WHERE I SAW GOD LAST

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

The dimple in your right cheek,

the child playing peek-a-boo from his stroller,

the abuelita who spends her afternoons

in the park by 86th; the teenagers on the subway

who cannot control their laughter; Neil, my neighbor,

who always asks about you, the mother who whispers

a dozen times a day, “thank you, Jesus, thank you, Jesus, thank you, Jesus”; the saxophone player at

42nd street, the poets,

the artists, the garden volunteers; the metro car driver

who sticks his head out the window to make sure we’re all aboard; the man who gave up his seat on

the subway, the kid in the

dinosaur pajamas who cannot be convinced they’re not

school attire; the teachers, the nurses, the taxi cab drivers;

the woman at the end of the block with her yappy dogs and her

books in the window, the lovers that lay sprawled out on park blankets,

the runners, the daydreamers, the sidewalk chalk artists;

John from upstairs whose favorite flowers are yellow tulips, the Persian man at the grocery who tells

me to be safe when I leave,

my grandmother in Georgia; my neighbor, the stranger; thank you, Jesus, thank you, Jesus, thank you,

Jesus.

LOVE COMES RUNNING

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

I remember

the first time I was afraid.

I was a child.

It was a nightmare.

(You remember those pesky

monsters under the bed.)

I remember

minutes felt like hours.

I begged

the sun to rise.

(Fear always begs

the sun to rise.)

Eventually,

after minutes that felt like hours,

I cried out.

My dad came running.

He sat at the edge of my bed.

He said there is no reason to be afraid.

He checked the closet and the floorboards.

He rearranged my pillows.

He said, “I can stay.”

And that’s when I learned

that when you are afraid,

love always comes running.

Love says, “I can stay.”

That’s what God does for us.

God sits at the edge of the bed.

God checks the closet and the floorboards.

God says, “Be not afraid.”

God stays until sunrise.

Love always comes running.

EVERY YEAR

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

My heart and I have an agreement.

Every year we show up here—

here in the sanctuary,

here with the candles and the tall ceilings,

here with the creaky church pews

and the songs of silent nights.

My heart and I have an agreement.

Every year we show up here—

at the end of the year,

after another 12 months

of humanity, of me

trying to

keep it all together,

trying to

keep my head above water,

trying to

keep up appearances.

Every year we show up here.

We drop it all.

We leave it at the door.

We come into this space

and I could swear it feels different.

Maybe it’s God.

Maybe it’s hope.

Maybe it’s love.

But whatever it is,

I need it

every year,

so we show up here.

Tell us again the story of tonight.

My heart needs it.

ROOM

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

I asked God—

what about my

fingernail-biting habit

or the way I leave all the cabinets

open in the kitchen?

What about the way I can be dramatic,

drumming up a fight, only to

hand out apologies like souvenirs?

What about the way I second-guess myself,

let shame drive, or stay quiet when I

have something to say?

What about the way I chase accomplishments

like a dog with a bone?

What about the doubt, or the fact

that I’m terrible at prayer and

cannot help but yawn during church?

What about

What about

What about?

My baggage might be too big for the van.

But then

God called me by my first and middle name,

which always means business,

and said:

Who told you that you were too much?

Sugar, there is so much room for you here.

So that’s when I grabbed a seat

and we hit the road

and I knew right then

that the rumors were true.

There is room.

There is room.

There is room.

A BLESSING FOR THE SEEKERS

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

Blessed are you who turn your face up to the sky,

who open your arms to feel the wind,

who notice all the things that we should notice.

Blessed are you who are fluent in wonder

and familiar with awe.

Blessed are you who, even now, dream dreams,

who have not lost hope,

who swear the glass is still half-full.

Blessed are you who plant trees

and sing the harmony,

who tell the children how this world can be magic.

Blessed are you who

walk and seek

and turn over every stone,

pointing out all the corners and colors

that God lives in.

Blessed are you.

Amen.

EVERYWHERE AND ALWAYS

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

Right here.

That’s where God is.

In the sun that turns our bedroom gold,

in the creaks of this old house, and in birthday candles on the cake;

in clean sheets, sock feet, and porch-sitting;

in pancakes for breakfast and pancakes for dinner;

in the swell of a lit candle, in fireplace conversations;

in your grandmother’s carrot cake, and the smell of evergreen.

God is in the seed-starters on the porch,

and the space between my bones;

in garlic butter, early mornings, and twinkle lights.

Certainly in dancing and laughing, in cups of coffee,

in the art hung on the fridge, snail mail, long phone calls,

and oh how I love yous. God is right here.

God pulled up a seat. God has traveled all the way to the heart.

Tell the next generation.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR A HARD CHOICE

by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

First, you must take a deep breath.

Let oxygen dance through your lungs.

Exhale it slowly. Allow the hurt, the shame,

the anger to rise up in you. Let your mind run wild,

like a million loose horses. Let the narratives unfold, unroll,

a river of choppy water. Ask yourself how you got here. Look

down at your feet. Roll your shoulders back. Remember who you

are. Take another deep breath. Then, walk it back to the beginning.

Instead of looking at your feet, look at hers. Imagine where she stands. Imagine what he needs. Dry the

river of false stories in your mind. Turn rushing water into a dry creek bed, certainly not clean enough to

drink. Call the horses. Bring them home.

Watch as they shake off the dust of the day. Name what

you’re feeling. Inhale again. Now you are ready

to choose a better

way.

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