Psalm for Clear Vision

Psalm for Clear Vision

Patiently we wait
for a miracle,
a sign,
a hint,
a scrap
to give us hope
that God is with us.

Like the lady who saw
on her iron.

Now that’s vision.

Either that
or she’s nuts.

When I look at my iron
I see smudges
of burnt-on spray starch.
That can’t be right.

So I squint
and frown
and turn my head
and there it is!
A poodle in profile…

Or a pair of lobsters
doing the tango.

The search for God
is now a Rorschach test:
“What does
this inkblot
to you?”

That I need to clean my iron?

Lord, forgive my unbelief,
and my lurking cynicism.
Bless the lady
who thinks
You made an appearance
in her laundry room.

Even if she is crazy.

Especially if she’s crazy.

Because there’s something
and crazy
and unpredictable
about You;
and that makes her
a kindred spirit.

That’s just the kind of thing You’d do:
be born in a stable,
turn fishermen into preachers,
challenge the pompous,
hang out with lowlifes,
scold the presumptuous,
heal the sick, raise the dead,
feed the hungry,
give hope to the despairing,
love the unlovable,
and send a message to those who believe
through an electrical appliance
in New Jersey.

Yep. That’s You all over.

That’s the Message, isn’t it?
There is nothing special
about irons or skillets or fish sticks –
or any of the other places
You’ve been spotted.

It’s the fact that they are
mundane –
even boring –
aspects of everyday living.

For wherever we are,
You are.

Open my eyes, Holy One,
make me just a little bit crazy:
a wild-eyed, wide-eyed Seer
who finds Your
blessings and grace

in the mundane
and the magnificent;
in purple mountains’ majesty
and in the laundry basket.

For wherever we are,
You are.


Deborah Beach Giordano
© December 14, 2009

About inklingscommunity

I am a struggling Christian, committed pacifist, near-obsessive recycler, incurable animal lover, inveterate tree-hugger; a nature mystic, a socialized introvert, an advocate for the vulnerable, an opponent of exploiters.
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