Thursday, May 26, 2011

A morning prayer.

My favorite mornings happened in the summer at my grandparents' house. My room there was my aunt's old room, upstairs and facing the street. Grandma didn't have a/c upstairs, so the window was always open and the sounds that came in were a kind of morning music. Cars driving past on the cobblestone street, making a slow, pleasant thudthudthudthudthud. The chirps of birds, the coo coo coo of the mourning dove. The air smelled like warm sun, dry, old wood, and mothballs. I would wake, find the cool part in the sheets, and lay in bed just living in the sensory.

When I finally got up, I'd creak down the hall to the bathroom where, right next to the sink, hung a prayer. I read it every morning as I brushed my teeth (with Grandpa's Pepsodent powder toothpaste, such a novelty). It's memorized now, and I can close my eyes and be back in that pink bathroom, with the flickering lights around the mirror, summer sounds drifting through the open windows in the bedrooms and hall.

In the quiet of this morning hour
I come to Thee for peace, for wisdom
power to view the world through love-filled eyes,
to see beyond what seems to be,
Or know Thy children as Thou knowest them
Or so naught but the good in anyone behold
make deaf to my ears all that is unkind,
let only thoughts that bless dwell in my mind.
Let me so kindly be, so full of joy
that all I meet may feel Thy presence near.
Oh, clothe me in Thy beauty, this I pray,
let me reveal Thee, Lord, though all the day.

Listening to: Band Of Horses (alphabetically)

xo. kb.

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