Prayer

 Look at me, Lord... what do You see? Am I whole or in pieces? If all I can give You is silence, will You understand my silence? Do You see everything it hides and everything it reveals? Of course You do. Your eyes pierce through my contemptible attempts to make sense out of senselessness. Pry my heart open and sort through my insides. Through every thought I disguise as a lofty feeling, through every feeling I camouflage as fact, through every fact I cloak in opinion, through every opinion I colour in certainty, through every certainty ripe with doubt, through every doubt perforated with hope, through every hope sprinkled with faith and every faith drenched in love. Prod, examine, organize and then speak me back to me. Maybe in Your words I'll understand myself. Maybe once I understand I'll be able to pray. Not cajoling, but real praise. Not enticing You with promises in the hope You'll relent. I need a pure prayer. It can't be a way to manipulate You to get what I want, it has to be pure. You'll see right through me. You always do.
 Shall I speak? Craft me new words, the ones I know fail me. Invent me utterances that are able to communicate, feel and believe and think all at the same time. Interpret me to myself like a rabbi interprets the Torah. Sing me to myself, maybe my truth lies in sounds more than words, do whatever it takes but lay me bare before You. Lead me to Your altar and bind me to it (Psalm 118:27). Forgive me for not going there willingly... Still, bind me with cords of love (Hosea 11:4). Bind me tight enough so that even if I was contemplating running, they'll keep me in place. Then listen... My Lord and my God, listen. Not with Your ears, they'll prove me unworthy. Not with Your mind, for it will prove me a liar. Listen to me, through Him that holds Your heart forever. For His sake, on His credit ... don't turn me away. Teach me how to pray so that You'll feel in a conversation, not in a ritual, You'll feel loved, not used. Tame this foolish heart of mine. Teach it to submit to no one else but You. Train it until Yours will be the only voice it will recognize and it will declare strangers all other voices ... even mine. Then, maybe then You will call and I will answer, 'here I am' and I will be. In the wherever You'll be, I'll be there. I won't be in some other reality that I'll dream about. I'll dream and wish to be wherever You are. I won't hide through trees in the garden, or in self righteousness. I'll just … be like You are.

by Cristina Pop