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something great.

With your windows rolled down on the long way home, you inhale the earth’s beauty and let your mind roam. A smile comes across your face; you’re pleasantly surprised. You feel the strength of amazing grace and your gratitude maximized. You search your mind’s file cabinet for adjectives; this needs a name. Though you don’t know what emotion it is, it’ll keep you from ever being the same. Peace washes through your heart and whispers in your ear. Exhale what doesn’t serve you and let your mind be clear. Trying to remember the last time you felt so free to be the person you lock away when you dispose of the key. You promise her she need not be afraid to show her face. You honor her by offering your welcoming embrace. You tell her all the reasons she’s a beautiful soul. You offer a moment of silence and sorries for the years you stole. You beg her forgiveness, tell her you’ll make her proud. And then you forgive yourself; you say it out loud. The two of you send a “thanks” to the man upstairs. You merge into one being as you say your prayers. You whisper into the air, for God and future you to hear, “Someday I’ll be something great.” But you already are, my dear.

-exposedpoetic.

When my hands were cuffed and my ankles weighted and I was tossed to the ocean floor, I happened upon a truth that I hadn’t ever before. The deeper I sank, the faster my lungs filled, and I grasped at a foxhole prayer. Promises made in exchange for help because there wasn’t a second to spare. And in my helpless state, I came to understand: prayer is the most desperate form of love known to man.

I fell to my knees. I thanked God for his mercy and grace. Gratitude, milk, and honey all smell like they taste. I started seeing colors where everything had been gray. I cried the happiest and saddest tears when I didn’t know what to say. Yet I knew He was hearing my pleas, so I kept dropping to my knees. Down there on the ground, I came to find: prayer is the rawest form of love alive.

I love her so deeply; my heart is torn in pieces. The seams have been sewn over and the fabric is riddled with creases. I know it’s time to step back and loosen my grip. But my heart aches one last time for the mom I wish she could have been. Anger bubbles up inside when I think of all she’s done and said, but I take a breath and whisper the words that have gathered in my head. With my beaten heart silently breaking, it all starts to make sense. Prayer is the purest form of love we can possibly dispense.

When I look around, I see flowers in my garden. I see softness and beauty where I’d once been hardened. I can’t thank Him enough for the blessings overflowing. For lessons and tools to keep myself growing. For the gardeners who stop by to plant new seeds and also the ones who subtly remove the weeds. Down in the earth as I reach for the sun, I thank God for all He’s doing and has done. In this state of complete peace, it’s made clear: Prayer is the form of love most sincere.

-exposedpoetic.