Sister Alma Rose begins each day praising God and watching the sun rise, unless it is raining. Sister Alma Rose did not just fall off the turnip truck.
Sunne, sign of Holy God, symbol of hope; proof of renewal,
you hover beneath the horizon, invisible but for the glory of
lavender radiance bleaching the shadow away. This is the
loveliest time-this sweet waiting, this breathless ephemeral
moment, as ray upon ray paints the sky. Soon comes the day.
In the predawn have a score of antiphonal songbirds begun
their effusions, for you they anticipate, faithful and sure
of their wings. “Welcome,” they sing, and the music rings
joyously, stirring the cool air still heavy with night mist.
Already delight wakes the spirits who listen and know
the serene expectation of grace.
Praise to the God who created you, Sunne; who gave you
to Earth; who made you to call forth the green shoot of
corn from the sod. When to our senses you offer the
shimmer of silver on cottonwood limbs and the fresh
lilac fragrance in May-we will remember to praise Heaven then.
Would we complain of you, distant and dim in the
wintertime, blistering delicate foliage in summer? When rose
petals wither, we say we are sick of the sight of you. We wish
for rain then. The clouds break apart, loosing superabundance,
and once again we complain, crying out, loud and strident,
“O, Sunne! Bright yellow circle of fire, sustainer of all living
things, giver of light, vanished beacon-return to us now.
Banish the rain!” But in truth you were never away.
But for you all the water would stay in the sea. But for
you there would be no refreshing and cleansing, and
all would be desert and dust and decay.
Now here at the cusp of the day, this most blessèd of interludes, we
wait to welcome you. We stand this hour with our faces turned
eastward, not taking for granted the planting, the harvest, the feast,
or the flower, the forest, the lush prairie grass.
And at last, in a fearsome display of such power and
beauty we must look away after merely a glance at the
slender curve breaching the edge of the world… at last
you emerge, and the land is awash in magnificence. Great
God, forgive us a minute’s regret for the awesome
fulfillment of promise; it’s only for loss of the willing,
sweet, soft contemplation we turn from. But with us and
in us we carry the light we inhaled in your great and triumphal
arising.
Gracious God, may that first beam’s bold brightness illuminate,
guide, and inspire us today. May we glow with your glory
and go forth with vigor and purpose, our hearts singing echoes
of songbirds in chorus and shining with love as the wheel of
the Sunne on its journey gleams warmly, benignly above.
Amen.
Read about Sister Alma Rose and the Ancients in The Ancients, Part 1: Daddy Pete.
Find more prayers and meditations in Unfamiliar Territory, Vol. 1.
Find meditation music and guided meditations at LifeIsPoetry.net.
Sister Alma Rose Has the Last Word 