My prayers are sloppy scribblings,
awkward drawings,
unintelligible notes
that I, mostly ignorant, hand to God,
who puts them on her fridge.

How could I judge, or even imagine,
the delight with which she stands there
and gazes at them?

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording: