us
with sunsets? Why is autumn so stunning?
Why does the Lakeshore never fail
to settle my soul?
Why honeycrisp apples?
Why porcupines?
Why snow?
How is it that, whenever I watch my children sleep, I get a lump in my throat? When did I get so lucky and how come I’m often blind to this grace when they’re awake?
How do I keep them safe?
How will I ever let them go?
How do I carry all these fears,
worries,
joys,
hopes?
That’s the wrong question again, isn’t it?
How do I stop grasping for control and start clinging to you, God?
Will you make me an instrument of your peace?
Will you grant me eyes to see your glory?
Legacy
At the end of June, my family flew to New Orleans for my grandma Eleanor’s 90th birthday. Two years had passed since our last visit, and I was excited to introduce her to our toddler, Adam.
Upon arrival, I watched with delight as she held Adam and lavished attention on our oldest, who showed off his new Pokemon cards. Later, when she held my hands in hers and murmured, “You have a beautiful family — enjoy them,” my eyes welled with tears.
The day of Grandma’s party, we feasted on a fabulous Mediterranean spread including the best hummus, fruit salad, and doberge cake. We posed for photos with the guest of honor, traded hugs and stories, and raised our voices to wish her a happy birthday.
We sang. Grandma sat beholding her glowing candles, encircled by children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who’d come together to celebrate her life and legacy.
My grandmother has spent her 90 years well. She was a devoted wife and homemaker, cooking from scratch, composting and hanging the laundry out to dry. She loved raising her kids and square-dancing with her late husband, my grandfather. She continues to be a loving mother. She’s an avid reader, zealous churchgoer, and fantastic Scrabble player. She’s an inspiration in faith — the kind of person whose presence warms the room.
After her final candle extinguished, Grandma beamed. Even though the light was out, I couldn’t help but notice the way a glow lingered in her eyes.
I’ll be honest: aging scares me. But then I think of Grandma Eleanor, a woman who has truly enjoyed her family, who keeps living and loving and shining Christ’s light, and I think, maybe aging isn’t something to fear at all, maybe it’s something to look forward to.
Every year, every moment, is a gift to steward, and she has tended her time so well. Happy 90th to my grandma — thank you for showing me the beauty of a life well-loved.
Blessing for the first day of summer
This summer, let there be light —
sunlight, starlight, delight
featherlight bags, lightsome days, a lightness
of being (best conjured when we are on vacation),
Let there be flashlights and fireflies,
campfires and fireworks,
Let us feel light.
Let there be play —
baseball games and frisbee
chalk art and bubble-blowing
swinging so high you could touch the sky
racing on your bike with the wind in your hair
and an open path with heat waves glimmering in the distance
and miles to go before you tire
Let us be carefree.
Let us add water —
the garden hose and the kiddie pool
sprinklers, splash pads and slip-n-slides,
Let us visit the creek, the beach, the pool,
Let there be cannonballs and splashing,
Let the tide lap against our toes and wash away our worries,
Let the water hold us, cool us, baptize us in grace.
Let there be feasting —
Let us grill hamburgers, mushrooms and pineapple
Let us twirl hotdogs and marshmallows over the fire
Let us taste a juicy bite of watermelon and revel in our sugar high
Let there be popsicles, ice cream cones and lemonade stands,
picnic lunches and coolers filled with Capri Suns and Coronas
Let us savor all summer has to offer us, let us give thanks for our abundance.
Let us feel content.
Let us be bored, and even a little lazy,
Let us trade our screens and work
for poems and novels and meditation,
live music and a little mischief
Let us scour the earth for four-leaf clovers and honeysuckle,
Let us count clouds and stars and rollie pollies,
Let the hours stretch like a dog dozing
in a sunbeam
Let us, too, drift off into a blissful nap
(preferably in a hammock),
Let there be rest.
Erin Strybis 