Every morning before dawn, I pray.
Prayer for me is much less about begging for grace or demanding unmerited favor, and more like Jacob and his wrestling with the Almighty in the 32nd chapter of Genesis, or Job in the heat of a seemingly eternal affliction, or Jesus, by himself in the garden, on the precipice of crucifixion: a profoundly human experience that we must dare to embark on.
It is in these intimate, dynamic moments, before the sun brings light into the world, where I have come to realize that prayer is a praxis, one rooted in both our human finitude and our hope for salvation.
This is a poem I wrote in light of these realizations.
Wrestle until daybreak with the power of God
Setting in motion all things.
Dust is gifted meaning
Rocks and gas given direction.
Time itself becomes an ally
And space provides a medium
Through which we can become ourselves.
Creation is imbued with purpose,
The cause is the effect.
The terror is temporary.
The struggle is victorious.
The faith is freeing.
Our freedom seems fleeting
Yet we wrestle
Until we emerge, from the garden.
These blessings we ask in your holy name.