Taking a break from the computer, I sat outside to rest with mercifully cool sunshine and mild breeze. In front of me--flourishing stubbornly from a long crack in the concrete--were a line weeds. The sight of them drew me to prayer. Now, I would not naturally be drawn to pray at the sight of weeds growing from concrete, in fact my natural response would be something like "Where's the weed killer?!" But I am familiar with a simple poem by Mary Oliver in which she describes being inspired to pray at the same sight.
This is what poets and artists do for us. They can, if we allow it, shake up our tired, predictable view of the most ordinary things and call us to see with new sight, to approach this little life of ours soulfully, with new vigor.
I give you Oliver's poem, called, simply, "Praying":
It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
What will your "weeds in a vacant lot" be today?
