I decided to write myself a morning prayer. On the one hand, I think I ought to wake up so filled with the joy of my salvation that I burst into song and fervent prayers of thanks. On the other hand, there's reality. I wake up thinking "unnnhhhhh," and I'm not altogether sure I can find the floor with both feet. Maybe the monks with their lauds and matins and things have the right idea. A muzzy head that can't form a coherent thought on its own may benefit from latching on to a framework.
Way back in Baptist Sunday school, we learned to sneer at things like prayer books and the rosary and "endless repetition," but since then, through youngest son's choir term, I've experienced some Episcopalian services with the Book of Common Prayer and found that the written prayers can help the mind focus and be just as real as any spur-of-the-moment expression.(Don't worry, Pine Ridgers, I'm still Presbyterian through and through.)
Having watched a film called "Vision," about Hildegard of Bingen, I wanted my prayer to be something that would endure through the ages and inspire many generations-- which is exactly the wrong way to think. No, it has to be what I need to say, and it has to be what I need the answer to. That would, of course, be everything, only I can't cover that before breakfast. Here's what I came up with: "Lord, You give this day to me, and You give me to this day. Please let that be a good thing for both."I can't say that anything spectacular has happened in answer, but I do find myself looking back at day's end at what came to me and what I gave. A gorgeous blue and gold dragonfly with teal-colored eyes lighted on a blueberry bush next to me. I watered the blueberries. My little grandson hugged my leg. I took care of him while his parents worked. I got to read through the elements of this Sunday's worship service and see how good it's going to be. I proofread the PowerPoint slides for the service. There turns out to be a lot to appreciate. So that's my morning prayer. I could conceivably add to it later, but, for now, that may be all I can handle.