A random radical woman is lovable as she is.
She craves “I” hugs instead of “A” hugs.
The kind where she hugs you until you feel her pulse
but not long enough to become awkward.
She has a tender heart for jagged edges worn smooth
polished into good memories of bad decisions.
She loves random conversations that high dive
deep into the humanity of ones character
fearlessly raw with scars of warriors victory
or dark with the ashes of the charred Phoenix
She loves to reach deeply into social culture
tasting the air of festive debauchery or meditating wholly
Surfing the climatic waves of intense concentrations
Splashing musical colors over every participant
I know you are grieving. You are heartbroken.
Are you breathing? Are you praying by holy token*?
Have you inhaled the violent sky? Beat fists upon your breast?
That which turned your lover’s eye: disintegrated; dust to dust.
*Any gift of prayer is a token.
Mother God, benefactor of all that is holy.
You have led us to this place together as a community and bound us to one another through faith.
In the beginning of this Advent season, may we remember your unexpected appearance among us in the birth of a child.
You make yourself known to us again and again but we sometimes are deaf and blind to you. Help us to clear our ears and open our eyes to your word
God of Peace, whose ways are not our own and whose coming among us cannot be predicted, we dare to welcome your surprises, seeking to be awake and alert, and to fully embrace the unexpected. That we might be changed by your appearance and transformed into loving vessels with radical acceptance.
Now let us feel your presence as we live as you taught us and pray as you taught us: Lord’s Prayer