Dear Father,
Thank you for every single one of
my sixty-one years.
I hope for more time on this earth
because I truly love seeking the things not of this earth.
A spiritual paradox.
Faith, family, and friendships grow stronger
as relationships grow deeper, roots intertwining.
Thank you for the people in my life
(and for those I have yet to meet).
May I listen to their stories with gentleness and compassion.
Life is different at sixty-one.
I notice reverence has become a more constant companion.
Everything is holy and sacred when you remember to notice.
Be still. And know.
I try.
Even though it startles me at times,
I thank you for my gray hair and wrinkly skin,
reminders that I have lived.
That I am alive.
This place in my life finally allows me to recognize
it is the questions I love discovering.
Having the answers is not so important.
Adopting a posture and an attitude of seeking.
Counting on your promise that when we do that
you will be found.
My perspective and my capacity for understanding
change with time but you remain constant.
For that I am so very grateful.
Learning to lean into your love. Again and again.
And then again.
Releasing and receiving, both.
I think about the plans you had for me
when my mother first held me in her arms,
and I wonder how many times I have resisted those plans.
How many wrong turns taken.
Missed opportunities.
And still,
you motion for me to come into your arms
in a loving embrace that I will never outgrow.
Now I begin each day
trying to be more careful and intentional.
Trying to notice you at the center.
Trying not to waste the moments.
Sixty-one years.
The world has changed. And so have I.
But not you.
Thank God.
