Prayer at Night: a Thanksgiving
The night's knife is sharp, whittling endurance.
Paring pain into prayer -
Prayer beyond pain; prayer beyond prayer almost,
Apprenticed to poverty
Pinioned in peace.
Captive, I live the night slowly,
Pray the night slowly, sleepless.
Wanting pours into waiting: a kind of awe
Stirred by winds of Spirit's Searching,
Stilled by hidden flame.
The night is dark, alive in its own black brilliance, kingfisher clear,
And in the darkness my little love, world wounded, is grown into
A greatness not its own
Into a passion and purpose beyond my knowing,
Welded into oneness with Christ's constant interceding.
Heart of Spirit's pleading.
Seared by the hidden flame.
That love reaches out
Beyond the known loves of family and friends,
Beyond the confines of cherished causes,
Beyond cost and comfort,
To enfold a world's weight in the holding of a name
In the power of the hidden flame
Sharing the darkness.
Night streams softly into silence, the colour of praying,
Filled with Word of Creator's saying,
Filled with wind and flame.
~ Gail Ballinger