Lap of the Lord

I lay my head

in the lap of the Lord.

The wrinkled clay of my brow

smoothed by His thumb.

In my hair His breeze

is a blue blanket to my soul,

His sunlight warm silk 

to my face.

The weight of my worries

gives way to prayer.

The problems of my bones

absolve in song. The bricks

around my heart become berries

to spread on toast.

All the sins of my tongue,

every boast, insult, and lie

melt into broth and butter.

As I lay my head in the lap of the Lord,

my eyes trace the Hand that moves the stars,

my ears echo with a brook voice

breaking over stones, even my toes

are glad in clover.

Let me vow to walk every corner I've cut

again, heel to toe,

straight and narrow.

Raise in me, dear God,

the artistry to repaint

every wall I've beat my head

against.

I'm hungry now for the soup

I cried in. Let me blow

on the spoon of grace You give us,

bow my head

and dip my bread.

Amen.