Rest

Great Creator,

I hold up my one fragile life
between the dirt from which you drew me
and the sun we spin around.
Eight billion of us wander this groaning crust together.
Your Spirit once hovered over the waters
and we can only hope still hovers today,
as the seas continue to rise around us.

Help us rest.
Rest which you gifted us with in the first garden,
where you asked us to keep
one tree untended.
Leave it be.
Let just one tree rest.

But our first ancestors couldn’t keep from harvesting fruit
not intended for us
and still today we can’t seem to find rest,
hustling to squeeze manna into mannon,
tampering with the elements you ask us to leave.
Don’t always tend,
don’t harvest everything,
let creation breathe.
Bring us rest.
Rest to our souls and our spinning home.
Give us strength to lie down at night
and turn off the screen light.
Let us sit in the dark,
knowing your Spirit still hovers.

Christ who fell from the body of a woman,
rested in a hay-stuffed trough
the scent of manure wafting –
God hovering above dirt in a wooden box –

give us grace to fall
to rest, to sleep where our fellow animals sleep,
so that when we are done –
a day
or a life –
we may join your creation
and rest with it.