Fan Letter

Dear Miss Rossetti, I remember you
long though it is since you have gone away.
Perhaps when you turned it was late for you;
yet your words counsel me and help me pray.

Though darkness and corruption worry, still,
a vestige of your thoughts also remains.
I mark your footprints on the road uphill
and seek myself the inn toward which you strained.

I’ve felt the weight of sorrow and sea-sand
and seen the brevity of spring and youth;
I’ve thought at times I’d almost seen the wind,
and all but drowned in ocean depths of truth.

I hear the bird sing in the apple tree,
and long for that birthday to come to me.

~ Rebekah Choat

Icons, Part Three

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

This statuette is the closest thing I have to a traditional icon. When she first came to pray in my garden some ten years ago, she was an angel, regal yet demure. She lost a wing during Hurricane Ike, which only made me love her more – though broken, she retained her beauty and poise.

The other wing was shattered when she was knocked down by a strong wind perhaps eighteen months ago, since when I have felt an even deeper connection to her. She is completely approachable now, and might be a friend, a kindred spirit. In some mystical way, I feel peace when I sit outside near her in the early mornings, and even when I look at her picture.

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

The Praying Lady speaks to me of Someone else, One who deliberately laid his divinity aside for a time and came to be like one of us, to be with us in all our joy and sorrow; One who sits now at the right hand of God the Father, interceding for us.

In which I join Emily Dickinson in prayer…

At least to pray is left, is left,
(and wilt thou set things right,)
Oh Jesus in the air?
I’m knocking everywhere.
I know not which thy chamber is,
(else I would call when just in sight.)

(Or would I thus thy wrath incite,
who) settest Earthquake in the South,
and Maelstrom in the Sea.
(Lord, is that truly thee?)

(Thou art my one hope of respite:
I cast myself upon thy might.)
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth,
hast thou no arm for me?

~ Emily Dickinson (and Rebekah Choat) 

 

Word by Madeleine L’Engle

I, who live by words, am wordless when
I try my words in prayer. All language turns
to silence. Prayer will take my words and then
reveal their emptiness. The stilled voice learns
to hold its peace, to listen with the heart
to silence that is joy, is adoration.
The self is shattered, all words torn apart
in this strange patterned time of contemplation
that, in time, breaks time, breaks words, breaks me,
and then, in silence, leaves me healed and mended.
I leave, returned to language, for I see
through words, even when all words are ended.
I, who live by words, am wordless when
I turn me to the Word to pray.  Amen.

Tuesday’s Word: silence

silence (n):  the absence of sound or noise

 I never thought before about the distinction between sound and noiseSound, the dictionary says, is anything perceived by the sense of hearing, while noise denotes an unpleasant sound.

We can, if we try hard enough, find places of temporary escape from noise, but it’s virtually impossible to go anywhere completely devoid of sound.  Even as I write this in the sanctuary of my study, I hear the hum of the computer, the clicking of the keys as I type, the dull roar of a lawnmower a couple houses down, the varied sounds of cars and trucks on the street below and an airplane overhead.

Absolute physical silence may be an unattainable quality for most of us, but sometimes, through an alignment of long practice of prayer and sheer grace, we are blessed to find a spiritual inner silence that calms and sustains us.

 “Silence is that moment in which we not only stop the
discussion with others but also the inner discussions
with ourselves, in which we can breathe freely and
accept our identity as a gift…It is in this silence that
the Spirt of God can pray in us and continue its
creative work in us…” ~ Henri Nouwen

 “At the extremity of prayer words vanish, or rather the
silence-become-word surpasses all that can be uttered.
Prayer becomes the silence of Love…” ~ A.I. Okumura

We Stand to Prayer

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

The splendour of Nirvana is not ours,
We have no middle eye, no mystic wings,
And our brief visions take us unawares.
We stand to prayer as rows of earthen jars
Whose dark mouths open onto hidden things:
A secret kingdom where the poor are kings.

Here is an image of that inner place,
The quiet mountain country of the soul
With silver pools where lions drink their fill
And the pale unicorns lie down in peace.
Here is an emblem of the hidden grace
Beneath the flux and turmoil of what happens,
A quiet kingdom where the silence deepens,
Whose heart is hallowed by the Prince of Peace.

~ Malcolm Guite

A Mother’s Prayer

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

This prayer was written three years ago, during a time when
my nearly-grown twin sons were in severe crisis, a dark time
of fear and sorrow and helplessness. I offer it today on behalf
of other parents in similar circumstances.

O Lord, help me to realize and remember that, much as I love and cherish and agonize over my children, You love and cherish them so much more than I can begin to comprehend.

You suffered agony for them beyond my imagining. You made them before I ever bore them in my body. You earnestly desire their eternal good – and You have both the understanding of what that is and the ability to bring it about.

Help me day by day, moment by moment, to entrust them into Your hands. I give them, again, into Your care, heavenly Father, asking that the angels have charge over them, to guide them in health and wholeness, in the name of Jesus Christ Your Son.  Amen.

~ Rebekah Choat

A Prayer

O Father, we have been wounded
by those who are also your children.
Sometimes in ignorance, sometimes in malice,
often in misguided zeal,
they have cut us with their words
and bruised us with their deeds.

We limp along, battered, bleeding, bewildered.
We meet other pilgrims on the way.
They, too, are battered, bleeding, bewildered.
As we look into their faces,
we realize to our dismay
that we have also wounded them.

Merciful Father, pour out your healing upon us,
and give us grace to share it
with those who have hurt us, whom we have hurt,
with all your bleeding, bewildered children.

May your peace pass among us, passing understanding,
and your goodness guide us together into your kingdom.

Amen

 ~ Rebekah Choat

A Prayer on Waking

Dear God, I cannot find the breath to pray.
Words wheel in silence but won’t be pinned down.
I don’t know how to face this dawning day.
I can’t walk; I can scarcely stand my ground.

I haven’t anything to offer you
but all I am:  a fragile, empty man
waiting for you to fill me up anew,
to feel your Spirit move in me again.

It seems like I’ve been waiting here forever –
I wonder, Lord, do you remember me?
Why are your hands closed, bountiful gift-giver?
Am I to wait here through eternity?

If so, give me the strength at least to stand.
Let me reach through the dark and find your hand.

~ Rebekah Choat